You Say Yes Sometimes

The car seat was still hot from sitting in the sun, and Bill was driving home after picking up his daughter Marie from school. Doug, his youngest, a three-year old blubber-er who’s eyes still don’t quite focus on anything yet was also strapped into the car seat in the back.

“Dad? Can we get ice cream?” Marie asked.

“What? Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you ask your mother?”

“Because mummy always says no when we ask her, and you say yes sometimes.”

“So you’re saying that you think I’m the fun one?”

“When you say yes.”

“Fine. We’ll get ice cream.”

Bill turned off the main road and parked in front of Josh & John’s Ice Cream. Walking around, Bill undid Doug’s seatbelt and picked him up. Marie held his hand as they walked in the store.

The front door had one of those bells that ring when you open it. There was a high-school looking girl at the counter. It was empty. Marie went up to the counter and asked for “chocolate-chip cookie dough with extra sprinkles please” while Bill held out the different ice creams to Doug until his eyes seemed to focus on one, usually the brightest color—today was the turquoise, cotton candy one.

Bill paid for the ice creams, each coming in a little paper bowl and a plastic spoon.

“Excuse me, miss? Do you happen to have a metal spoon?”

“Uh. No. I’m sorry, we don’t.”

“Look, I’ve been here before and you do. Can you just let me borrow it? We’ll eat the ice creams in the parking lot. It’s just—well, it’s just that little pudgy Dougie here won’t eat anything if it’s not from a metal spoon. It’s one of those annoying fuc—uh, freaking things that kids sometimes do for no reason.” Doug drooled bubbly spit, confirming this. “It won’t take any time at all, okay? I’ll even wash it for you in the bathroom after we’re done.”

The employee agreed and gave Bill one of the metal spoons. Bill and his kids walked outside and sat on the curb, eating their ice cream. It looked like it might rain soon.

“Dad? Where do babies come from?”

Bill nearly choked on his spoon. Doug was happy licking the ice cream off his metallic one, turquoise dribble running down his chin.

“How old are you again?”

“Seven.”

“Eh. I guess that’s old enough. Okay, now this is a serious answer, okay? So, umm, listen carefully Marie. How should I put this?”

Bill took another scoop of ice cream and ate it, inverting the spoon as he pulled it out of his mouth, thinking hard, squinting at one idea and then the next. “I don’t actually know. But I know who does: so you’ll just have to ask your mother.”