Six-year-old Ruby has declared herself chairperson of the family Hot Chocolate Committee. Her two dads, Daniel and Marcus, have no authority over its decisions.
The committee began as a joke when Ruby was four and complained that the cocoa at a holiday outing contained only two marshmallows. Daniel drew a rating chart on a napkin. Marcus gave each category an absurdly official name. Ruby appointed herself chairperson and, naturally, declined to hold an election. Two winters later there are laminated scorecards in the glove compartment and an enamel camp mug at home for off-season trials. On this outing in downtown Grand Rapids, Marcus has promised they can stay out after dark long enough to see the World of Winter lights change color. Daniel has promised they won’t be too cold. Ruby has promised nothing. The dads begin at Madcap Coffee on Monroe Center, the bylaws permitting adult coffee as a procedural matter. At the first café proper, Ruby orders solemnly, taking care to explain that the whipped cream is for ‘evaluation purposes.' The woman behind the counter joins the game, asking whether Ruby is an inspector. Ruby nods with such authority that her dads have to look away. Outside, the sidewalks around Rosa Parks Circle are lined with bundled-up families, slow-moving couples and people carrying bright shopping bags. The city feels like one large warm room with its windows left open to winter.
Marcus has a different reason for enjoying this tradition. At Ruby’s age, he moved three times in two years and rarely knew which school or neighborhood would be next. He never says this as a sad story; he’s proud of the life his family built. Still, he loves that Ruby recognizes the same places each winter and remembers the people behind some of the counters. Daniel notices how gently Ruby speaks to a child younger than herself who drops a mitten near the lights. She retrieves it and returns it without making an announcement. A moment later she’s back to her usual elaborate rulemaking. The committee proceeds through sidewalks edged with snow, pausing whenever Ruby declares that a particularly beautiful window display merits an official inspection. Her dads begin to suspect that cocoa is merely the pretext for all the other things she wants them to notice.
By the second stop, Ruby has developed an elaborate dispute with the scoring system. The drink tastes better but the cup is too hot to hold. Daniel proposes a category called ‘hand comfort.' Ruby says the committee cannot simply invent new rules halfway through a season. Marcus points out that she invented the entire committee. She says that is irrelevant. Near the lights, they take a photograph that goes terribly: Daniel blinks, Marcus looks away, and Ruby stretches her arms toward a sparkling installation behind them. It’s the picture they keep. As they walk farther, they pass a family speaking a language Ruby doesn’t recognize. She wants to know how to say ‘marshmallow' in it. Daniel tells her he doesn’t know, and they spend the next block talking about how many things there are to learn in a city. Later Marcus carries her, her hat slipping over one eyebrow. Daniel walks beside them holding the unfinished final cup. There will be no official winner announced tonight. In the morning Ruby will remember the lights, the cookie, and which dad carried her home. The scorecards may never matter as much as their owners imagine.
Daniel looks over at them and realizes that these little traditions, invented almost by accident, are becoming the things their daughter will remember about growing up.
Setting artwork is illustrative; it does not depict the story’s cast or document an event.