Doubull Indemnity

8

Isla, Cowgirl

Sometimes all you need to feel better is dessert. A good sugar rush can really take you from feeling like a chewed-up Barbie doll in a daycare toy box to hey, you know what, things aren't half bad.

Anyway, I shoveled another bite of a giant chocolate chip cookie into my mouth.

In lieu of lobster and filet mignon, Billy and I split a mixed box of monstrously sized cookies from Insomnia. While I'm fairly certain the all-night cookie hub intended to market primarily to college kids cramming for exams, no Philadelphian has found themselves able to resist a 3:00am ice cream sandwich between two honking M&M stuffed ooey-gooey sugar cookies. Locations had sprung up all over the city in recent years. Meaning Billy and I didn't have to walk far in the frigid night air to nab them.

We paraded aimlessly amongst the skyscrapers and heavy traffic of Center City with our prize. Somehow we managed to mosey on over to Love Park while bickering over who got to eat the last snickerdoodle (Billy split it in half, in the end). Even in such blistery weather, the park was bumping. Well, duh, it was Valentine's Day. The park, though technically named John F. Kennedy Plaza, got its oh so clever colloquial nickname from the massive freaking statue of the word Love looming over the entrance.

Oh, yeah. You know the statue I'm talking about. There's, like, an ass-load of these supposedly romantic obelisks floating around the world. Four letters stacked atop one another. Thirteen feet high. Garish red. Tourists lined up from here to Delco to snap a photo under the dumb thing.

In fact, as we approached, a man fell to one knee beneath the statue, much to the surprise of his gasping girlfriend. Camera flashes bounced off the ring in its tiny box, the shine of it searing sparkles under my corneas.

I crammed a piece of double chocolate mint into my pie hole.

Billy—who'd been uncharacteristically quiet the last ten minutes—released a loud sigh from above me.

"Okay, so who's the guy you're using me as a rehash for this time?"

"The term is rebound, butthead, and I told you, it's not like that," I grumbled around cookie crumbs. "It's a work thing."

"Please, La, I know you better than that. I'm not pissed you and that twig vampire made out in the toilets or whatever," he shrugged. "Just kind of disappointed, you know?"

"Ew, what're you, my dad?"

"Oh, you don't think I got a right to be disappointed? I've been doped!"

"Duped," I eyed his bulging calf muscles, "unless you're about to confess you're not certified organic."

Billy ignored that remark.

"I'm in town one day and already my best girl drags me out of my much needed self-care night at the hotel spa just to play me right in front of my face? That's bold. And cold. Colder than this stupid weather," despite his lamenting, Billy;s smile never wavered, like he was getting a kick out of chiding me. "I laid myself at your Jimmy Chows, and you still pulled one of your classic moves."

"Choos—hold up, I dragged you? You texted me. To meet you. Like, a hundred times."

I pegged a handful of cookie crumbles at a nearby flock of pigeons. Who, naturally, lost their freaking little bird minds over this buffet of opportunity. A swarm of them flew right in front of the newly engaged couple's photographer; who promptly shot me a series of downright bitchy looks.

Before we could continue to snarl at each other like a pair of pitifully small dogs, Billy swooped in front of me, blocking the path with his bulk. When we were dating, I'd take advantage of the over a foot difference in our height and use Billy as my personal parasol on sunny days. He squared his shoulders. Muscles rippled under that silky suit like a pond after a stone dropped in it.