The sun shone bright in the small southern California town’s blue sky. The fall wine festival was in full swing. A local band plucked their guitar strings and happy couples strolled by, holding wine glasses. Families walked together, enjoying their Sunday family time. Tourists came in and out of the gift shops, carrying bags in different colors and sizes.
***
A four-year-old sat in her stroller, under the shade of a tree. Her dad pulled off his cap and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. The girl’s six-year-old brother, a stern-looking boy, imitated their father.
“Are you guys ready for lunch?” the dad asked.
“I want ice cream!” yelled the girl.
An elderly woman walking by gave a startled jump.
“I want ice cream too,” whispered the boy.
“Sure, we’ll get it in a bit. But first, we need to eat something. Do you guys want a hamburger?”
“No,” said the girl, crossing her tiny arms over her chest.
“I want a hamburger.”
“You see, your brother wants one,” said the dad, smiling.
The girl frowned in defiance. “I want ice cream!” she screamed from the top of her lungs.
Passersby stared at the trio. A young woman in a tracksuit looked at the girl and wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something rotten.
The dad sighed and rubbed his forehead. He then saw a dog approaching and smiled. The white, fluffy body was attached to a pink leather leash. Its tiny legs trotted toward them. “Look, the doggie wants to say hi,” he said, stretching a hand to pet the dog, who sniffed his shoes before moving closer to the girl.
She twisted in her seat. “Ahhh.”
“It’s just a little doggie. Isn’t he cute?” the dad asked. But the girl turned away, making her blond curls bounce.
The animal licked the man’s hand while the boy petted the dog’s head, before being pulled away by its owner. The girl’s eyes followed the animal until it became a distant spot.
“I want the doggie,” she said.
“It was cute, right?”
“I want the doggie. I want the doggie. I want the doggie.”
“Stop, sissy!” said the boy, smacking his hands on his lap. “It’s gone.” The girl started crying.
The dad jumped up from his seat. “How about that hamburger, huh? Who wants a hamburger?”
“Me,” said the boy, jumping up from his seat too. The dad gave him two thumbs up. “You got it, buddy.” But the girl’s cries didn’t stop.
“I don’t want a hamburger,” she said, her red lips in a pout.
“But you love hamburgers,” pleaded the dad.
The girl cried even louder.
“Okay, okay,” he said, bending over to be at eye level with her. “What do you want?”
“I want Mommy back,” she whispered.
The dad paled, his hands holding his legs steady. He looked at his son, whose eyes were glued to the ground, and then looked around — at the couples walking by with their wine bottles, the Sunday families passing them by, at the world that keeps on turning. His eyes stopped on the sign across the street, a giant ice cream sundae with a cherry on top.
“Who wants ice cream?” he asked.
R.S. Nelson (she/her) is a Hispanic writer who lives in Southern California. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Spillwords, Afterimages, and Flash Fiction Magazine, among others. When she’s not juggling her many hats as a working mom, she is literally learning how to juggle.
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