Thankful for ice cream and inspired by a comment my mom once made to me over the phone, I share a rare foray into (very) short fiction. Happy Thanksgiving!
It was the first warm Tuesday in May, and Willa thought that a special occasion enough to buy herself a large vanilla ice cream from Spalding’s Dairy after work. She walked away from the counter and out onto the street cautiously, careful to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk, least she step on one and break her mother’s back. She sat down on a wooden park bench in the haphazard way that only Willa can sit, pulled out her phone, licked her cone, and then dialed Granny Gallant’s number.
“Willa!” the old lady exclaimed when she answered. “Faye just set me up with something called call display. Can you imagine? I knew it was you before I even answered.”
Willa stifled a giggle, licked her cone again, then launched into a description of the absolute mess Doris Daly’s daughter had left in the changeroom at work.
“Granny, she pulled thirty swimsuits off the rack, not a word of a lie,” Willa explained, stopping now and again to lick her cone. “I swear it took us-”
“Are you eating soft ice cream?” Granny Gallant asked, cutting her off.
“Umm, yes, how did you know? Willa replied.
“You just sounded so happy dear. I knew it couldn’t be anything but.”
