About the work

The ice cream was left out after the boy, the older one, crept back in. He’d had a fight with his mother about friends, about going out late. The ice cream was part of a truce, a peace offering that had softened on the counter, then in the freezer again. Now it is melting again, a little bit, in the bowl on the floor. It is still the only thing she can think of to make the younger one smile. She wonders if her own mother ever thought the same thing.