We find the ice cream parlor with the long list of giant ice cream sundaes they can prepare. The menu is a mixture of flavors and toppings with endless possibilities.
I feel Olivia’s eyes on me as I study the choices. “Should we split one?” she asks.
It’s a smart question. A mature one. The sundaes are huge, with enough sugar in them to overload our stomachs. And they’re not cheap. She knows I’m paying—a gentleman does not make a lady pay for her own birthday ice cream, especially on a date, which to me, this definitely is.
“If that’s what you want,” I answer.
On the other hand, Olivia and I agreeing on the same flavor, never mind toppings, would be a miracle. I know I can devour one of these sundaes on my own, and with the way Olivia’s eyeing the pictures on the menu board, I don’t think she wants to share, either.
I’ll do whatever she says she wants, but I silently will her to demand her heart’s desire. To choose the thing that will make us both happiest, not the thing she thinks is the responsible option.
“Well…” she says slowly, watching my face as if for a clue of how to decide. I keep my expression purposely impassive. “You probably want some sort of fruit-flavored sundae, and Ineedchocolate.” She bites her lip, and inside my head, I urge her to say what she wants. “But let’s get one to share. It’s a lot of sugar.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods once, and I hide my disappointment behind a wide smile. “What flavor? Birthday girl’s choice.”
Olivia orders a sundae that’s a hodgepodge of unnecessary compromise—three scoops of various chocolate flavors and three scoops of fruit flavors, topped with peanut butter and hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles and cherries.
But why do either of us need to settle when we both want exactly the same thing in this situation? Why won’t she admit what she really wants?
In the back of my mind, a voice quietly asks,Why won’t you?
And yeah, I guess I could have said, “Hey, I don’t mind paying for two, and I really want my own.” We would each have gotten our own sundaes.
And I guess I could always say, “Olivia, I don’t want a temporary fling. I want a real relationship with you that lasts forever.”
But is it too much to ask that sheknowsthat’s what I want without me having to tell her, and that it’s what she wants, too, and she never leaves me because she loves me enough to stay forever?
Oblivious to my mental upheaval, Olivia keeps up a steady chatter on the drive from the creamery to the park with the carousel.
She’s having fun on the birthday outing I planned for her, and I’m glad, but suddenly the expiration date for this summer fling is looming heavy on my heart.
Despite the reckless optimism that led me to go along with Olivia’s plan at the beginning of the summer, I don’t feel much closer to convincing her to make this a real relationship. I’m running out of time.
We have today, then tomorrow morning, and then kids arrive for the final week of camp. By Friday night, the summer will be over, other than the final cleanup Linda will have us help with next Saturday.
Do I think Olivia loves me? I do. I really do.
But something is still stopping her from opening up to me fully. And I don’t know what it is.
I could ask her. Tell her I love her and let the chips fall where they may. But I’m afraid I won’t like where those chips end up.
Olivia’s voice filters back into my consciousness as I pull into the parking lot at our next destination.
“I’ll have to take you to this milkshake place in North Austin for your birthday in September. They have milkshakes with entire cupcakes or slices of cheesecake on top.”
I put the Jeep in park and swing my whole head to stare at her, slack-jawed. “What did you say?”
My birthday is two months away. Definitely beyond the expiration date she insisted on.
When she realizes she implied a future for us together beyond the summer, her face turns red. But she doesn’t take it back.
My heart pounds as I wonder about the implications of her slipup. I play it cool, forcing a smile and holding eye contact. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Olivia’s words are the encouragement I need to get out of my head and enjoy the day with her. Maybe this is progress, after all.
Still, it’s on the tip of my tongue all afternoon. As we sit side by side in the gondola chair on the carousel, my arm around her shoulders and her body tucked tightly against mine. As I spread the picnic blanket in a shady spot in the grass. As we lie holding hands looking at the clouds. As I kiss her good night outside her cabin later that night back at camp.
