I wondered who bought ice cream.
The frigid freezer air wafted over my face as I grabbed the quart-sized container of pralines and cream. I glanced over at the microwave clock. The green 12:34AM glowed in the dark kitchen. I kept the lights off , ‘cause as far as anyone else is concerned, there’s no one in the kitchen trying to eat a tub of sugar and cream in the middle of the night.
Clack Clack Clack
My hand froze holding a spoon, halfway out of the silverware drawer. Did someone come home without me realizing? Mom and Dad said they were going to be out late, but I guess it’s already past midnight. Maybe they arrived and I never heard the door open?
Through the blackness I saw the gleaming eyes and the white outline of Mr. Cuddles. He waddled into the kitchen, his nails clacking along the tiled floors as he sniffed the air. Looks like I’m not the only one craving a midnight snack.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I whispered as I threw him a bacon-wrapped duck treat from the countertop.
I leaned against the marble island, facing the window that looked out into the driveway. I tore off the pink lid of the Baskin Robbins container. It was half empty. If I can just skim a little layer from the top, no one will even notice that I had some.I carefully scooped some of the ice cream with the edge of my spoon. Already salivating, I placed the small morsel in my mouth. I closed my eyes as it melted with perfection in my mouth. The smoky chill of the sweet vanilla brought out the salty gooeyness of the swirls of caramel to make a flawless concoction.
I continued this blissful exercise, skimming a total of maybe a quarter of an inch off the top. As I scraped up my last bite, the edge of my spoon got caught on something.
A praline. Damnit.
I haven’t had a praline yet. That’s what was missing; that sugary buttery nut is the one thing lacking from this experience. You can’t have pralines and cream without the pralines. So I dug it out from the vanilla and caramel mold it was trapped in and added it to my last dollop of sweetness.
I had been wrong. This was perfection. This whole time I was stealing slivers of bliss, I was missing out on the key component. The slightly syrupy crunch of the pralines tied the caramel and vanilla together for optimum flavor.
Crap. The delicious praline left a gaping hole in the surface of the ice cream. Dad’s not going to like that; he says it looks “dirty”. Always concerned with aesthetic appeal, he prefers it to be smooth and flawless. He’ll probably make me run six miles if he finds out I’ve been indulging myself. Well, I guess I can have a few more bites to even it out.
I continued to sculpt the surface of the ice cream, just trying to even it out. But I kept hitting pralines, which forced me to dig deeper into the container. It got to the point where I thought maybe it would be better just to finish everything so that I can get rid of the evidence.
Mr. Cuddles, who had been laying by my feet, sat up and I froze.
I heard the car turn into the driveway before I saw the headlights flood in through the kitchen window, the blinding light framing me like a spotted deer. I tossed the practically empty carton back into the freezer and threw the spoon into the dishwasher while the engine was still running.
I ran on my tip toes out of the kitchen and made a sharp right onto the stairs. I swallowed a moan as I tripped on the bottom step and stubbed my toe. Still moving my feet like a whisper, I took the stairs two at a time as I heard the car door lock. My parents softly chatted outside as the key scratched it’s way into the keyhole of the front door. I shut myself into my bedroom, careful to hold the doorknob to avoid the clickof the latch. I avoided the the top left corner of my bed, which often creaked,as I slid under the covers. I forced myself to slow my breath as I listened to them enter the parlour.
Then I remembered, I was supposed to get rid of the evidence. But the smoking gun was sitting in the freezer.
Hopefully no one else gets a hankering for ice cream in the middle of the night.
