Chapter 13
Damien
‘When Angels Fly Away’ - Cold
About twenty minutes later, I pull up to what looks like an old diner.
I’m a little confused at first, but Google says it’s a small, privately-owned ice cream parlor.
The few reviews it has had amazing things to say, and apparently it’s all homemade.
I may not be a connoisseur of ice cream, but the people online made it seem like they were, and it still got a lot of hype. So, why not?
The building has large windows that give you a clear view inside, and the trim just above and below have a bright teal paint that goes well with the rest of the cream-colored building.
I can see the vibrant interior from out here, but I suppose it goes well with the theme.
It immediately feels like something a kid would be excited to see from the outside, like looking into a toy store or the panda exhibit at the zoo.
As I step inside, notes of sugar, chocolate, and a hint of fruit assault my nose, but the childlike environment quickly drowns it out.
With the atmosphere of this parlor, I can’t imagine why it’s so slow this evening.
It keeps the fifties diner aesthetic inside with the metal tables and chairs, but they look surprisingly plush, comfortable, and well maintained.
While the walls are mint green and salmon pink, the ceiling is constructed to look like a waffle with its square pattern and beige color.
The floors are black and white checkered tiles that match the top border of the walls, and as tacky as it should be, there’s something strangely warm about the space.
“Well, hello there, Mister Tall and Devilishly Handsome. What can I do for you?” A woman behind the counter grabs my attention.
She’s probably about mid-to-late-forties, has a friendly chipmunk smile, and hair that is too large, even for the eighties.
The pink plaid top she’s wearing underneath her turquoise apron matches the theme of the parlor, and even though her personality is beaming, it doesn’t quite make up for her obviously-short height.
She couldn’t be five feet tall, but the hair makes her look at least five-foot-three—pretty much the same height as Ashia.
I can’t help but smirk at her playful tone, though.
“Good afternoon. I need to get a couple of to-go containers please,” I say with a smile, and I watch as she raises her chin, like she’s playfully sizing me up.
“A burly man like you doesn’t seem to eat much ice cream. Is there a special occasion?” She wiggles an eyebrow and pulls two containers from underneath the counter. I just chuckle softly. Her thick southern accent reminds me of Nana in a way, and I suppose I already have a soft spot for the lady.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well, are you going to hold out on a sweet old lady like me?” She puts her gloved hands on her hips and juts her chin forward to gesture me on. I chuckle again, finding her movements wholesome.
“My wife was supposed to get ice cream with her friend tonight, but she had to cancel, and my wife seemed pretty down about it. So, I just wanted to grab her some.”
“Does she have a favorite flavor?”
I look over the glass cases to go over the choices and think of what she’s been wanting recently.
Fruit is always a go-to for her, but unfortunately the corresponding fruit in the app this week is avocado—which I’m pretty sure is actually a vegetable—and I feel like if I brought home some ice cream with that in it, especially after how that mission went south, she’d either laugh or cry. Maybe both.
“Do you not know what your wife likes?” she remarks in a teasing way, and I look up in just enough time to catch her snarky grin.
“Her favorite flavor is cotton candy, but she’s sixteen weeks pregnant.
So, I’m just trying to plan—” I’m suddenly cut off by a loud squeal, and the sound actually makes me flinch.
The woman, Diane by her name tag, flicks her hands out repeatedly and practically runs in place, showing her obvious excitement.
“Oh my goodness, you’re having a baby?!” she yells, almost going up to an entirely new octave. I chuckle and nod, even though I’m a little intimidated by this amount of enthusiasm.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Oh, that’s the best thing in the world! I had six children myself. How is she?”
My mouth lifts into a genuine grin.
“She’s…amazing. Perfect. She has this adorable little bump, and I know people say this all the time, but she truly is glowing.
I mean, she lights up any room she’s in just by being near it.
This heat is practically killing her, but damn, she’s taking each heat wave with grace.
I hate it when she gets too hot, but the way her cheeks flush is just the cutest thing.
