Nell greeted me earlier with a hug, which immediately warmed me to her. She’s wearing big silver hoops and purple overalls, and before I even had to ask, she informed me that yes, they did come in red.
“I actually love cacti because I’ve killed every houseplant I own,” Nell says. “Well, I’ve killed cacti, too, but it’s harder to do.”
My attention is pulled away by Maria, who sidles up next to me. “It’s so cool that we get to hang out with you. How does it feel to be NASA’s artist?”
“Can I tell you the truth? It’s slightly intimidating to be working on something on such a big scale, but I’m excited,” I admit.
“I can relate,” Maria says. “If you ever have questions, feel free to ask anytime.”
“I appreciate that. And in even more honesty,” I say, “it’s cooler that I get to spend time with you all.”
We fall into easy conversation about how Maria got started at NASA, the difficulty being away from her family in the Philippines, and how she regrets getting her pet hamster an exercise wheel that looks like a car because he’s been pulling all-nighters “driving” it. I tell her about how I’m on the hunt for a complicated knitting pattern and how much I miss walking to places. When she asks if I’ve been inspired by anything yet for an art piece, I keep up appearances and pretend that I am a capable and confident, creatively fulfilled artist.
Ahead of us, we hear Nell inform Jack that her favorite cacti so far were the golden barrels. Are they still talking about desert plants?
“They look like scoops of ice cream,” Nell says, and it activates a memory.
“Jack makes ice cream,” I blurt out, intruding on their discussion.
Jack and Nell glance back at us, both looking relieved by the interruption. This is what the walking tour is for, I figure. Interaction and a seamless flow of jumping in and out of conversations.
“So cool!” Maria contributes. “What flavors do you make?”
Jack looks at me, and his shoulders drop an inch, a small gesture hopefully confirming that this is safe discussion territory.
“I make a variety of ice cream flavors,” Jack says, looking between his team members. “Matcha, black sesame, chocolate. I make the cold kind you’re used to, but I also make freeze-dried ice cream.”
“Freeze-dried? What? How!” Brian asks, joining us.
Jack has caught the attention of the entire team, the people in front slowing down to hear him.
The realization that I don’t know these details pricks at me deeper than any of the surrounding cacti could. But how could I know things like that? We spent less than six hours together that night in New York. There’s an ache of sadness inside me, and I remind myself that there’s a year for me to get to know Jack. There’s still time.
Jack looks content as he talks about how the process works, complete with vacuum chambers and removing ice crystals. His team asks questions about temperatures and timing.
This is an opportunity for Jack to be inspiring on an emotional level, but instead the conversation is turning into Ice Cream Making 101. I’m about to say something when Brian beats me to it.
“That all sounds cool, but I think I’ll stick to eating the ice cream,” Brian says with a polite laugh. “Some things in life are better left mysteries.”
“Except the mysteries in space, of course,” I joke as the team laughs. “Jackson, what inspired you to start making ice cream?”
Jack looks surprised by my use of the name he uses at work. “My Gong Gong—my grandfather—taught me. We built our own freeze-drying machine,” he explains. “It was a lot more cost-effective.”
This gets the team’s attention again, and I nod to Jack to keep going.
“My Gong Gong worked in an ice cream shop. It’s how he met my grandmother, actually. They grew up in the same town but never knew each other. Turns out that they had worked at the same ice cream shop, him during the off-season, her during the summers. They had always been near each other in proximity, but it wasn’tuntil her mother came down with the flu that their paths finally crossed.”
“How?” Dusty asks, resting his clipboard against his chest. He’s as captivated by this story as the rest of us.
Jack smiles. “He was covering for someone at the shop when the phone rang. A girl asked to have two scoops of chocolate delivered for her sick mother. He dutifully did as she asked and added an extra scoop for her. He delivered it, and that was the first time he met my grandmother.”
It’s stories like these that make me emotional but also kind of freak me out. Jack’s Gong Gong wasn’t even supposed to be at the shop to receive his future wife’s call. If he had never covered for someone, he may never have met Jack’s grandma. And then Jack wouldn’t be here. It’s downright scary sometimes how close we are to alternate life paths without even knowing. It’s a story that reminds me how powerful the red thread can be. At Jack’s words, there’s a tingling sensation in my fingertips so slight I almost hardly feel it, but it disappears within seconds.
“He was at the right place at the right time,” Jack says.
He looks up at me when he says this last part, and I blurt out, “Timing is everything,” even when I know he’d explain it as a choice. He’d say his Gong Gong chose to cover for someone, chose to add the extra scoop of ice cream, chose to go above and beyond and make a home delivery. Still, it’s an inside joke, something no one else will ever know. New York City is a secret just for the two of us. It comforts me to have this invisible connection with him. We’ll always have that night.
“And where does the freeze-dried ice cream come in?” Toby asks.
