Parmesan Ice Cream

Trigger warning : mental health and abuse references, but nothing graphic, only implied.

It was a Monday after school that she told me in a wistful sigh, “Parmesan ice cream. What I would do for parmesan ice cream.”

I looked to her, puzzled. We had been sitting together in the hot shade, I was reading a new book I had taken out from the library and she was there, on her phone. It was sweltering, and I don’t use that term lightly. The summer heat seemed to pout and stay put just where it was, like a child throwing a tantrum. I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a weird flavour. I didn’t know you liked ice cream, anyways.”

She shrugged.

“Have you ever found some here?” I inquired, curious at the significance of this random wish.

“No, just on vacation last year,” She said, wistful again. “I thought it was out of place, too, but I was wrong.”

I went back to reading when she didn’t add anything else. But as I watched her twist and twirl her hair in class, I couldn’t help but wonder how she might smile if I was able to find it.

As soon as I had the chance, I went down to the store. My cousin’s wife worked in a small bakery in town, and I figured she would be the right person to ask about desserts.

“Parmesan ice cream?” she said, with what I imagined my expression had been when I’d heard about it. “I don’t know… sounds local to me, maybe Italian?”

“My friend did say she had it on vacation,” I trailed off, feeling disappointment appear like a growing storm cloud.

“Hey, don’t worry,” My cousin’s wife must’ve seen my moroseness written on my traits. She leaned over to ruffle my hair, like she had done since I'd been a little kid. “You like this friend?”

The door opened with a ring, and she snatched her hand back. It was just a customer, but my cousin-in-law’s eyes had grown, they had deepened, I could read in their depths something out of the ordinary.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

It took long, tense seconds before she could answer. “Yes, fine. Sorry.” She shook her head, a window closing back up.

“Is my cousin coming soon?” I asked, trying to change the topic.

Her mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly. Her jaw clenched, as well as her hands on the pastry display top, knuckles whitening as her gaze remained fixed on the door.

Without much else she could share, I left her in the bakery, barely noticing her flinch as the door hit the little bell on my way out. What was she worried about, my cousin smiling as she came in and asking her about her day? She always had been conversation-averse, I reasoned, retreated and filled with spite. It was a wonder she and my loud, fun-loving cousin had been confined together for so long.

As fall fell upon us suddenly, cold winds forced all the school kids to don their coats and pants. She and I didn’t migrate inside quite yet, that is until the first snowflakes started raining down on our heads.

“I’m so cold,” she whispered, drowning in a too-big coat, eyes glued to her phone. I’d seen her talking to a group of girls at lunch, which had admittedly sent a small pang of jealousy through me as I’d sat at my table. As I wolfed down my cafeteria burger with the basketball team, I scrunched my nose while wondering why she’d join that group, when I could barely tell their heavily lip-glossed faces apart.

“We can go inside,” I said, lifting my shoulders. “I heard they were selling hot chocolate today, want some?”

She shook her head as we entered the school, keeping her coat tightly wrapped around her. “No, no, I’m not hungry.”

A pause.

“I’ve got to tell you, I’m moving.”

“What? When?” I replied, turning sharply to her.

“I just got the news,” She replied quietly. “This summer, right after school ends.”

Processing these facts, I reassured her. I told her how far that was, that she had more months. I also joked about her parmesan ice cream, a fact pulled from the back of my mind. “Now come on, you think I'll let you go without that?”

Tears in her eyes, she hugged me. Arms wrapped around her waist, feeling her pressed against me, I resolved not to forget that ice cream again.

“Hey, are you open?” I asked, a small woman behind the counter.

She smiled absently, and nodded. I asked about my flavour request, and the lady replied what I feared.

“I’m sorry about that. Would you like anything else? We have-”

“No, thanks, but do you know where I could find some?” It was spring, and I was rapidly running out of time.

“Take a look at the store right in front, they might have some.”

I glanced outside but couldn’t see anything.

“Sorry, I can’t help you.” She motioned to the morning sun. “I burn easily.”

Leaving the store, I fumed at that stupid excuse for a lazy woman to stay planted in her chair. She watched me leave with sullen eyes, but quickly faded from my mind as I rushed to class.

“Oh god,” she muttered, hiding her paper.

“What is it, let me see!” I prompted, flashing my seventy-eight percent to the class.

“No, it’s bad, like really bad.” She laid her head back on her desk, and all I got to see was her hair, which, with a bit of extra length, was looking rather thin and scraggly. She should definitely cut it.

“For the best in the class?” I replied with a little laugh. “I’m surprised. I think some other girl is over taking you.” I motioned with my head to a brown head of hair in the back. “I think she’s getting prom queen, too.”

The guys table had made some comments on how scant her dress may be, given her daily apparel choices.

She didn’t say anything, just kept her frame turned away from me, closing her eyes like she didn’t have the energy to reply.

“I found it!” Running up to her on our bench, I held out a rainbow-coloured cup of ice cream. It was a kind of creamy colour, partially melted from the now-hot-again sun. The plastic spoon stuck out, lopsided from my run. I sat down, thrusting it to her.

With the heat back, people had shedded their clothes, and I had to say that I found her a lot less pretty with a tank top on. She was all ridges and edges, none of those curves that some other girls liked to display.

She just shook her head.

“I can’t.”

“What?” I said, getting mad. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this stuff, been to every sad dump in town, to find this stuff. You don’t even want it? I mean, I was kind of expecting something.” Maybe a kiss, I wanted to say. But pressuring her probably wouldn’t make it happen.

“Jeez, forget it,” I said, throwing the ice cream in the trash can next to us.

I had also learned the other day that my cousin’s wife had gone to the police. She had a home and kids to take care of, and had never complained when they argued before, which was all the time!

She got up on lanky, shaky legs, eyes tearing, mouth trembling, stumbled, and crumbled into a million pieces right there.

“Worse of all, didn’t it come out of nowhere?” Everyone said.