I laughed at Dad’s corny joke, even though it was the third time I heard it already. His memory couldn’t have been worse. We passed the mosquito-ridden park full of laughing kids on our way to our neighborhood. Sitting on a bench was probably a six-year-old, eyeing my ice-cream cone with envy. I took a big lick out of it, right in her face. How pure and sweet vanilla tasted. The color of the dessert was just like the puffy, white clouds that bordered the sky today. The edge of the cone was just getting soggy when we turned onto the next block.

Dad was in the middle of telling me about his crazy experience at the DMV when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. I ran into the back of him, smearing some ice cream on my red shirt in the process.

“Hey, why’d you stop?” I asked, annoyed, as I tried to wipe my blouse with my sticky hands. When he didn’t say anything and continued to stare at the café on the next block, I followed his gaze.

After squinting for a few seconds, I realized it was Mom sitting in the window seat. What was she doing there? As I went up closer to the edge of the sidewalk, I realized she was all dressed up too: straightened hair, tight dress, and red lipstick. She was eating with her coworker that I remembered had a sharp nose and “newspaper hair,” which was black and white.

“Come back over here,” Dad told me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, usual smile turned down. He didn’t know why she was here either. I nervously took a bite of my ice cream, only to shudder as the harsh cold hurt my sensitive teeth. We watched as Mom and the colleague were engaged in some animated conversation. I couldn’t recall her ever laughing so hard at anyone.

I was about to suggest that we go over to figure out what was going on when they began to wrap up their stuff and stand. I didn’t realize that I was gripping my cone so hard, as the flakes of wafer cracked in my hand. I tried to reassure myself that it wasn’t what I thought it was. We were all joking at breakfast just this morning, like a happy, picture-perfect family. There was no way that could happen. Dad kept a serious face as they both stepped out of the café.

They shared a few more words and seemingly uncontrollable smiles. Okay, that should be it, I thought anxiously. The vanilla was just melting, dripping onto my hands, as the coworker gave Mom a hug. It had to just be friendly.

But then, as if in slow motion, she kissed him. Right on her lips, where my Dad’s face should’ve been. Dad was speechless with horror. No way. I can’t be seeing this, I thought. The honking cars and shrieks of happy kids sounded warped and disorienting. Joggers and dog-walkers seemed to freeze in place from my shock. But the two didn’t look like they had any intention of stopping. She looked so passionate, without a thought of her loyal husband and loving kid. I couldn’t watch as Mom’s lipstick got all over this man’s face. Before I realized what I was doing, I impulsively ran across the street and shouted.

“Mom?” She whipped her head away from the man, green eyes wide at the sound of my voice.