Page 42 of Thin Ice

"Ham," she said, weighing one in each hand in the meat section.

"How much do we need?"

"Well, let's count." She set one ham in the cart and picked up another. "Us three. Your grandmother and grandfather. Russ and Deb and the kids — that's four more. Sheryl and Danny."

"Danny's coming?"

"Yes. His girlfriend is doing her family this year, so he's solo. He'll show up late with beer and leave early, same as always." She squeezed a ham. Put it back. Picked up a different one. "That's eleven. But your uncle… and Cody's fifteen now… and your boyfriend is a Division I athlete who I'm guessing didn't get there on salads."

"You don't have to buy a second ham."

She put a second ham in the cart.

"Mom."

"I'm not running out of ham on Christmas Eve."

We moved through the aisles. Rolls — the big bag, not two small ones, because it's the same bread for less money.

"So how's Uncle Russ doing?" I said, following my mom into the baking aisle.

"I talked to Deb last week. She says Russ has been on a tear about the Bills' draft picks. Apparently, he got into it with the guy at the hardware store about whether they should've traded up."

"I'm not surprised."

"It was Jerry Alderman's son. Deb had to go in and get him because he had been in there for 30 minutes."

"Of course she did."

"She said he's making a PowerPoint for the next game. Cody is showing him how to use it."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Uncle Russ making a PowerPoint about the Buffalo Bills' draft strategy was the most Uncle Russ thing that had ever happened.

My mom picked up name-brand vanilla, looked at the price, put it back, and grabbed the store brand.

"And Maddie's doing some kind of gymnastics showcase in January," my mom continued, checking prices on brown sugar. "She won't stop talking about it. Deb says she's been practicing in the living room and broke a lamp."

"Which lamp?"

"The one Russ's mother gave them. The one with the birds."

"The bird lamp. That thing was ugly anyway."

My mom turned to me, "That's your gay side honey," she whispered with a smile.

"Mom." I shook my head.

"Anyway, Deb said she wasn't even mad. She said, and I quote, 'It was the best thing that child has ever broken.'"

She moved through the store the way she moved through the family, with full inventory. She knew everything about everyone, not because she gossiped but because she listened.

"Your Aunt Sheryl called me Tuesday," she said, loading cans of condensed milk into the cart. "She wanted to know what to bring. I said a salad. She's bringing a casserole instead. She never listens."

"What kind of casserole?"

"Some recipe she found in a magazine and it's 'actually very easy.' It's never very easy and it takes four hours and she'll tell you about every one of them."

She was smiling now. The small one, the one that came out when she was talking about her family and forgot to be tired.