“Did you know we can’t stay in the same nursing home together?”
Christopher, 22, and his girlfriend Pammy, also 22, were having a discussion in the living room as I worked in the kitchen. I heard her say this, and paused to eavesdrop.
“It’s true,” she continued. “They don’t let you stay together even if you’re old and married, so I’m telling you now, you better treat me well because we might only have the next 50 years together. But don’t worry; I’ll visit you.” Oh, how I love this girl.
While the only marathon she will ever run will be through a shopping mall, she hauls both of my sons out to play catch most evenings. She bought her first baseball glove a few weeks back (“it’s so cute, it’s blue!”) and her tiny meals look as if they were prepared by a chef at a high-end spa. They’ve been together for 4 years, and every time I think she will soon tire of our lazy ways, she comes up with new ways for Christopher to live forever.
The favourite treat this summer has been frozen yogurt. There is a chain called Froyo, and about once a week they grab Ari, 19, and whoever else is around and make a yogurt run. This has apparently inspired Pammy’s entrepreneurial spirit.
“We’re going to go into business,” she tells me. She means her and Christopher. “That is an excellent way to break up,” I respond. I know these things. I’m divorced.
“No, we have an excellent idea. We are going to open a company called Fro- Yo to Go- Go. Get it? We’ll deliver it! We’ll drive around and sell it, so you don’t even have to leave your house!” I smile, because we’ve just finished discussing her plans to work on her Master’s degree next year, and it is definitely not a degree in frozen yogurt.
“I think that name’s been taken,” I note.
“No, we added the ‘go go’. It’s totally different.” They are laughing and I decide a discussion on patent law would be boring and wreck the moment. “We will get one of those ice cream truck things, and drive around and bring people their frozen yogurt. It will be awesome.”
“Wait. Do you know how much gas is? You’re going to have to sell 10 yogurts to each house on a street to make it worthwhile,” I tell them.
“No,” she tells me patiently. “We will go to rich people’s neighbourhoods and sell it to them for $20. It’ll totally work out.” She is giggling, and Ari comes in to see what’s going on.
“Fro- Yo to Go- Go, Ari,” she tells him. “You can get a truck too!” She is expanding already.
“Why I don’t just ride one of those bicycle cooler things?” Ari jokes. Pammy considers this, and she is not joking.
“No I think trucks will be better.”
I think about the past winter, and ask what they’ll do in the off season. Their words are still tumbling around the kitchen, three kids jousting with possibilities in a conversation that is swinging wildly from frozen treats that will last a season to relationships that might last a lifetime. I shut up and smile.
“And, the best part,” says Pammy with a glint in her eye, “is that there are tons of those ice cream trucks all over the place. We’ll have no problem buying them!”
“You know they’re all over because people gave up, right?” says Ari.
“But we won’t,” she says.
Never do, my sweet girl.