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Tuesday afternoon, I make a new batch of Hong Kong milk tea ice cream. When I come out to the front, a familiar figure is walking toward the counter.
I smile. “Grandma!”
Lillian is behind her, looking a little bigger than the last time I saw her. “Hey, Chloe. It’s super cute in here.”
Grandma nods, then turns to Lillian. “Your little girl will love it.”
I hope I’m still in business when Lillian’s child is old enough to toddle across the floor and sit on the rocking unicorn. “You’re having a girl?”
“Yes!” Lillian says. “She’s giving me enormous cravings for ice cream.”
“You came to the right place. You can try samples of anything you like.” I gesture to the blackboard that lists the flavors.
“What’s taro?” Grandma asks.
“A root vegetable.” I point to the tubs. “It’s the purple one.”
“Purple! That doesn’t seem natural.”
“Would you like to try it?”
Grandma shakes her head, but Lillian says, “I’ll have a taste.”
I hand her a spoon with the “unnatural” purple ice cream.
“Hmm. It’s pretty good. You should try it, Grandma.”
“I’ll try the green tea instead.”
I hand a sample of green tea ice cream to my grandmother, bracing myself for her response to something that isn’t chocolate or butterscotch or vanilla.
To my surprise, her face lights up. “You wouldn’t think tea and ice cream would go well together, but they do. This is delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“I want to try something else. Maybe ginger? I’m skeptical, but if the green tea was good...”
Grandma tries the ginger, strawberry-lychee, Hong Kong milk tea, and Vietnamese coffee. I’d normally limit customers to two samples, but she’s my grandmother and we’re not busy. Plus, I like how she enjoys every single one, much to my surprise.
This isn’t just my grandmother being nice. She’s always honest when it comes to food.
“Durian,” she says. “That’s the spiky fruit, isn’t it?”
Everything has gone well so far, but I seriously doubt my grandmother, who makes deviled eggs, meatloaf, and lime Jell-O salad, will enjoy durian.
“It smells really, really bad,” I tell her. “Like natural gas.”
“But it tastes good?”
“Some people think so. It’s Valerie’s favorite thing in the world.”
“I must try it,” she says.
I hand her a sample.
“Oh, God. That smells vile.” Lillian turns away, and I’m afraid my pregnant cousin is going to be sick, but she recovers quickly.
Grandma sniffs and makes a face. “I can’t believe it’s a fruit.” She slides the spoon into her mouth, and her eyebrows pop up.
She must be disgusted by this weird Asian stuff. It was bound to happen eventually.
“Wow,” she says. “That’s amazing.”
I stare at her incredulously. “Really?”
“It’s your ice cream, Chloe. You must know it’s good.”
I can’t manage a response. My grandmother likes durian ice cream?
“Can I get three flavors in a medium cup?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“I’ll have the green tea, ginger, and durian.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit next to you,” Lillian says.
“You’ll manage.”
I suppress a laugh.
“I’ll have the taro, strawberry-lychee, and Hong Kong milk tea,” my cousin says as she hands me a twenty.
Valerie takes over at the counter while I sit with my family.
“Your father tells me you have a new man,” Grandma says in between bites of green tea ice cream.
“I do. His name is Drew.” Although I’m a little annoyed that everyone seems to know about this, I can’t help but smile when I say his name.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Lillian says. “You told me at Grandma’s party that you were too busy with the store to date.”
I shrug. “Sometimes things just happen.”
Like my grandmother discovering she enjoys durian ice cream.
She even buys a pint to take home.
* * *
That evening, I spend some time in the tiny office at the back, looking over the finances. Ginger Scoops isn’t doing terribly, but not as well as I’d like. People come in, they enjoy my ice cream, occasionally there are busy spells...but we’re getting into summer, and I’d hoped to be doing a little better by now.
I have Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter accounts for Ginger Scoops and post semi-regularly. We also have a website. We’ve had a few small-time food bloggers write about us, but we haven’t gotten big press.
This is a crucial time and I need to focus on making sure my business succeeds, yet I’m starting a new relationship. Is that really such a great idea?
I imagine flipping the sign on the door from “open” to “closed” for the very last time, and I press my fists to my eyes to prevent the tears from falling.
I have to make this work.
“Chloe?”
It’s Drew.
“Valerie let me in,” he explains.
I look at the time. It’s nine thirty.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Just looking over the books.” I shake my head. “Our sales numbers need to be higher. I assume you aren’t an expert in marketing?”
“Marketing.” He makes a face, and I can’t help but laugh. “You have a good product. You haven’t been open that long. It’ll work out.”
“Look at you, Mr. Optimistic.”
“Well, you do make a good product.”
“First of all,” I say, “you only tried it once, and that wasn’t exactly a raging success.”
“Everyone else loves it.”
“Second of all, lots of restaurants make good food and don’t survive. A good product is only part of it.”
“I believe in you.”
“Have you turned into Havarti Sparkles?” I joke.
However, he sounds like he truly means it, and I don’t think Drew is the sort to throw statements like that around carelessly.
He pulls me up from my chair and gives me a hug. “Come home with me. You’ve been here since eleven thirty, haven’t you?”
I nod.
“Did you eat dinner?”
“No.”
“You have to take care of yourself. You can’t think clearly on an empty stomach.”
We go to his place, and he lifts me onto a stool at the breakfast bar in his kitchen.
“How about a grilled cheese?” he says. “Cheddar is the only cheese I have. Is that okay? I’ll put some basil in it, too. That’s how I like it.”
“Sounds good.”
Drew slices several pieces of cheddar and places them on top of a piece of bread with basil leaves. Although it’s not very exciting to watch someone make a grilled cheese sandwich, I love looking at him as he moves around the room, his intense concentration, the bulge of his arm muscles.
I love that he’s taking care of me. It’s not something I’m used to anymore.
While the sandwich is cooking, he cuts up some carrot and celery sticks for me. This makes me melt more than anything, the fact that he’s making sure I get my veggies.
“Would you like your grilled cheese sliced in two?” he asks.
“Diagonally, please.”
“Not horizontally?”
“What are you, a monster?”
“Shh.” He puts a finger to his lips. “I don’t want word to get out.”
“That’s okay. I like you anyway.”
He smiles as he cuts my sandwich, then places the plate of grilled cheese and vegetables in front of me. “Eat up.”
Drew is a little surly on the outside, but he’s complete mush inside.
How did his ex not see that?
Afterward, he lets me raid his chocolate stash and massages my shoulders. We sit on the couch together, arms around each other.
I could stay here forever.
But that’s a dangerous thought. I can’t lose my focus; I can’t afford to jeopardize my business. I started Ginger Scoops in honor of my mother, and I have to prove to my father that I wasn’t crazy to give up my goal of being a dentist.
For tonight, though, I can let Drew be a distraction. I climb onto his lap and kiss him, really kiss him. His arms are around me, his hands slipping through my hair, and it feels so good. So right.
In fact, I’m hit with the overwhelming feeling that I belong.