On another table, closer to the house, there’s an assortment of items: bottles of wine, a basket of cookies shaped and iced to look like fish and fly rods, a few gift cards, and golf ball boxes tied with ribbon.
“Whatever the biggest prize is, Logan will get it. I’d put money on it,” Jane says. Nick takes her up on her offer.
I don’t bother trying to convince Jane otherwise.
Those of us who haven’t entered write our names down and drop the slips into the jar. Then we eat.
“I’m obsessed with this baked potato bar,” Hazel says flatly, and mostly to herself. I wouldn’t have been able to tell she was into it if she hadn’t said so. Then she looks up at me, and there’s the tell: a slight crinkle in her eyes, a glimmer of excitement. “The red onion is a great touch.”
Hazel may have learned to dampen her expectations for good things and to keep her reactions under wraps, but they’re still there when you really pay attention. With time, I want to learn all her tells.
“Let’s go! The butter’s melting,” Jane sarcastically says behind me, nudging my back.
I take my time putting a potato on my plate, just to mess with her. The weather’s in the fifties. The butter’s not melting anytime soon. I cut down the middle of the potato, a curl of steam escaping. I scoot forward toward Hazel before Jane makes comments about the bacon.
Ahead of me, Hazel’s eyebrows are furrowed slightly as she considers how much sour cream she wants. The tip of her tongue pokesout the side of her mouth as she thinks. It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
“I can feel you watching me,” she whispers, landing on two scoops of sour cream.
“I could watch you do this all day.”
A smile plays on her lips as she blinks at me through her long eyelashes.
“Logan, what the hell?” Jane says over my shoulder. “Seriously?”
“Oh my god, Jane. We’re getting chives, and then we’re done,” I tell her. What’s her problem today?
Jane pushes her phone into my face. “I’m not talking about chives, Logan. I’m talking about you winning the lottery.”
Beside me, Hazel drops the spoon into the bowl of shredded cheese.
My siblings look confused. Behind us in line, Mom laughs. “The lottery? Logan would never. Jane, you’re a riot today.” She claps her hands together. “Come on, get moving. We’ve got twenty nurses and doctors behind us who know how to use a scalpel and aren’t afraid to use it.”
“I’m being serious. My friend just messaged me this photo,” Jane says, following us over to the prize table. “Logan and… Hazel? You both won?” She shakes her head. “I don’t get it. Why do you both look old?”
My siblings have all heard Jane and surround us, quickly loading up their plates. Warren’s coworkers look pleased as they scoot closer to the food.
“Logan won the lottery? Wow, I’m so surprised,” Nick says sarcastically, his mouth full of potato.
Eva twirls her fork in the air. “Lucky Logan strikes again!” she says.
Jane hands me her phone. “Explain.”
“Do you think it was the reporter?” Hazel whispers to me.
We both stare at the screen and try to process what we’re seeing. Glaring back at us is a social media post with the photo of me and Hazel at the press conference. We look eighty years old. Sure, our names are on the giant check, but we knew that would happen. It was a risk that my family and their friends might recognize the names if the news spread widely enough.
And up until now, it hadn’t.
“Okay, it’s a photo,” I say. “What about it?”
“Did you go through all of them?” Jane asks. “It’s a carousel.”
“Is it supposed to move? What does that mean?”
Jane makes a motion with her thumb. “Slide through the photos.”
My family huddles up behind us, trying to catch a glimpse. The press conference photo was just the first photo of many. The second photo is a snapshot of security camera footage. There I am in black and white at the counter with Hazel on the day we met, when I bought her bandages and candy. When I bought the lottery ticket.
