Page 40 of Home Ice

“Don’t try to win,” Max said quietly. “There’s no winning. You survive instead.”

Ma was excited about the gala. “I’m so happy for both of you. It must be a big party. It’s the Palmer House.” She said Palmer House the way my mom said the city. “On Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s black tie and six hundred people,” Max said.

“Six hundred.” She stopped stirring. “And they asked for the two of you.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“They’d better take pictures,” she said. “Nice ones. Not with the phone, and in a good frame size.”

“I know the frame size,” Max said.

And then Max told her about our first dinner. I knew he had to have told it before, but she probably loved hearing it.

“Rafe said he had four years of high school French, so he could read the menu.”

Ma laughed.

”—and he ordered the duck, and I had walleye. I’d had it once before, and it’s so good. Then Rafe tells me it was a quarter the size of a real walleye.”

Ma laughed louder and pointed her spoon at me like I’d scored.

“You see how they are,” Ma said to Yiayia, delighted. “Back and forth. Just like on a TV show.”

“Yes,” Yiayia said. “Like a show.”

Niko came into the kitchen to carry Ma’s platter of lamb. He’d rolled his sleeves back down for dinner. He took the platter with a dish towel folded twice. Ma said, “It’s heavy.”

“I know it’s heavy. I’ve carried it before.”

Yiayia pointed toward the kitchen island. “He made the stools, too.”

“They’re good stools,” I said.

“One is too tall,” she said. “He made it for his grandfather’s height. I use it to remember.”

Ma called toward the living room. “Gus—get it while it’s hot.”

The dining room table was formal, dark, with carved legs and an ironed tablecloth on it. Gus sat at the head. Ma was nearest the kitchen. Max and Niko sat across from me. I was beside Yiayia.

The food came in waves: lamb, potatoes drizzled with lemon, and pastitsio, fresh-baked. Side dishes filled out the table.

“He likes the spanakopita,” Ma said.

“I like it too,” Max added.

“You’ve had it a thousand times. For Rafe, it’s his first time.” She took my plate, which already had food on it, and piled more on before setting it back down.

“Thank you,” I said.

The questions started with the lamb and never really stopped.

“Your mother cooks?” Ma asked.

“She cooks a lot.”

“What does she cook?”