Page 52 of Thin Ice

"I already told him. He told me to shut up."

"Tell him I said stop."

She paused, blocking the hallway with her hands on both walls. "Can I sit next to Alex at dinner?"

"Sit wherever you want," I said, and she disappeared back toward the kitchen.

Dinner. Eleven people at a table built for six. The folding chairs were wedged between the real ones, elbows touching, the casserole dishes taking up half the surface. The kitchen light was on but too dim, so my mom had put a lamp from the living room on the counter behind her, and the room had a warm, uneven glow. Everyone was too close. Nobody minded.

Uncle Russ said grace from his chair at the far end, hands folded, eyes not quite closed. He thanked God for the food, the family, "everyone at this table, old and new," and the Bills' draft prospects. Everyone laughed except Grandma, who said "Russell" from her seat by the window.

The noise started immediately.

"Pass the ham," Aunt Deb said.

"Who made the casserole?" Grandpa asked, poking at it with his fork.

"That one's Sheryl's," Aunt Deb said. "Mine's the one with the better crust."

Uncle Russ leaned across the table toward me, his elbows in the butter dish. "Liam. Serious question."

"Here we go," Aunt Deb said, closing her eyes.

"Deb, let me ask," Russ said.

"It's about the Bills," she said.

"It's about leadership," Russ said. He pointed his fork at me. "You're a captain now. I put together some ideas. A PowerPoint."

"That's, uh. That's really nice, Russ," I said.

"Twenty-seven slides. Based on principles I've been studying."

"He watches YouTube videos about everything," Aunt Deb said to Alex, who was sitting across from Russ.

"They're documentaries, Deb," Russ said.

"Maybe we can look at it some other time," I said. "It's Christmas Eve."

"It'll take ten minutes."

"Russ, I appreciate it, I just think maybe—"

"Five minutes. I'll skip the Navy SEALs section."

"There's a Navy SEALs section?" I said.

"There are three Navy SEALs sections."

"Russ, I would love to see the PowerPoint," Alex said, leaning forward.

I looked at him. He was completely serious. Or completely performing serious. I couldn't tell, and it didn't matter because Uncle Russ's face lit up like Christmas morning.

"You see?" he said, slapping the table. "This kid gets it. Liam, why can't you be more like Alex?"

He was already pulling out his phone. Aunt Deb squeezed his arm. Grandma kept eating her ham.

"Russ, put the phone away," Grandma said, not looking up.