A La Mode
June 7th, 2020
Starring: Mama, Dada (both 30-40)
Mama and Dada sit/stand on a blank stage. They wear party hats.
DADA
My daughter is a francophile. I don’t know how that developed, but it did.
She turns seven today. She seemed content with her normal dinner of fish sticks.
For dessert, she requested a creme brulee a la mode.
Vanilla only, sil vous plait.
We don’t cook. My wife took a half-day off in preparation.
MAMA
I spy on her through the rearview mirror on the drive home from school. I can tell all that’s on her mind is creme brulee a la mode. She doesn't know I’ve made them already and they’re cooling in the fridge. She doesn’t know it’s one of the greatest accomplishments I’ve ever done. She doesn't know how much I love her.
DADA
My wife and I’s anniversary is this week. I remembered because I was scrolling through my calendar, trying to schedule in a follow-up dentist appointment. I didn’t forget, I was reminded. We try not to make miles out of milestones. Unless you ask for creme brulee a la mode, I guess.
MAMA
I look at her while she naps. Thank god she’s a napper. I open the fridge to check on the brulees. They are perfect. I open the freezer. There’s no ice cream. I remember the all important a la mode. I am imperfect.
DADA
In my final meeting, my phone buzzes like an epileptic bumblebee. I thought someone was maimed or murdered. I learn of the lack of an a la mode, and promise to pick up a pint. I will be maimed or murdered if I don’t.
MAMA
I watch the neighbor’s toddler as he plays with his golden retriever in the backyard. He pets the dog’s nose and giggles. The dog is patient and wags his tail. If I filmed it, they would make it onto some instagram account that posts cute feel-good videos. I don’t know where his guardians are, but I assume they’re around. I tell myself I’m responsible for enough today.
DADA
My car’s stereo system is top of the line. Some European company. I shelled out for it because of how long I’m in the car every day. I listen to anything, and it’s like I’m really there. The sound envelops me. It calms me down. Good sound makes bad commutes worth commuting for.
MAMA
I stare at my phone clock. It’s later than I’d like it to be. Thankfully, the bday princess is plugged into the iPad, her mandated French subtitles following along the bottom. I estimate she’ll want her fish sticks after an episode or two.
DADA
My podcast pauses briefly, and I expect the call coming. I know I should be reminded. I need it. I should probably get over in the right lane. Whole Foods is in two exits.
MAMA
I interpret his text of “I’m good with whatever” as an excuse to prepare the bare minimum. That means frozen mixed veggies and reheated shrimp tacos. I’ve cooked enough for one day.
DADA
I’m startled by the name that flashes on the screen. An old business school acquaintance. I wonder what he wants. I think about sending it to voicemail, but I’m too intrigued to not pick up.
MAMA
I see the credits roll on her show. The next one queues up, right away. The next virtual adventure begins, and she doesn’t move a muscle. I think about how nice a vacation would be. A solo one. It’s time. I place the fishie sticks in the toaster oven. She likes them crispy.
DADA
My pal told me calling old friends is his way of passing time on commutes, as of late. We reminisce, a little. Through my speakers, his voice overpowers me. As he asks me how I’m doing, I realize I never changed lanes. Whole Foods is firmly in my rearview mirror.
MAMA
I squeeze ranch dressing onto her plate. The bday princess has asked for carrots with them. Her wish is my command. The fishies are in the toaster, staying crisp, locked and loaded. My stomach tells me I’m hungry, but I shoo it away.
We stall. We’re stalling. We’re stalling until the ice cream comes home.
And Daddy, of course.
DADA
My panic mode settles in when I gaze at the line of cars snaked in front of me on the exit ramp. I assume an accident. I expect a call from her, but I’m not getting one.
MAMA
I track him on my phone. His little icon shows him on the highway off ramp, not far away. I assume we’re home free. The fishie sticks slide onto the princess’ plate. She’s happy. I check on the brulees. They are still perfect.
DADA
My suspicions were right. Two cars, completely totaled. One’s on its side. I feel bad, for a second. Then I see the CVS on the corner, and I feel much much better.
MAMA
I want to track him again, but I don’t. I should trust him. And I can. For most things.
DADA
My watch reminds me I’m oh so very late as I slide open the pharmacy dairy fridge and glance down, down, down, down...boom. A singular pint of Haagen Dasz.
All isn’t wrong with the world.
MAMA
I hear the garage door open as she chomps her final carrot. I feel a flutter in my chest, and realize it’s joy. From the fridge, the brulees squeal.
DADA
My house smells fishy. I follow the stench to the source. My wife lovingly looks at the defrosting pint in my hands, in starved relief. My princess lovingly stares at me. I’m home. I’m here to provide.
MAMA
I stake wax shaped into the number 7 into her brulee, cutting a square sized chunk out of my masterpiece.
DADA
My girl’s eyes burn brighter than the candle as the little dish is placed in front of her.
MAMA
I turn on my camera flash, and a memory is made forever.
DADA
My girl grows up as she blows the candle out.
MAMA
I summon on the lights.
DADA
My hands unsheath the scooper.
MAMA
I know we’ve arrived.
DADA
My mission is complete.
MAMA
A la mode!
DADA
A la mode!
...
MAMA
A la...
DADA
My wife’s eyes widen.
My eyes drift to the label.
MAMA
Pistachio.
The pint is Pistachio.
…
…
DADA
Happy birthday.