"What about ..."
I tapped my pencil to the end of my chin, wracking my brains for the name of any ice cream I had created. Inventing flavors was my strong suit – remembering them, it turned out, was not.
Thankfully, Poppy could recall almost everything that had ever happened to her. She could remember the color of the shoes she wore on the first day of first grade with the same ease I could whip together a batch of mocha chip. "Pumpkin pie?" she suggested. "The Thanksgiving special?"
"I completely forgot about that," I said, adding it to the end of my (still short) list. Most of the page was filled with my absentminded doodles instead of actual possibilities.
"Sugar cookie? Pecan caramel crunch? Peanut brittle?"
"I can't write that fast."
"Then write faster."
Now that July had started, and I had survived a couple of driving lessons, it was time to decide what flavor I would be submitting into the contest less than two months away. Which meant putting my not-so-sharp memory to the test, trying to compile my best inventions in one place during the slow part of our shift. Poppy was determined to help me, but Wyatt, after lingering awkwardly behind the counter for barely a few minutes, had disappeared into the freezer without any suggestions.
I finished the last 'e' with a little loop, glancing up at Poppy. "Okay. You can continue now."
"Let me think."
She had plenty of time to think - just then, the door chimed, and I set our list aside so I could call out, "Welcome to Franny's!" to the well-tanned man who walked in. He had a towel wrapped around both shoulders, and he gripped each end in his fists. "What can I getcha?"
Instead of answering, he narrowed his eyes at the chalkboard above my head. "Do you have pineapple?"
"We have a strawberry pineapple sorbet," I offered.
"Nevermind. What about about that – uh – that one I had last time?"
"Could you be more specific? What did it have in it?"
This question stumped him. "It had ... I think it had ..."
"Was it vanilla, or strawberry, or cho –"
"Chocolate, it was definitely chocolate. With cookies in it. My daughter knows, I have a soft spot for macadamia nuts."
"Chocolate triple cookie crumble," I told him, "that was the old Flavor of the Day, so, we don't have that right now."
"So?"
"It's discontinued," Poppy chimed in.
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Unavailable until further notice."
Still frowning, he squinted up at the flavors again. "Explain 'candy crush' to me."
"It's a vanilla ice cream, with m & m's, snickers bars, milky ways, heath bars, and kit kats," I said, "The name is a play on the popular game Candy Crush Saga, except it is being used to describe the literal presence of a variety of candies in the ice cream. And the fact that most of them aren't intact."
He looked at me blankly. "Now tell me about that pineapple sorbet again."
I did, then explained chocolate triple cookie crumble again, then explained that we didn't have it, then explained why we didn't have it, before the man decided on three scoops of blueberry swirl. After him, there was a family of five, and then some sunburnt newlyweds, but once they were gone, Poppy and I could get back to our list.
"I remembered a few more," she said, once the couple had settled down at one of the tables. I watched as he offered his wife the first bite of his ice cream, and she reached out to interlace their fingers together. When he yanked the spoon from her mouth a minute later, she laughed.
Poppy nudged me with her elbow. "You didn't hear anything I just said," she stated.
"Something about remembering something?"
"I don't need to help you, you know."
"I appreciate it." She still looked doubtful. "I do! Really. I'm listening now. I promise."
"I asked if fluffernutter sandwich was on the list."
I grabbed my pencil. "Not yet."
"I liked that one."
"Me too."
I added it, then looked up again. The woman was kissing the side of her husband's mouth, and he smiled, turning his head just slightly so their lips met.
"Funfetti?"
"I thought that one wasn't as good," I said.
They were still kissing. I didn't mean to stare – it was probably definitely coming across as creepy, but, thankfully, they couldn't look away from each other. They were in love, you could tell; they had to resist the urge to smile whenever the other one did something normal, like wipe their face with a napkin or dribble ice cream on their fingers.
"Stop zoning out on me."
"Right." Poppy was watching me. "Sorry."
Wyatt stepped out of the freezer, and, even from my distance, you could tell that he had goosebumps everywhere, on his wrists, and his forearms. It had taken me this long to notice that Wyatt's forearms were attractive, even when cold.
"Uh," he said after a moment, "inventory is done."
"Thank you," I said, smiling.
Wyatt seemed surprised. "No problem."
The couple started to throw away their trash, and, seconds later, walked out. That's when I finally realized how strange it all was, the staring and the watching and the noticing. I must have been feeling a little unloved – that was the only explanation for the sudden stalkerness and my random bout of finding Wyatt's arms very, very nice.
"Pomegranate," I said suddenly.
Poppy raised her eyebrows. "Huh?"
"Pomegranate ice cream. I liked that one."
"Oh yeah, add it."
"And organic coconut vanilla bean?" Right after I said this, I took it back. "Nevermind, now that I think about it, that one was a dud."
"I liked it."
"But you also like salads and avocados and putting spinach in smoothies."
"At least I won't die of a vitamin deficiency."
Wyatt, from behind us, cleared his throat. "I liked it too."
Poppy pulled the pencil from my hand. "Majority rules."
I laughed, and let her add it to the end of the list in her short, neat letters. "Just because it's on the list doesn't mean it'll make the final cut," I pointed out, "and, besides, I already know that no matter what it is, it's getting a name change."
Poppy slid the paper back towards me. "Why?"
"Because I already came up with an award winning name," I said. "Sweeter than summer."
***
When I walked into my living room, Martha was already there.
This, per usual, was unexpected. She had probably shown up when I was still in the shower, and invited herself in. Even though I could only see the back of her head, I could hear the crunch of potato chips, and, when I flicked my eyes towards the television, could see that she had changed the channel to What Not to Wear. When I had gone upstairs, only ten minutes earlier, my dad had been settled there, shouting all the wrong answers to Jeopardy at Alex Trebek.
