Page 112 of Lucky Shot
“That’s my niece’s favorite too. Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Cookies and cream.”
“Ooh. Good answer. I like that one too. My favorite is butter pecan.”
“My dad likes that one too.”
“Does he?”
Aidan nods. “And peach pie.”
“Really?”
“He tried to make it once.”
“Tried?”
“It looked weird and tasted awful. Even Grandpa wouldn’t touch it.”
Poor Nick.
“Pies can be tricky.”
As I start to clean up our mess, Aidan surprises me by jumping in to help. I load the dishwasher while he puts away everything else. When the timer goes off, we share a smile.
The smell of sugar, butter, and chocolate wafts out when I open the oven. Aidan hangs back, but peers down to watch as I pull the pan out.
“Woah. Those look like the ones at the store.” His eyes are wide with excitement.
“Hopefully they’ll taste better.” There’s nothing like homemade treats.
I smile over at him as I set the pan down to cool. “Now we wait for them to cool.”
“How long?” His eagerness has me feeling impatient too.
“Five minutes.”
He frowns, looking like a mini grumpy Nick.
“Want to play the song for me while we wait?” I ask.
“It’s probably still going to suck.”
“So what? We have to do things badly in order to do them great.”
He mulls that over for long enough that I’m prepared for him to say no, then trudges over to the couch. He picks up the guitar and then looks up at me with a resolved but hesitant expression. “Here goes nothing.”
I take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the kitchen counter and give him my undivided attention. For all the times he’s practiced here, I haven’t had the opportunity to unabashedly watch him. I knew he didn’t want that any more than I want someone peering over my shoulder while I write.
He takes his time getting situated, guitar resting on one leg, hands in place on the strings. His dark hair falls onto his forehead and into his eyes, and his mouth pulls into a line of concentration.
The first strum has goosebumps dotting my arms. Not because it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard but because I feel like I’m witnessing someone push through the suck. The greatest lesson I’ve learned with writing and in life is to keep going. I haven’t always taken my own advice, but I believe it with my whole chest. For a few people, maybe they’re great at something the first time they do it, but for the rest of us, it’s determination mixed with a healthy dose of optimism. It’s awful now but it won’t be if I just keep going.
When he hits a wrong chord, he looks up with a bashful grimace, but he doesn’t stop. The song moves slower than it should as he picks out each part, but I can see him getting more comfortable with each passing second.
The back of my eyes sting as I sit there and listen to him fumble his way through the entire song. When he’s finished, quiet rings out in the cabin for a beat. He stares down at his guitar like he’s lost in the moment of completion. My chest swells with pride.
As soon as he meets my gaze, I break out into a smile and start clapping. His shy grin appears and it eggs me on. I stand, jump up and down and cheer like I’m at a sold-out concert venue. Maybe someday I will be.
