The Free Reunion at the Lake

But I kept thinking about how it would go. I knew Tracy. She would get defensive, and she would say I had no idea how much work it was, and then she would call her brother, and I would call my mother, and by the Fourth of July the Holms would be two families who did not speak.

I had seen it happen in other families. I had seen whole sides of a church stop sitting near each other over less. I did not want to be the one who split the Holms down the middle over a bucket of chicken.

“No,” I said. “I don’t want a fight. I just want Mom and Edna at the lake.”

Josh looked at me a long moment. Then he nodded. “So book it,” he said. “I’ll run the grills.”

I called my mother first, because I owed her that. I told her what Deb at the county had said, and what Josh had figured on the envelope. She was quiet for so long I thought the call had dropped.

“Don’t you dare start something with Tracy,” she said finally. “Your aunt Carol would roll over in her grave.”

Aunt Carol was Tracy’s mother. She had died six years ago, of the same cancer that took her father.

“I’m not starting anything,” I said. “I’m not saying one word about Tracy. I’m just booking the pavilion and asking people to bring a dish. Like Grandma used to.”

“Like Grandma used to,” my mother repeated. Her voice went funny. “Well. I suppose nobody can fault you for that.”

The next afternoon I called Deb back and booked the lake pavilion for Saturday, July 11. I paid the two hundred dollars on my own debit card. Deb mailed me a confirmation with a map of the park and a list of rules about glass bottles.

Then I sat down with a pad of paper and made a sign-up sheet, the old-fashioned kind, with lines for main dishes and sides and salads and desserts. I typed it up at work after hours and printed thirty copies and mailed one to every older relative who wasn’t on the internet.

Then I posted in the family group. I wrote it four times before I was happy with it. Every version that mentioned money sounded like an accusation, so I took the money out.

“Holm Reunion at the Pine Lake pavilion, Saturday July 11, 10 till dark. It’s free. The pavilion is paid for. Bring a dish if you can, there’s a sign-up sheet in the comments. If you can’t bring anything, just come. Grills will be going. Love, Amy.”

I hit post, and then I put my phone face down on the counter and went out to weed the garden, because I could not stand to watch.

When I came back in an hour later, there were thirty-one comments.

“We’ll be there! Bringing my mom’s hot dish.”

“Sweet corn, if it’s ready. Should be.”

“Is it really free?? We haven’t been in three years, the kids are going to lose their minds.”

“Bars. Lots of bars.”

“Amy, bless you. I have been wanting to go so bad.”

A cousin from Pierz said he’d bring the first new potatoes of the year if the weather held. A second cousin I had not seen since high school wrote that she’d drive up from Iowa with her grandkids. Someone asked if they could bring Grandma’s old croquet set, and someone else said yes, please, for the love of God.

Tracy did not comment. Tracy did not like it. Tracy’s own post was still up, three posts down, with its little row of thumbs-ups and its last line about next year.