Page 113 of Miami Ice

Beckham smiles at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wright. Thank you for having me today.” He extends the wildflower bouquet to her.

I study Mom’s eyes. I’m sure dollar signs are about to populate in her pupils any moment now.

“Call me Carrie. And Beckham, you shouldn’t have wasted the money on flowers, they just die.”

OH MY GOD.

She hasn’t even offered him a drink and Chex mix and she’s made her first money comment.

Beckham grins at her. “Fair enough.”

Mom hands the vase of flowers to Ella. “Would you set those on the dining room table?”

Ella nods. “Sure.”

“Georgie, you have to see the turkey. I used fresh lemon under the skin to flavor it this year,” Mom says. “I’m just about to take it out to rest.”

She goes over to the oven and opens the door. Then she retrieves her potholders and lifts out the roasting pan, setting it on the countertop.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mom declares. “Look at how golden it turned out.”

I stare down at the bird in the pan.

Yes, Mom’s right, it’s a beautiful golden brown. But she didn’t stuff lemon slices under the skin, as I pictured she would. She cut the lemon in half and shoved it under the skin.

I’m staring at a turkey with BOOBS.

Beckham moves beside me and stares down at the turkey, too. I feel his hand on my back, but I don’t dare look at him right now or I’ll lose it.

Ella comes back into the kitchen and walks up to us. As soon as she sees the turkey, she shrieks with laughter. “Mom! The turkey has boobs!” she cries.

“What?” Mom cries, oblivious.

“You’re supposed to use slices,” Ella insists. “That looks like a turkey with boobs!”

I feel Beckham shake beside me, trying to hold it in. GAH, I have to get us out of here before everyone is in hysterics and Mom is embarrassed.

“How long until dinner?” I manage to get out.

“Well, the turkey needs to rest for a bit,” she says.

“I’m going to take a moment to show Beckham my workroom.”

“You know, hon, now that I’ve seen the boobs, I can’t unsee it,” Rick says.

Jordan begins to choke, and I quickly usher Beckham toward the stairs. As soon as we’re out of earshot, he loses it. He’s laughing so hard he’s shaking, and I begin to laugh, too.

“That turkey not only had boobs, but hard nipples,” Beckham declares.

I’m laughing so hard I have to stop walking. Beckham stops alongside me, and we’re both just hysterical for a few minutes.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and clear my throat. “Okay. I’m composed.”

“Until you go back into the kitchen,” Beckham challenges.

“True. Come on, let me show you where I work.” I lead Beckham up the stairs and to the second floor. I take his hand in mine and bring him down the hall to my old bedroom, flipping on the light.

“This is where I create all of my jars,” I say, stepping to the center of the room.

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