We shift our goal to obtaining ice cream.
Crossing heavy traffic, C and I dutifully make our way to J.P. Licks.
After intense deliberation, I order two scoops of dairy-free peanut butter lace covered by a shot of decaf expresso. C orders a sundae with hot fudge over bourbon praline fig ice cream.
Outside, we unmask as C sits and I stand six-feet away.
In the cup, the expresso swirls with the ice cream, the scoop peeking out like a mountain rising from an ocean. The mountain melts as they mingle.
Likewise, something within me thaws as we spoon the sweetness into our mouths. I once wrote, “Friendship is like ice cream by the water: joy and beauty at the same time.”
Now, after months of fasting, I know that friendship is better that ice cream, its gifts sweeter, its delight longer lasting, even than a sundae with bourbon praline fig ice cream with hot fudge running over it.