“Of course she did.”
“And the garlic press.”
“Strategic theft.”
“Left us the burned pot though.”
“How generous.”
Stella watched him attempt organization, then quietly started helping—filling the water pitcher, setting out plates. They moved around each other carefully, still learning the choreography of shared space without a buffer.
“Hey Tyler?”
“Mm?”
She was staring at the plates in her hands like they held answers. “Want to get ice cream? After dinner, I mean. When Meg goes home.”
Tyler’s hands stilled on the cutting board. “Ice cream?”
“Mint chocolate chip.” She set the plates down carefully, still not looking at him. “If you want.”
The question hung between them, weighted with sixteen years of tradition and rejection, of twice-yearly visits and growing distance, of a little girl who used to count down days and a teenager who’d stopped wanting to go.
“Yeah,” Tyler managed, voice rougher than intended. “I’d like that.”
“Cool.” She busied herself with napkins. “Just ice cream. Not a big thing.”
“Right. Just ice cream.”
But they both knew it was more than that. It was Stella choosing to resurrect their tradition, choosing to bridge the gap, choosing him in a way she hadn’t in years.
The afternoon passed in dinner preparation, Meg arrived with wine and stories about her first day in the office, and they ate like a family split between two houses but determined to stay connected. Normal and strange all at once.
After Meg hugged them goodbye and walked her three doors home, Stella grabbed Tyler’s keys from the hook.
“Ready?”
“You want to drive?”
“I parallel parked successfully today. I’m basically a driving expert now.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Tyler.” She jingled the keys. “Ice cream.”
He followed her out.
“Still mint chocolate chip?” Stella asked at the counter, though she already knew.
“What else?”
She ordered for both of them, and Tyler tried not to read too much into the fact that she remembered he liked a sugar cone, or that she still got a cup because cones were “structurally unsound food delivery systems.”
They sat on the bench outside, both with mint chocolate chip, like the last few years hadn't happened. Like they'd never stopped.
“Thanks,” she said eventually. “For the lesson today. And for not freaking out when I almost hit that jogger.”
“He had good reflexes.”
