Page 62 of Untouchable

"I thought maybe you'd like to see what it looked like where I grew up in Florida," Harp says. "It's not a home movie or anything, but there's this movie I really like—"

* * *

“Hell yeah,”Parker says—he can’t help cutting Harp off in his excitement to know anything and everything about Harp, and he’s glad Harp isn’t pissed at him for completely taking over the kitchen. “That sounds awesome.”

Parker is still drunk, but after drinking more water—at Harp’s request—and washing the dishes, he feels like he’s reached an even keel with it, where everything seems warm and fuzzy and nice. Watching a movie with Harp—something that reminds Harp of where he grew up—sounds perfect.

"I also thought, uh,” Harp continues. “Well, I know you're healthier than me and I already fed you something with 'dumpling' in the title so feel free to tell me to fuck off—but I have some ice cream if you'd like that? It's not really... they aren't normal flavors—you can look at them before you decide."

“I love ice cream,” Parker says. “Like, I don’t buy it a lot because…. every time I do, I end up eating it, like, all at once. No control. Have you ever been to Big Tony’s Shake Shack in town? It’s that one that doesn’t have indoor seating—Mindy and I went there one time in December when it was like, twenty degrees out because they had this amazing peppermint ice cream one year, and I’m pretty sure I almost got frostbite but it was so worth it.”

"Holy shit. I love peppermint ice cream,” Harp says with a smile. “There was a place in the student union on campus when I was in undergrad and I used to go every single day because they had peppermint year round. My friends thought I was disgusting," Harp says. "God, I guess I was disgusting. It's a vile flavor."

“No,” Parker says crossly. “It’s the best flavor. Well, except for mocha swirl. And also strawberry. And also anything that’s like, some kind of gross cheesecake kind. And also regular mint chip. And double chocolate fudge. Okay, so… maybe I just like all flavors. So show me what you got.”

* * *

"Jesus,if gross cheesecake is up your alley, kid, do I have the flavor for you."

Harp wishes suddenly that he had more than the partially-eaten quarts—not because they aren't fresh, but because the packaging isn't as smooth and perfect as it had been on the day that he'd poured them into the wax-lined cardboard cartons that he’d ordered especially for his ice cream endeavors.

He hefts them out, lamenting his ugly script on the top, the flavors scrawled in black marker. If he'd have known he would be sharing these with a friend, he would've been neater about the whole affair.

"So, there's matcha latte, which is heavy on the vanilla and matcha, light on the caffeine," Harp says, setting the first one out and opening the lid. There's more than half of each of the flavors left, which he can tell by the heft of them.

"Then there's a personal favorite—and I'm afraid I have to swear you to secrecy on this one before I actually reveal just how disgusting of a person I am." Harp says, laying his hand over the label and looking seriously at Parker.

“What, is it like, cotton candy or something weird?” Parker asks. Harp doesn’t respond, just stares at Parker seriously. Finally, Parker laughs and crosses his heart. “I promise I’ll take it to my grave.”

"Don't laugh. It's flavored like birthday cake and motherfucking rainbow ‘Funfetti’ and it has cannabis in it and it's called Stoner Unicorn," Harp blurts, continuing to stare Parker down with the most serious look he can muster.

Parker’s eyes go wide as Harp reveals his crowning glory, the vilest ice cream creation he’s ever concocted and by far his favorite. It’s a rich, creamy white, with brilliant slivers of color and ribbons of pastel cannabis-infused candy that’s the pink-purple of a sunset curling through the carton.

“Holy shit,” Parker said. “Where did you even get this? This is like, the prettiest ice cream I’ve ever seen.”

"Oh, I made this," Harp says. "Sorry, I forgot to say that part I guess. Can you imagine buying something in an anonymous carton with my scrawl on the top of it? Back alley ice cream."

“Whoa, you made this?” Parker asks. Harp just nods and Parker hesitates. “It, um… has… cannabis? Like… weed?”

"It does. I don't know if you do that or whatever. But yeah, there's weed in it. It magically doesn't taste like it though. Hence, unicorn, I guess."

Parker leans down to examine the ice cream, as though he’ll find chunks of drugs in it if he looks close enough.

“I’ve… never done… weed before,” Parker admits, looking between the carton and Harp’s face.

"Oh my God. That's precious, Parker. Do you wantto?"

Harp winces at how eager he sounds. What a creep. He takes a step back and puts his hands up.

"I mean, no peer pressure whatsoever. It'll probably just make you go right to sleep in two hours. And there's other ice cream—or other ways to have it?"

Youare a creep.

* * *

Parker chews on his lip.He’s more than a little intrigued—he’d only ever come across weed at loud, overcrowded parties, and it had never held much appeal. But this is different—the cabin is quiet and peaceful, and he feels safe with Harp, in a way he’d never felt with his other friends.

“Will it… make me anxious?” he asks.

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