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I grin at him. Ice cream wasn’t even on our radar for snacks when we watched television until I tried my hand at making a few flavors for the ice cream social the town had. I’m always capable of pivoting to fit myself into different slots in order to stay relevant. If there’s a niche I can fill that will bring in more business, then I’m willing to put in the extra work to do it.
Cash calls it hustling.
“I no longer have that ice cream in my freezer,” I tell him, scrunching my nose. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It was yours to eat.”
I roll my lips between my teeth before responding. “I didn’t exactly eat it.”
“I swear, Adalynn Rose Tate, if you threw that ice cream out because it was too tempting to eat, I swear I’ll—”
“I didn’t throw it out,” I assure him. “I put it in the freeze dryer.”
He blinks at me as if I’m speaking a different language.
I turn and grab the bag I set there earlier from the counter.
“I saw online that people were doing it with ice cream sandwiches, and since I didn’t have any of those, I figured I’d experiment.” I open the zipper on the top of the bag and hold it out to him. “I made the ice cream myself at home, so I can’t sell it at the bakery. Give it a try.”
He makes a disgusted look, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching into the bag to pull out one of the pink clumps.
He pops the thing in his mouth, and surprise lights his eyes up as he chews.
“That’s so weird,” he says when he’s done. “It tastes exactly the same, but the texture is completely different.”
I chuckle when he reaches into the bag for a second piece.
“It’s good, right?”
“Delicious.”
“So,” I say, knowing we need to finish the conversation we started this morning before he had to go to work. “I think I found a way not to go broke and still get pregnant.”
He coughs, choking on the strawberry ice cream.
“Do you need some water?”
He waves me off, covering his mouth with his other hand as he works to clear his throat.
“They can get a little dry,” I say. “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you.”
When he stops coughing, I hand over the bag and grab a soda from the fridge. I haven’t fully committed to the gettingpregnant thing, but I’ve done lots of research in order to help me make that decision. I know if I go through with it, there are certain lifestyle changes I’ll have to make in order to increase my chances as well as to make my body safer for the child I want to have.
Cash follows me out of the room and sits down beside me on the sofa.
“What show are we watching tonight?” he asks. “Another episode ofThe Walking Dead?”
I shake my head as I reach over to the side table and grab my tablet. “I want you to help me pick out a sperm donor.”
He blinks at me as if I’m talking in cursive and wasn’t taught how to write it in school.
“What?” he finally manages.
“I’ve done a little more research, and although IVF requires sperm too, I figured I could try IUI first. It’s literally a fraction of the cost.”
“IUI?” he says in a questioning tone, but he continues before I can explain. “Instead of having an inseminated egg implanted, you’re going to have sperm directly squirted into your uterus?”
“First of all,” I say, holding up my finger. “Don’t ever say squirted to me again. Secondly, how in the world do you know the difference between in vitro fertilization and intrauterine insemination?”
