“I don’t know if I can do this,” Wren said. “It’s almost twice as much as a quart from the store. This is insane.”
“You talked a big game before.”
“That was hypothetical; this is real life! What if I embarrass myself in front of these legends?”
She glanced up at the wall, at the Polaroids of the conquerors who’d come before. They were all the same. Rotund, mustachioed men who were built for this kind of thing. And then there was Wren, whose eyes were almost certainly too big for her stomach.
“Did it say on the menu how many calories are in it?” she asked.
“You really don’t want to know.”
“Oh boy. Yeah, I don’t know about this. I know I said I wanted to do it, but now that we’re here, I think I’m changing my mind. This is not going to feel good.” She was getting legitimately panicky, sweaty even, though she hadn’t had a single bite.
Arthur grabbed her hand. “You can absolutely do this.”
“But I’m scared.”
“It all starts with just one bite. Anyone can take one bite. Look, I’ll be right here the whole way to talk you through it. How’s that?”
She took a deep breath and nodded, then picked up the spoon and dug in. Just one bite. But soon a grimace spread over her face.
“Ah, brain freeze.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “That’s normal.”
“It hurts, Arthur!”
“Shh,” he said. “You’re doing great.”
“I need something for the pain,” she cried, massaging her temple with her free hand.
“It’s too late for that. Stick with it; the pain will pass. It’s almost over.”
“OK,” she breathed. “I think it’s passing.”
“Can you try taking one more bite?”
“I think I can try.”
She dug the spoon back into the gooey mound, chocolate and sprinkles all running together, nearly spilling over the side of the bowl. She forced a few bites down, making the same faces she used to make when Arthur planned salad for dinner.She was hitting her stride, though. Had to have eaten four or five scoops by now.
“I’m so proud of you—you’re doing it,” he said.
“I am doing it,” she said, mouth full of at least half a scoop. “I’m the man.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
A sprinkle flew out and landed on Arthur’s cheek. He hoped she wouldn’t be disqualified for that. Chocolate coated Wren’s face. Drips and drizzles of melted ice cream collected on her shirt. The whole thing was pretty disgusting to watch, but in a way, she’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Wren powered through, one bite, then the next and the next. The clock made its threatening ticks, but Wren was picking up speed.
“Oh my God, you’re almost there!” Arthur cried. “I can see it! I can see the head!”
She paused mid-swallow and looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.
“There.” He pointed. She looked and, indeed, there was a cartoon cow’s head on the very bottom of the bowl, buried under the gooey dessert. And she was excavating it, revealing the full illustration one spoonful at a time.