Usually, I would have sunk down next to her without a word, not bothering to ask when or why she had come, reaching one hand into the bowl in her lap. But, now, when we hadn't talked in days, I could feel that sticky, indescribable feeling settling in my chest. For some reason, it seemed out-of-place, even though she had been sitting on my couch, in that same position, since we were kids.
I lingered in the doorway, and, after a moment, Martha turned around.
"Hi! Your dad said you would be down soon, so I just, like, made myself comfortable. I mean, obviously. I have, like, so much to tell you. And, bonus, this episode is just starting. You haven't missed any of the good stuff."
"Great," I said weakly.
She beamed at me, and, as I made my way to the couch, she patted the seat next to her with one hand. Her other hand was holding her phone, her fingers typing something I couldn't read. "Want some? I stole them from MaxMart." When my eyes went wide, she added, "not actually steal, god. I just snagged them when I was done for the night."
"So, stealing."
Her eyebrows scrunched together. "No. Permanently borrowing. Duh. I spend enough hours there to take as much as I want. They owe me big by now."
I reached for a chip, just as a distraction. "Oh, right."
"So ..."
"So?"
Martha rolled her eyes, but her smile was still impossibly wide. "So," she repeated, "aren't you going to ask me about Jackson?"
"What about Jackson?"
She rolled her eyes again. "Just, like, about Jackson. In general. Aren't you interested in my relationship at all?"
I swallowed, then coughed. The chips were stale, and way too salty, and almost automatically I wished I had a bowl of ice cream in my lap instead. I thought about the carton of 'candy crush' I had in my freezer, and I almost went to get it. But Martha, despite her lactose intolerance, would expect me to share, so I hesitated. "I am," I said lamely, turning back to the TV. I tried to look engrossed in the yogurt commercial that was playing, but, apparently, I failed.
"God, like, what the hell is up with you?"
"What?"
"You're acting so weird." When I turned back to Martha, her smile had vanished. "I thought you'd be happy for me."
"I am."
"Then why aren't you acting like it?" She was almost fuming, but, at first, I thought it was a joke. Martha was never mad, and when she was, it was never directed at me. She could get angry at teachers, and her lacrosse coach, and guys who failed to notice her obvious flirting, but with me, it was always just her being barely aggravated.
When I didn't answer right away, she just acted even more annoyed. "I finally lose my virginity –"
"What?"
"- and you can barely look me in the eye! What, do you think you're better than me or something?"
"What?"
"Is that all you can say? What?"
"How was I supposed to know you lost your virginity?" I bit back. "Why is that even relevant?"
"That's what I came to tell you." Her anger vanished, for the most part. She was back to smiling – hesitantly, but still – as quickly as she had stopped. "Jackson and I did it."
"Great."
"Great? That's all you can say?"
"What else am I supposed to say?" I was still avoiding eye contact. "Congratulations?"
"I dunno, like, maybe ask me about it?"
I exhaled, slowly. "Why would I do that?"
Martha recoiled slightly. "Because you're my best friend."
"That doesn't mean I want to know all the explicit details from your new sex life." I didn't even think before adding, "It doesn't mean I want to stand by and be ignored whenever you two are together."
"I don't ignore you," she said defensively.
"It's awful," I said quietly, my voice hitching on the last syllable.
"I don't ignore you!"
"Why are you like this?"
"I'm not like anything!" she snapped. She slammed the bowl of chips down on our coffee table, causing Puddle to sleepily raise her head from across the room. "All I want is for my best friend to show a little interest in my life, is that, like, too much to ask or something?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" Now, she stood up, standing above me with her arms crossed. "You don't know if that's too much for me to ask?"
"I don't know," I repeated lamely. I desperately tried to find a better answer, sputtering out, "I just –" before she cut me off.
"Tell me when you do know," she spat. For emphasis, she knocked the bowl over, sending chips in every direction. "I'm going to go spend time with someone who, like, actually cares about what I want. Jackson. My boyfriend."
She stared me down for a long moment, and I thought she was waiting for me to crack. But she finally just left, slamming the door behind her. Puddle hesitantly got up, sniffing around suspiciously and licking up the crumbs that had already managed to get ingrained in the carpet. When I saw her car pull out of the driveway, I started to pick the chips up off the floor.
Even though, in the middle of our sudden argument, I thought I was going to cry, now I just felt kind of flat, and kind of empty. As if to fill my new void, I pulled Puddle onto my lap.
"Honey?"
"Dad?"
He appeared in the doorway, his glasses perched on the top of his head. "You alright? I heard shouting. More like loud talking, really, but it was still set off the dad alarm."
Now, I could feel the tears start to sting. "Martha," I said, "she ... she just ...and I ..."
He frowned. "C'mere kiddo."
"I have to clean this up first."
"I'll take care of it, hon." He opened up his arms, and I got to my feet, walking over and pressing my face into his chest. When he sighed, I could feel his chest rise and fall against my cheek.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Okay?"
"Okay."
He ran one hand along my hair, then planted a kiss on my forehead. "I have a great idea. You're going to get into bed, and I'm going to bring you an inhumane amount of ice cream. And cookies. And leftover fudge. I'm going to spoil you rotten. And by rotten, I mean your teeth, when I'm done feeding you all the things the dentist hates. Sound good?"
I nodded slowly, and he steered me towards the stairs, watching until I disappeared into my bedroom.
My phone was charging on my desk, and for a second, I almost grabbed it. I wanted to text Rosa, because I knew she would understand, and I wanted to text Martha, because she definitely didn't.
And I wanted to text Wyatt, because, in his own quiet, serious way, he would be able to help.