Max was right. It didn’t take us long to get to the park, and when he promised that Bryant Park’s Winter Village was the best in the City, he hadn’t lied. There were numerous glass kiosks selling food and gifts, a large Christmas tree, and even an ice rink. The air was cold and smelled of sugared almonds and roasted chestnuts.
“I want to take you to do something, but how about you try one of the best hot dogs in the world first?” Max asked.
“Lead the way.” I followed him as he stopped at a hot dog truck and got us one each and another coffee.
We took our food to a row of seats facing the ice rink and ate as we watched both adults and children doing their best at gliding gracefully on the ice. Some were better than others, and all were one hundred percent better than me, I was sure of that since I’d only attempted ice skating a handful of times and never successfully.
Ice rinks weren’t something we had in Portugal in abundance. Some shopping malls had a small rink around Christmas time, and everybody always tried their best, but I don’t remember seeing the same level of skill that I was observing in front of me. Besides, I was quite happy watching people and also very much attached to my limbs, thank you very much.
I looked around, and on a seat near us, a father helped his two kids get their skates on. The little one, who couldn’t have been older than five-years-old, looked at me and smiled. His excitement was almost contagious.
The dad noticed his son smiling and looked at us and smiled, too. I felt a tug in my heart as memories of the past and happier times flooded my mind.
I turned back to Max. “Shall we have a look at the kiosks, or do you want to go somewhere?” I asked Max now that we had both finished our hot dogs.
“We’re most definitely going somewhere.”
“Where?”
Max looked at the ice rink, then at me and grinned.
“Fuck. No.”
