“What are you getting?” I asked when Sunny parked mere feet from the front of the shop.
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Seems like a lot of ice.” He indicated the sizes with his chin. They had one size: extra large.
“Okay. Let’s share?”
He gaped at me as if sharing shave ice would send his soul into the ether to be pulverized.
Naturally, I ignored him. “What flavors? I like blue Hawaii, mango, cherry, blood orange, and lychee.”
“Hmm…” There went those forehead wrinkles while he contemplated sugary syrups as if decoding a secret.
“It tastes best with ice cream and a snowcap.”
“What the hell’s a snowcap? Ice on ice?”
“It’s sweetened condensed milk drizzled on top, tastes way better than it sounds. Trust me.”
He pressed his lips together.
“Just one bite?”
He sighed. “Whatever you’d like, I’ll try it.”
I beamed.
“Just…calm down. Don’t pass out.”
“I won’t pass out. You saved me.”
With that, I slipped out and ordered a scoop of ube ice cream buried beneath a dome of shave ice, drenched in three flavors of syrup with a snowcap and a shake of li hing mui on top for a little tartness.
Sunny was suddenly behind me, or maybe he’d always been there, and slipped his card out to pay before I could dig through my small purse.
“Saved me and paid for a shave ice? What a day.”
He grunted, “I’m beginning to think this was all a ruse, Master of Water Blisters.”
I nudged his shoulder with mine as another wave of chills started, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Go to the car and I’ll bring it.”
“Thanks.”
Within minutes, we were enjoying a giant colorful shave ice surrounded by the cool comfort of the car’s AC, and blessed by sidewalk awning shade. I was feeling 80 percent better and giddy.
Sunny took tentative bites, his lips puckering at the sweet and tart li hing mui.
“Dried plum powder,” I explained. “Get down to the ice cream. You’ll never be the same.”
I watched with great interest as Sunny shoveled through the layers of shave ice and syrup to hit a jackpot of purple ice cream. He examined it the way he examined pixels on a prototype. When he took that first bite, his face went from curious to alive.
“Good, right?”
“What is this masterpiece?” Sunny shoved aside the ice and dug out the ice cream. He could’ve just ordered a scoop of ice cream.
“It’s ube, bey-bey,” I said in a singsong voice, unable to help it, because in my head, I was singing to the tune of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” hookline that went, “Ooh, baby, baby.” But of course as, “Ube, bebebaby…”
I explained, “It’s purple yam from the Philippines. Used in a lot of desserts. Life-changing, right?”
“Damn, Bane. You’re passing on your addiction.”
I grinned. Because even ube couldn’t negate that stupid nickname he had for me.
Sixteen Sunny
Bane was giggling like a kid eating the rest of her melted shave ice. She offered the last drops to me, but I let her drink them. Her lips were plump and red from the icy treat, her tongue equally red when she stuck it out.
I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t particularly interested in getting back to the group or even to the villa.
“You ready to go?” Bane asked, licking her lips. I wondered if they tasted sweet, if they tasted like cherry syrup and ube ice cream. If her tongue was cold like the ice she’d just consumed.
I cleared my throat. “Whenever you’re ready. Do you want to go to the villa or…a hospital? Although they’d probably wonder why you had time to stop for shave ice.”
“No one wonders that.”
“Hmm. Tell me where to go.”
