ice cream (2)

“Ice cream?” her mother said, the word landing in the space between them with the same hesitancy as a truce. Ellie shrugged. “I guess.” It was not yes, but it was not no either. And right now, that was something.

They stood in line behind a couple with matching sunburns, the man arguing about which flavor was “more summery.” The ice cream stand had not changed at all. Same chipped paint. Same faded menu. Same old man behind the counter, moving slower than the summer air.

Ellie used to think he looked like Santa Claus during his beach vacation.