” I can’t help but smile a little more at the images from this morning.
“She does this thing, and I’m not even sure she knows she does it.
But lately, when she’s really deep in thought, she’ll lay her hand over that little belly and rub it.
I don’t know, I know that’s nothing to get excited about, but we’ve had a rough time lately, and—”
“Sweetheart?” Diane interrupts me, and I focus on her.
“Those are the best things to get excited over.” She sprouts her own grin, and I nod back lazily, feeling my chest swell.
I can’t help but get excited when I think of Ashia.
Everything she does is swoon-worthy, and nothing tastes sweeter than when I talk about her.
“Well, a woman that special deserves the treats she wants. Let’s get her at least three choices then, shall we?
You said cotton candy, what else? Something fruity?
Filled with chocolate maybe?” She reaches under the counter and grabs another container.
“Is that going to be enough?” I ask playfully, because I will buy this little parlor out if I need to, but Diane just seems happy to participate in picking out my wife’s craving.
“I think it’s a good start. If you get three completely different kinds, then you’ll have one no matter what kind of mood she’s in.
Besides, we’ll throw some toppings in there to spice it up for her.
I might even have some jalapenos in the back?
” She pokes out to the side with her thumb like she’s hitch-hiking, and I shake my head profoundly.
Ashia isn’t really a fan of peppers, and unless she specifically asks for them, I don’t want to subject her to them.
“That’s a sweet offer, but I think we’ll stick to the normal toppings for now,” I say as politely as I can. “She’s not normally a fan of chocolate, though.”
“Oh, sweet cheeks. She’ll like it the moment that baby tells her she does.”
I chuckle again, and my heart only grows with that thought.
“You’ve got a good point. Sure, we’ll try some chocolate mashup you’ve got.”
She bounces a little more excitedly and gets to scooping the ice cream while I decide on another one, apparently.
As we talk out the different choices, we hold a really nice conversation.
Different people give off different feelings, and this woman is definitely warm.
Comforting. It’s clear that she has a good heart, and this is more than just a business for her.
As she fills the tub, she talks about how she stays open all year around just for moments like this.
Pregnant women are apparently her favorite customers, and most of the time, her most loyal.
So, that’s why she keeps all of the ‘out in the stars’ toppings in the back—as she puts it.
Like the jalapenos, Cheetos, and many others that I wouldn’t think to put on ice cream.
You name it? She has it. Pickles are apparently another one, and while I’ve heard of that, I secretly hope I don’t have to also indulge in that craving if Ashia ever has it.
There’s not a chance in hell that I would ever deny her, but that one would take some serious stomaching.
Diane continues with sweet sayings and even goes on to swear that ‘happiness starts in the womb.’ I take that more to heart than I probably should. Ashia has been through so much. I know she’s trying her best to stay calm and happy, but last night was proof of how much she’s hurting.
My entire life revolves around the happiness of two people—my wife and our baby.
I would do anything to ensure their bliss, but every time I try to take care of those I love, I fuck it up.
It started when I was young, and while I know I shouldn’t blame myself for it, I can’t help it.
Even as it pains me, and I try to think of our little miracle, images of Emma pop into my head.
I think about how I shared my mother’s womb with my sister, and we were happy kids, I suppose.
Apart from my father’s training, I was able to be a normal child.
Emma and I always had fun, but somehow whenever I think of the good times, the pain of her being gone resurfaces.
For months after her death, life was so empty.
I never thought I was going to smile or laugh again.
The sky was never as bright, and the temperature outside didn’t seem as drastic anymore.
I never thought I would make my mother happy again.
As much as she loves me, I know that her heart will forever be missing a piece.
A piece that should’ve been me.
“Did you pick a third flavor, sugar?” Diane’s voice pulls my thoughts away, and I blink repeatedly to wash the images clear before looking back at her. I say the first thing that pops into my head, because I can’t trust the thoughts that would come right after.
“The peach cobbler sounds good.”