Author's Note: Just a little fic to keep my creativity fresh. The time period of this story is late spring/early summer, 1958.
Enjoy!
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Disclaimer: I do not own these beloved characters, and I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.
COLD RECEPTION
by InitialLuv
The couple walked hand-in-hand, ambling casually past the touristy store fronts and the sidewalk vendors. As both were accustomed to the noise and activity, it did little to distract them. Their attention was directed elsewhere: toward each other, and toward their young son. Almost four and with an abundance of activity, he scampered a few feet ahead of them, eager to reach their destination. When the boy arrived at the reason for the walk – an ice cream shop – he pushed with his full weight against the door, but was unable to make it budge. As his parents arrived behind him, he looked up with doleful blue eyes.
"Won't open. They closed?"
The father chuckled softly. "Pull, Markie. You gotta pull the door. Here, I'll help." He reached over the boy's curly head to grasp the door by the handle, pulling it open and gaining them entrance.
The boy's expression of despair dissolved. He ran into the shop and up to the counter, gleefully peering through the glass at the circular tubs of ice cream. Standing up on his tip-toes to get a better look, he pressed his nose against the glass. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly pulling him back. "Mark, that's not polite."
Undeterred by the admonition, the boy gazed up at his mother. "Whatcha gettin', Momma?" He swiveled his head and next peered at his father. "Daddy? What you gonna get?"
It was agreed that each would order a different flavor, so that they could all sample each other's selection. The father chose Neapolitan, the mother chose cherry, and the son chose Rocky Road.
As the shop was busy and the day mild, the small family left with their cones and continued on their walk. The son was now much more subdued, as he had a project to concentrate on. But no matter how hard he tried to keep up with his licking and munching, ice cream was soon melting down the sides of his cone and onto his hand. When he wiped his sticky hand on his shirt for the third time, the mother sighed and pulled her son over toward the store fronts. "Mark, give me that a minute." She took the cone from the boy and quickly licked off the melted parts of the ice cream, then wrapped a napkin around the base of the cone. The boy watched impatiently, dancing from one foot to the other, waiting for his mother to return the sweet snack.
"Should've gotten him a dish, Donna."
"Hush." The mother presented the cleaned-up cone back to her son. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to find a place to sit down," she admitted.
Unoccupied benches were at a premium, but one was eventually located that had enough room for the boy and his mother. The father stood nearby, and the three enjoyed their ice cream, occasionally tasting each other's choice. While they finished their treats, the family also watched the passers-by. The mother and father spoke and laughed in between licks, and the father rested his hip against the bench, draping an arm around the mother.
"Johnny! John! Hey, Raye!"
The father's body tensed; the mother felt his arm jerk slightly and then drop from her shoulders. She turned to look and saw an unfamiliar man approaching, waving and grinning. "Johnny Raye!" he called. He was looking directly at the father.
The mother shook her head in confusion. "Mickey? Who – "
The father interrupted. "I'll be right back." Abruptly moving away, he dropped the rest of his cone in a nearby trash can, then strode over to the man who was calling him by the wrong name. The father grabbed the stranger's arm and pulled him down the block a fair distance. The mother watched uneasily, her brow creasing.
"Momma? Your ice cream's meltin'."
The mother shook her head again, but this time with a smile. "Thank you, baby." She licked her cone rapidly, until most of the melted ice cream was consumed, yet never took her eyes off of the father and the stranger.
"Who's Daddy talkin' to?"
The mother turned. "I think maybe an old friend," she answered. But her smile now felt forced and her ice cream had become tasteless.
Several minutes later the father returned to the bench. Both mother and son had finished their ice cream; the son had actually eaten both his and the remainder of this mother's cone. "Should we get going, then?" the father asked, his words rushed together.
"Who was that, Mickey?"
The father shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he thought I was someone else." His smile was wide and charming, but his blue eyes darted around and refused to meet the mother's direct stare.
The mother stood, extending a hand to her son to pull him up as well. The three began strolling in the opposite direction, back to where their walk had originated. As they walked, the father reached around to take the mother's hand.
And the mother instantly shook off his grasp.
END