5

I set the empty, soggy ice cream carton in the kitchen sink and reached into the fridge for a bottle of Fiji water. “Not as good as the ice cream Dad and I had on my birthday every year.”

“Really? What kind was that?” Aixa asked as she clicked the remote to the Food Network channel.

“There was this stand on the corner.” I plopped back in the chair and took a swig of water. “Since my birthday’s in August, it was always open. Dad and I would walk up while Mom was making my birthday dinner. That was the fun of it when I was a kid. Even though it would spoil my appetite, it was my birthday, and I was queen for the day. I always got the same thing every year - a peanut butter banana split. Always a cherry on top.”

“You’re making me hungry. I’ll call for pizza.” Aixa pulled out her cell phone and looked through her contacts for Domino’s.

But there was no stopping me now. I was in full swing Memory-Lane mode. “When we got back we could smell Mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese wafting through the windows.”

“Can I get a large sausage, peppers, and extra cheese pizza delivered?” Aixa motioned me to hold that thought. She gave our address and after hanging up said, “Macaroni and cheese? I l-o-v-e that. What else did she make?”

“Asparagus. With browned butter. I usually had to wait an hour or two before I had room for the cake.”

“Cake?”

“And more ice cream. You wanna come with me next month? The stand’s gone, but we make due with Haagen Dazs in the freezer. They’d love to have you.”

“Sure. I’d love to meet your parents. I guess that means I have to bring a gift.”

I lobbed another pillow in her direction.”You better!”

Aixa returned it, right in my face. I jumped up and began pelting her with stuffed animals. This was war.

4

Or not.

I’m propped up in my one extravagance in life—a plush La-Z-Boy—flipping through the channels. Only there’s not a thing on. I hate that about tv. Every time I’ve ever loved a show it’s been canceled after one season, or worse, during a season, and I’m left hanging with character’s lives on the precipice. Sometimes literally. I’ve even stayed awake at night plotting out what I would’ve had happen in their lives just to keep myself from going crazy.

I throw the remote on the sofa and lay there sprawled in my La-Z-Boy like a dying fish. Okay, this isn’t a tv show. This is my life. I feel like I’m on a precipice and my show’s about to be canceled. There has to be more than this. Sometimes I feel so empty it’s pathetic.

That’s when I hear the key in the lock, and the apartment door swings open. Aixa walks in, her cheery face a sight for my sore eyes.

“Uh-oh,” Aixa says, dropping her purse (a handmade number she’s hoping to sell to some of the local boutiques) on the sofa beside the remote.

“What?” I say, still not moving from my dying fish position.

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The one on your face right now.”

I make a move to sit up, then flop backwards again. “Do we have any ice cream?”

“And you’re about to drown your sorrow in Cherry Garcia. What happened?”

I roll my eyes.

Aixa sits down beside me, patting my arm. “Come on, girl. Spill the beans.”

"You really want to know?"

"That's what friends are for."

I tell her the whole story of my crappy day. When I'm finished, she cracks a smile. Then she starts laughing. I mean a full out, belly laugh that soon has me smiling too, despite my best efforts to stay somber.

"Some friend you are." I throw a pillow at her.

Aixa catches it, looking me right in the eye. "There are two pints of Cherry Garcia in there."