There’s Always Room for Ice Cream Cake—
with those crunchy chocolate nibs between the layers, some things are so wonderful they stand the test of time
As Wilder drives, his fingers laced through mine, I’m surprised I still fit in my body, convinced I might actually burst from happiness, a feeling I haven’t had in this town in more than a decade. Things seem possible again in a way I can hardly explain. I’m still me, Wilder is still Wilder, and Haverberry is still Haverberry, but right now it all looks different. It’s lit up, or maybe I am. Perspective is a funny thing. To think the entire world shifts when our thinking does is its own type of magic.
We turn into the town square and an idea suddenly dawns on me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I tell Wilder to drive onto Periwinkle Lane. I tell him to stop half a block down in front of a peachy Victorian, and I get out with a too-big grin. Then I race up the walkway and knock before I can think of all the reasons this is crazy.
The door opens and Mr. Hamza stands on the other side, his beard much whiter than I remember. “Madeline?” he says with confusion written on his brow.
“I know I shouldn’t have just shown up here. I’m so sorry if I disturbed your evening. But I was hoping . . . just hoping that I might convince you to bring out your horse-drawn sleigh again, whenever it’s convenient? Tomorrow, the next day—I’ll take anything I can get. And I’ll pay you anything you want. Bake you a thousand pies. See, the thing is, my dad proposed to my mother in a horse-drawn sleigh and—” I pause, trying to keep my emotion from overflowing. “We missed your ride this year. I just know it would mean the world to my mother if we got to do it.”
Mr. Hamza smiles at me, reaches out, and gently pats me on the head like I was still twelve, a gesture I find oddly comforting. “Yes, Madeline. I can do that. In fact, if it works for you, you all can meet me in town in an hour.”
“Really?” I say too loudly, half misty and half elated. “Thank you so much! You don’t know what this means.”
He gives me a small grandfatherly smile. “I’ve been giving your parents that ride for the past twenty years,” he says. “Your father was a good man.”
I nod at him, not trusting myself with words, and after a good deep breath, I say ten more thank yous, vowing to bring him a whole mess of pastries after the holidays.
Only when I return to Wilder’s car, instead of his guessing what I was doing, he stares at his phone with a frown.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I get in his passenger seat.
“Yeah, I mean I think so,” he replies, looking up from his screen. “It’s my mom.”
My good mood stutters. “Oh.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he says reassuringly, but recalibrates, shaking his head and sighing. “No, that’s not exactly it. The truth is she feels bad. Says she’d like an opportunity to apologize in person . . . to us both.”
My stomach jumps out of the plane with no parachute. I open my mouth, but he’s faster.
“Which is something I’d never ask you to do. I just didn’t want you to think I was keeping anything from you. The only way we work, the only way we’ve ever worked, is with total and complete honesty. I know I come with a trying family dynamic, and I never want you to feel uncomfortable or attacked the way you did last night at my parents’ house.” His declaration takes me by surprise, throws off my initial resistance.
For a long moment I consider it, thinking about my struggle with my mother and how much miscommunication we’ve had over the years. “No, I mean, yeah, I’d be open to it. I’m not promising we’ll be best friends, but I’ve learned the hard way that hearing people out is important.”
Only instead of replying, a smile slowly inches up his face and the look he gives me is one of absolute fascination.
“What?” I say, not sure what to make of his expression.
“You,” he says. “You’re just more than I’d ever hoped for.”
I laugh, a little thrilled by his admiration. “Well, before you praise me too much, fair warning that I come with baggage, too. And speaking of which . . . I think Jake might still be at my house.”
Wilder glances at me, turning back onto the street with a shrug. “The only thing I really care about is that Jake is good to you and Spence,” he says like he means it, and I let the conversation end there, no longer shying from the complications in my life, but taking them head-on.
Wilder parks his car in my driveway and we find Spence, my mom, and Jake in the living room.
Jake takes one look at Wilder and shifts uncomfortably. My mom, however, wears a self-satisfied smirk.
“I have a surprise,” I announce, which has Spence drop his controller and give me his full attention. “It’s in town in about forty-five minutes.”
Spence, of course, is over the moon. My mother lifts a questioning eyebrow, and Jake looks like he doesn’t know how to react.
“You’re welcome to join us, Jake,” I say, not because I think it’ll be comfortable, but because I don’t want to give the weirdness and the rivalry any more life. We all need to learn to coexist.
Jake hesitates, his eyes flicking to Wilder like he’s going to say yes just on principle. But something changes his mind; I don’t know if it’s Christmas cheer or a moment of maturity, but he sighs and says, “Thanks, but I think I’ll sit this one out. I was thinking I might take Spence out tomorrow, though, if that works for you, Maddi?”
Spence looks from his dad to me.
“Anytime, Jake. I hope you’ll come by often, now that Spence and I will be living here.”
Surprise ripples through the room. Spence jumps up with a “Whoohoo” and Jake grins. But it’s my mother who gets me. Her chest fills with air and the smile on her face is so genuine that my heart swells.
* * *
Soon enough, Wilder, Mom, Spence, and I are all bundled up, standing in front of the bakery, Spence bouncing for all he’s worth. The air has a delicious scent, like fresh pine and shaved ice, and even though it’s quite cold, it feels full of potential, like Santa himself might drop by for a chuckle and a cookie.
Many believe somewhere in their being that they can move a coin with their mind, if they just think hard enough or put the right energy behind it, that they will in fact realize their superpowers. But few ever think that way about a broken heart or mending grief. I never believed that if I leaned in, I could make things better. And I see now that isn’t true, that we always have the power to change, in small ways and momentous ones.
Mr. Hamza appears in the square just as he promised, his horses dappled gray and his sleigh lined with velvet. I turn to my mom.
Her breath catches and her hand presses over her heart, her eyes filling with tears. She doesn’t speak right away, not that she could be heard over Spence’s enthusiastic squeals. But the look of gratitude she gives me is everything I hoped for.
“Thank you, Madeline,” she says. “It’s not often someone gifts you a second chance.”
Every once in a while, there’s a moment that stands out. It doesn’t need to be big or shocking or even noticeable to anyone but you, but for reasons untold, that moment is captured in the amber of your heart. And this moment, here with my family, my hand snug in Wilder’s, feels like something I might remember for all my days. The unexpected warmth of it. Our collective second chance.