“It’s an ice cream shop.”
“Exactly! The ice cream has to stay frozen, not the customers.”
“You seem tense. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
He was tense because he’d called Linda again and had to leave yet another voicemail. The uncertainty of what was happening, or not happening, was killing him. And he still didn’t know quite what to do.
“It’s not me who has to be up for it,” he said, regaining his composure. “It’s you.”
“What do you mean?”
He stood tall and signaled to the young clerk working behind the counter, a redhead in a Mad Cow visor. “We’ll take one Heifer, please.”
Wren audibly gasped. Customers at other tables turned and gawked.
“You have to order, sir. I’ll take you over here,” the worker said, motioning to a register.
“Right.” Arthur went red. He’d gotten a little carriedaway, imagined the moment to be much more cinematic. Instead, he dutifully whipped out his credit card, rewards card, and a coupon for two dollars off.
“I thought you said this was a waste of money,” Wren whispered excitedly as they approached the counter.
“It is.”
“I thought you said the only thing you get is a Polaroid and diarrhea.”
“Hey, it’s your butthole. Do what you want with it.”
“I wish you’d have told me. I could have prepared.”
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know, I’m just nervous!”
The employee rang him up but stopped short when Arthur tried to hand over the coupon.
“Oh, we don’t accept those anymore.”
“Why not? It’s still valid; the expiration date’s right here.”
“I don’t know. My manager said there was too much coupon fraud and we had to stop taking them.”
Arthur went red again, he, the perpetrator of said coupon fraud. But it was never intentional. It wasn’t his fault they kept showing up in the mail! He wanted to explain, but it would only complicate things. And that wasn’t why they were here, anyway.
“I get it. Just make sure I get my double Moo Points on this one, OK? I’m almost at a free milkshake.”
He handed over his credit and loyalty rewards cards. It hurt a little to watch the card go through the swiper with that outrageous amount on the screen. But it had to be done.
“And you’re paying full price,” Wren purred in his ear. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Daddy.”
“Gross. I will not.”
“Sounded cool in my head. Now, are you ready?”
“The rules are simple,” the redhead recited in a monotone, as if reading from a script with very little zest or enthusiasm. “The Heifer consists of thirteen scoops of vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, sprinkles, whipped cream, and one cherry. To win the challenge, you need to finish the entire bowl in under thirty minutes. Good luck, and Godspeed to your digestive system.”
The girl hurled a large spoon down on the table, sending it clattering around, and hit the start button on a very loud plastic timer—the kind a kid would use for chores or homework. It sat on the edge of the table and ticked and tocked. Wren stared at the behemoth bowl that had been placed in front of her. The size of a watermelon, at least, overflowing with chocolate and the very beginnings of melted vanilla. It loomed there like a bowling ball, daring her to try. Never before had rainbow sprinkles looked so menacing.
