CHAPTER THREE
FINN
Today is the noisy grand opening of the garage across the street, and as the afternoon gets rolling, The Scoop remains empty of customers yet again, that little bell above the door silent.
There’s no way to sugarcoat this cone. This is a catastrophic disruption for my business, and word from the barbershop and tea house down the block confirms that they’re feeling the hit, too. But if the people aren’t coming to the ice cream, I decide, I’ll simply bring the ice cream to the people, and get a little snooping in while I’m out there.
“Let’s fill a sample tray,” I announce. “I’ll stir up some customers at the park.”
Kenneth sets his phone down. “Cool,” he says, and starts scooping into the little paper cups. “If you can’t sell the ice cream, might as well give it away.”
“That’s not quite how I meant it.”
“Are you going to wear the rollerblades?” Miranda asks, referencing the promotion I ran for our own grand opening.
“Everyone’s butt looks cute when they’re on rollerblades,” Kenneth adds.
“My butt is the last thing I’m worrying about right now.” They both look like they’re about to compliment my butt, soI wave my hand to cut them off before I turn to arrange the samples on the tray. “The rollerblading ice cream cone was a one-time deal. I’ll just walk up and down the street with samples of our flavors and some coupons. Simple!”
The drum of noise outside is steady. I’m surprised by the number of queer motorcyclists in this city. They’ve been parking up and down the block since before we opened, rumbling outside the ice cream shop, shouting over the motors to talk to each other.
“Want help carrying everything?” Kenneth asks.
I shake my head. “Please just tend the counter. Miranda, there should be enough wholesale orders to keep you busy in back.”
Those wholesale orders are going to keep the shop chugging along during this rough patch, although I’ll have to cancel my plan to invest in some new kitchen equipment next month, and if we don’t pull in some hefty sales this weekend, we’ll slip into the negative. At least with great employees to rely on, I can turn my attention to the problem at hand.
Hoisting the sample tray up by my shoulder, I walk into another busy summer afternoon. After a blustery winter in Buffalo, the city’s gay neighborhood, Allentown, has burst to life for our warm months. Down the main drag, I see life going on as usual, couples strolling and walking dogs, friends laughing near the bookstore. Our block, however, looks like there’s an outlaw convention in town.
A flashy purple motorcycle pulls up next to me, and I stumble a step backward from it as I steady the tray. When the rider takes her helmet off, though, I see that it’s Jade, an old friend. She shakes out her long hair before greeting me.
“Finn! I was just thinking to myself, with all the work overdue on my ride, I’m going to have extra excuses to stop by your shop. I’ll be by to grab a pint on my way home.”
I brighten at that comment. “Hopefully you and many others.” Although I can’t imagine biker spillover will make a dent in what we’re losing in foot traffic. “Sample our new flavor?” I ask, offering the tray. “Butter fudge sugar cookie. Today I’m trying it with a hint of extra cinnamon.”
“Butter,andfudge,andsugar,andcookie?” She grins as she leans forward and grabs a little cup, which she sample-spoons into her mouth immediately. Her face falls into a polite smile. “Nice,” she says.
Not quite the enthused reaction I was hoping for. It still needs something more.
I smile anyway. “So, here to check out the garage?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Probably not your ideal choice for a neighbor,” she acknowledges as a big bike rumbles outside. “But there hasn’t been a queer-friendly bike shop in town for years. Mia has an appointment for her bike tomorrow, and I’m bringing the backup in at the end of the week.”
“I’m so glad all the bikers are going to have a friendly shop,” I manage. “Tell your wife to stop by for a sample, too.” I lean forward. “By the way, what do you know about this place?” I ask, raising my voice under the sound of machinery. “I haven’t even met the owner yet.”
Jade gestures to a tall, lanky guy out front. “That’s Chase, the red-haired guy hunched over that bike. He’s only lived in town a couple months. Seems like a good guy, though. Honest, laid back. Want me to introduce you?”
“Right now?” I smooth the front of my pink T-shirt, wondering how they’d react if I sauntered over with my cute little ice cream samples and tried to object to their noise levels.
When I glance at the garage, another man comes out of the shop, a big, burly guy who stands with his back to us. He starts to rant about something to the owner, and Chase shouts right back at him as he throws his hands in the air.
I am not prepared for battle today.
“I’ll find a more opportune moment another time. Don’t let me keep you!”
I make my way around the shop, smiling toward the bikers as I lift my sample tray high. No one takes me up on the implicit offer, though, not until I’m all the way around the corner and away from the noise. By the park, I’m swarmed with both regular customers and tourists, in town for a summer weekend. I happily hand out samples and talk about The Scoop, chatting while the sun shines and birds flit through the air. Being out in the gayborhood lifts my spirits.
This is what I opened the shop for. Not just my love of sweet treats, but my love of community, friendship, and joy, all of which thrive here in Allentown. An ice cream shop is a place of happy memories and togetherness, and I want to nurture that, make more of it in the world. I grew up in a loving family, and when I decided to start a Gay-Straight Alliance at my high school, my parents supported me in making it a reality. It was all mostly a great experience for me, but many queer people aren’t blessed with wholesome memories of community belonging. They don’t have easy, welcoming spaces where they can simply be. I hope my shop can play a small role in righting that wrong. It’s why I love being a part of the gayborhood.
