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Jerry and Beth entered an ice cream parlor, followed by a ten year old Summer and a seven year old Morty. And of course, Rick.
There were very no other people in the shop, except for the two teenagers who stood behind the counter.
"Welcome,” they both greeted.
Morty was clutching Rick’s big fingers and upon seeing the pastel letters proclaiming ICE CREAM. He pulled Rick along and shoved his mom, dad, and sister aside.
"Hey!" Summer yelled, stomping on her foot hard.
Morty dropped Rick's calloused fingers and pressed his face and hands against the freezer window.
"Wow," Morty gasped. His eyes roamed over all the different flavors. Rick smiled to himself and leaned on the countertop as Jerry and Beth asked Summer what she wanted.
Morty had to stand on his toes and even then he could barely see. Summer was a few inches taller than him and she pointed to a flavor in the back.
"Strawberry?" The server asked.
Beth nodded. Jerry ordered next and she declined any ice cream.
"Two scoops," Summer bounced. The server handed her a sugar come stacked with two big globs of pink ice cream with real strawberry chunks littered throughout.
Rick scanned over the flavors and vaguely wondered if the mint julep ice cream contained any alcohol.
"Sir, would you like anything?" The female server asked.
Rick shook his head, "Just my grandson." He ruffled Morty's curly hair, "Go on, tell her what you want."
Morty desperately looked up at the lady, "C-Can I have the gre-green one."
"Mint chocolate chip? Sure," she smiled and opened the freezer, "Would you like a bowl or a cone."
"Co–" Morty replied, before Jerry answered above him.
"Uh-uh," Jerry said, "He gets a bowl."
"Morty's too messy for a cone," Beth added.
"It'll get all over the car, again," Jerry groaned.
Morty dropped his head down and the server obediently grabbed a bowl.
"How many scoops?"
"One," Jerry answered, before Morty could even speak. Rick silently watched the whole scene unfold, growing more and more aggravated at his regrettable son-in-law. Rick saw Morty's hands fall to his side.
"Jerry," Rick said.
"Yes, Rick?"
"Fuck off," Rick said. He turned to the girl who seemed awkward about the whole situation she was trapped in. "He'll have a cone of that mint chip and . ." He leaned down to Morty and pulled his chin up. His eyes were watery and Rick once again gained a reason to dislike his daughter's idiot.
"How many do you want? Three?"
Morty's eyes lit up and Rick took that as his answer. Morty watched the girl pile on huge scoop after huge scoop. He felt scared as he watched her smush the ice cream down, wondering where his huge scoops disappeared to.
"It's okay, Morty," Rick put a hand on Morty's shoulder, "It's science, Morty, you remember what I said about mass?"
Morty nodded, still visibly unsure of the case of the mysterious disappearing ice cream. "It's always the s-same even if v-v-volume isn't."
"Mm," Rick hummed. The server handed Rick the cone and gave her a five, "It's all the same amount of ice cream, it's just more dense. You get more ice cream per cubic inch this way. You can eat it easier, too." He handed Morty the ice cream. Morty took a his first big lick and smiled.
"Morty, Dad, are you ready?" Beth called.
Rick gently nudged Morty out the door and the whole familiar piled into the car. Beth driving, Jerry in the passenger seat. Morty sat in the back with Rick and Summer on either side of him.
"Dad!" Summer whined, lips and chin dyed pink, "Morty has more ice cream than me!"
"Morty, so help me if you get any ice cream on the car—"
"Shut the hell up, Jerry. You too, Summer." Rick grunted.
"Dad!" Beth yelled.
"What? Listen, Summer, nepotism—among many other–URGH–factors in the world—help get the good kids three scoops of ice cream when their meek, totalitarian Jerrys over step their boundaries."
"What's 'to-tal-i-tar-i-an'?" Summer asked.
"It means dad's Hitler," Morty piped up between licks.
"Dad!" Beth once again shrieked.
Rick ignored his daughter defending the idiot. He turned to Morty and tickled his ear, "Good job, Morty. And w-why did those fools split the atom?"
"Because the Nazi sc-scientists invaded N-Norway for their hea-heavy water," Morty smacked his lips, "an-an-and its instrumental in creating the atom bomb and we-we had to do it before they did."
"And that's why Morty gets more ice cream than me?" Summer asked.
"Sure," Rick said, "That and I have things seventy-eight times more powerful than the atomic bomb in my closet. What those bastards would have given to–EUGH–have me. Wait, what was I . . . Ne–Nevermind. Point is, you should let me homeschool Morty."
"Absolutely not!" Both Jerry and Beth answered.
"Look, S–S–Summer want to go to school. She wants to be popular or whatever. One kid goes to public school, the other one is educated at home by me. Morty doesn't even like school! You'd probably be doing him a lot of good. And in fifteen years, if you want, we can compare and see which kid has made your more money or more famous or fixed your crumbling marriage."
"Hey!" Jerry shouted. Beth only sighed and concentrated on driving.
"I–I–I don't want to be the best kid," Morty mumbled, munching on his cone. He looked up at Rick, green eyes shining, "I just want to spend time with Grandpa. Grandpa praises me. Mrs. Pederson just sticks me in the corner with that kid who drools during reading time."
"Let's not get carried away, M–EUGH–Morty. I only praise you when you're less than twenty-percent wrong—which isn't a lot."
Morty shrugged and ate the last bit of his ice cream cone. Summer had lost interest a long time again and had been staring out the window for the last few minutes. Jerry quietly and weakly fumed in his seat, since Beth has chided him into surrendering.
"Don't worry, Morty," Rick said, "Your dad may be dumb and force you into public school, but luckily your grandad is smarter than–than–I don't know, Morty, fucking everything. I'll undo that bullshit public school does to you."
"G-Gee, thanks Rick," Morty smiled.
"And I'll get you all the ice cream you want, and you can get it all over the space ship when I'm done building it."