Page 2 of The Kitchen Contract

With a wave to the cook taking over for the evening, I slip out the back door into the parking lot, holding my breath as I walk past the dumpster that marks the edge of the employee parking. I slide into my car and crank the AC up as high as it will go.

Why is it so hot? It’s not normally this hot in May. I’m melting like a slice of American cheese on one of the many Big Howdy burgers I assembled this afternoon.

The buzz of my phone announces a text from my friend Kayla, temporarily distracting me from the beads of sweat trickling uncomfortably down my neck and under the collar of my shirt.

Don’t forget book club at my house tonight.

As if I would forget. I look forward to book club all month. If I had it my way, we’d have a weekly book club. But not everyone in our group has as much reading time as I do. Most of the ladies are wives and mothers, many with jobs outside the home in addition to caring for their families. Being single has its perks.

Wouldn’t miss it. On my way home now to put the finishing touches on our snacks.

I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.

Warmth bubbles up in my chest and trickles out in a grin. I love it when people are excited about my food. Food compliments are my favorite compliments. Telling me I look pretty is nice. But if you tell me my dinner rolls are the softest, most cloud-like rolls you’ve ever eaten in your life, I will glow with pride and joy. In my book, there’s no greater praise than someone going back for seconds.

I drive home to my apartment and feel my shoulders relax as I open my refrigerator and see the adorable lemon tartlets with raspberry garnishes I prepped this morning waiting for me. I pull out a dish of uncooked spinach dip that I plan to spread across small squares of fresh sourdough bread I also baked this morning. Those squares will then be lightly toasted in Kayla’s oven and served warm, alongside a cucumber and tomato salad and some turkey and Swiss pinwheels with a Dijon dipping sauce. I check my watch. If I hurry, I think I’ll have enough time for a quick shower to wash the restaurant smells off before I need to leave.

An hour later, I’m pulling up in front of Kayla’s house. She comes out the front door and meets me at the trunk of my car, pulling me into a quick hug before helping me carry the food inside.

She lifts a tray of tartlets out of my backseat. “What have we here? Nora, this stuff looks amazing! I can’t wait to try it all.”

She leads me into the kitchen with the tartlets in one hand and the tray of pinwheels in the other, stepping over the two orange tabby cats curling around her ankles. She sets the trays on the island next to a stack of plates and napkins. There’s also a pitcher of what looks like sweet tea and a dozen bottles of water chilling in a tin tub of ice.

I hold up the plastic wrap-covered baking sheet with the spinach dip sourdough. “Can I pop these into your oven to warm up?”

“Of course. What temperature?” She turns on the oven and steps aside so I can slide the sheet inside.

“Thanks so much for cooking for us again, Nora,” she says, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’d let me pay you for catering?”

I shoot her a grin. “Nope.”

We’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times, and I always turn down her offer of payment on account of the fact that cooking for my book club friends is pure pleasure for me. I also know that she and a couple of the other ladies will likely supplement my Venmo account later because they like to pitch in, even though I’ve told them it’s not necessary.

“You know I have to ask,” she says.

I check my watch. “Anything else that needs to be done?”

“No, I think we’re pretty much ready. Everyone else should start getting here any minute.”

It doesn’t take long for the kitchen to fill up with people. I pull the spinach bread out of the oven and everyone swarms to fill a plate and settle in the living room, chatting as they go. Since all I had for lunch today was a granola bar and an apple, I’m eager to do the same.

Once everyone is settled, Kayla stands up and greets everyone.

“It’s so good to see everyone, and I’m excited to hear what everyone thought about our book this month, but first, I wanted to share a little announcement.” Kayla’s face is practically glowing with excitement as she rests a hand across her midsection. “We are expecting a baby!”

The room fills with a chorus of happy sounds and congratulations.

“I’m so excited to have a baby buddy!” Annie, Kayla’s best friend, exclaims, gesturing to her own swollen belly. Though Kayla isn’t visibly pregnant yet, their babies will only be a few months apart. Annie’s sister-in-law, Maddy, is just ahead of them with an adorable six-month-old daughter, whom she shifts to her hip as she stands to give Kayla a hug as well.

I smile along with everyone else and pointedly ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in my chest. I don’t need to think about it to know that this will officially make me the only member of the club without children. I’m used to being the only single gal, and I’m usually okay with that. But being both single and childless is hitting me differently tonight. When paired with the discontentment I’m trying to ignore with my job, it just feels like life is passing me by. Shrugging off the unwelcome emotions, I give Kayla a hug and offer my felicitations along with everyone else.

It takes a while for the group to calm down again, but eventually we dive into our book discussion as usual. Everyone seems extra cheerful and energetic tonight, but I’m having trouble concentrating.

It seems later than it is when the meeting breaks up and the guests start to trickle out until only Kayla, Annie, and I remain. Even Maddy, who usually stays after, is already gone, having left with the first wave since little Ileigh was getting fussy. Now the three of us are cleaning up, and I’m listening to Annie and Kayla gush about baby stuff. The happy contentment I normally feel after a good book club discussion is missing tonight, replaced by a feeling of exhaustion and—let’s just call it what it is—jealousy.

I try not to be sullen as I help carry out the extra chairs from the living room and start gathering up the leftover food. I mean, what kind of person gets cranky in the face of a good friend’s happy news?

Ugh. I feel gross about it, but I can’t seem to help it.

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