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Ahoy! is, amazingly, one of the tourist shops that stays open in the winter.
They’ve got all kinds of great winter flavors, too—peppermint bark, gingerbread cookie. I go with old faithful, butterscotch in a waffle cone, but Otto gets a kids’ scoop of gingerbread in a cup. Diego gets cookies and cream. The three of us go outside, and I clear the dusting of snow off one of the picnic benches so we can sit down without sticking to it.
Funny to think that, over a decade ago, I shared this bench with Kenzi. Now, I’m eating ice cream across from her son.
He’s a shy kid, and his eyes avoid me as he stabs at his cup.
“What do you do for fun?” I ask, trying to break the ice. I don’t know why, but I have this unconscionable need to get Kenzi’s kid to like me.
He shrugs.
“C’mon. I know you’ve got something you like to do. Do you play sports? Basketball?”
“I love basketball!” Diego says.
“I can’t play basketball,” Otto says. “My helmet gets in the way.”
“Right—how about drawing? Do you draw?”
“I can’t draw.”
I point my spoon at him. “I’m hearing a lot of can’ts from you. What’s that about?”
He shrugs again. Pokes at his ice cream.
“You can put a pencil on paper, right?”
“I guess.”
“Then you can draw. That’s all there is to it. Look—my dad used to tell me, the only thing that separates winners from losers is that winners never quit. You can’t let anything stop you from doing what you want to do.”
He stares at me for a long time. “Do you think so?”
I wag my spoon at him. “I know so. You have to write your own path, you know? No one can do that but you.”
He seems to think about that for a moment. There’s a change in his expression, like he’s really taking my words to heart. Then he puts his spoon and cup down. “I have to use the bathroom.”
I point to the shop. “Inside, door on the right.”
Otto gets up, swings his backpack over his shoulders, and then heads inside.
I won’t lie—this kid thing? I wasn’t sure how it was going to work. But I’m actually enjoying it. Otto is a cool kid, and I’m feeling good about myself, like maybe I made a small but important difference in this kid’s attitude.
It feels really good to help him out.
Diego launches into a conversation—and, damn, the kid can talk—and I listen and nod for a bit as I dive back into my ice cream, freezing my tongue.
My phone buzzes. It’s Kenzi:
[text: Kenzi] How’s Otto?
I text her back a picture of the ice cream cones.
[text: Me] Chilling.
She sends a thumbs-up emoji.
I finish off my cone and then toss it. Diego finishes an overlong description of the Transformers movie.
