Page 115 of Keeping Score

“Uhhhhhh,” she drawled, smiling up at his attentive expression. “I want some chocolate ice cream.”

“Chocolate ice cream?” He floated his doll over a few feet, as if pretending to fetch it. “You got it. That’ll be a zillion dollars.”

Lily erupted into a fit of giggles. I rolled my eyes.

“Your turn, Auntie Maggie.” Lily turned to me.

I didn’t feel particularly thrilled about interacting with Brody through the means of dolls, especially after I was still feeling the pang of rejection—not to mention the humiliation of the events the night before.

But before I opened my mouth to even try, Brody beat me to it.

“Oh, I know what Aunt Maggie wants.” Brown eyes taunted teasingly.

I huffed a scoff.

How dare he sit here playing dolls with me when less than twenty-four hours ago he was kissing another girl!

I knew I had no leg to stand on, considering I was the one who made a mess of our relationship, but still. It hurt. He knew it would hurt. And sitting here with him just exacerbated the guilt I had over the entire thing being my fault.

“Oh, I don’t think you do.” I said, trying to preserve whatever dignity I had left.

“You get the same thing every time.”

“Sometimes our preferences change.” I shook the doll in my hand, as if it were the one talking. “Like ice cream flavors. Or girls we want to kiss.”

“Ew.” Lily scrunched her nose.

“Well, my preferences don’t change.” He countered, still wiggling the doll in conversation. “I still like Rocky Road, like I always have. And I still like all the other things I always have.”

He shot me a look that felt too intimate for eight in the morning while we played with toys.

“You know what?” I said through the doll. “I think I’m going to go to a different establishment. Is there a pizza shop around here?”

“No, you gotta order the ice cream.” Lily groaned. “You didn’t pick out the toppings.”

“Just take your pistachio ice cream, Mags.” Brody made the doll push a minuscule plastic toy bowl across the rug. “Because I know you like the same things you’ve always liked, too. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“Yeah,” Lily chirped, “get the ’stacio.”

“If Uncle Brody wanted me to buy ice cream from him, he shouldn’t have been giving out free samples to other Barbies.” I sniffed.

“Uncle Brody,” Lily said, “can I—”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have let your ice cream melt while I was waiting for you to eat it.” He sat back, irritation growing in his voice.

Good. Arguing. I knew how to do that. It was safer than feeling hurt. Safer than feeling rejected or sad or alone.

“How was I supposed to know it was melting if you never told me?”

“Ice cream doesn’t last forever! It melts! It’s a delicacy!”

“Auntie Maggie,” I was vaguely aware of Lily tugging on my sleeve.

“Just a second, Lily.” I told her, never breaking eye contact with Brody.

“Why don’t you just admit that you don’t like Rocky Road anymore?” I asked. “That you want to venture out to new flavors?”

“Oh, come on!” he said. “You’re being stubborn and you know it. I have spent the last five years only eating Rocky Road and literally proposed to never eat any other ice cream flavor again.”