Triple Scoop, by Sheila Squillante

He scoops my ice cream into a chipped yellow mug I bought at a thrift store before we met and fell in love. Three scoops dug out of the carton with a warped soup spoon and the same for him. He brings it to my bedroom, which has lately become his bedroom, too, though he has yet to leave behind the basement apartment he rents up the street.