Page 23 of The Kitchen Contract

“It’s not just cooking,” he says, shaking his head as he takes his plate to the sink. “Every time I watch you take a bunch of regular ingredients and turn them into something really amazing in just a few minutes I think, ‘What sorcery is this?’”

I shake my head and laugh, though I’m secretly pleased. “It’s just food.”

“Say what you want,” he shrugs. “But I believe in kitchen magic.”

“Shall we cast one more spell before it starts getting dark?”

“Indeed, we shall.”

“Before we do that, can I run something by you? I had an idea, but I’m not sure if it’s a good one.”

“Sure thing.” Alex sits back down on his stool and gives me his full attention. “What you got?”

I take a deep breath and dive in, outlining the idea I had earlier that seems good, but that I felt less confident about the more I thought about it.

“I was thinking about ways to capitalize on the interest people have shown in our content, and I was wondering about getting a domain name and starting a blog to go with the videos. I could post the written version of each recipe for people to save and use again and again once they’ve watched the video. And I could include a newsletter signup so that we can email people who are interested in new posts and videos, which would hopefully boost views on both. Plus, there’s no minimum threshold for ads on websites. I could include that right away to get some revenue coming in.”

I pause to catch my breath and give Alex a chance to respond. I mentally prepare myself to accept it gracefully if he tells me that it would be a waste of time.

He nods thoughtfully, then slaps the countertop. “I think it sounds great. All of that makes sense to me, and it shouldn’t cost that much to get started. In fact, I could help you set up a simple website if you want. I’m no webmaster, but I know a little bit about basic web design from some classes I took in college.”

“Really?” I let out a sigh of relief. “That would be amazing. I watched some tutorials and I think I could do it, but I was feeling pretty intimidated.”

Alex waves his hand. “It’s really not that hard. I’m positive you could do it yourself, but I don’t mind helping if you want me to. You know, to save you some time.”

“That would be amazing,” I repeat, but then I pause, a thought occurring to me. “But are you sure that’s not asking too much? Our agreement only includes using your kitchen and featuring you in the videos.” I bite my lip as I think this through. “I feel like just leaving the food with you isn’t a fair exchange for all of that plus help with the website. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“I want to help,” he says, hopping up from the stool. “I promise you’re not taking advantage. I volunteered, remember?”

“Yes, but…”

“No ‘but.’” He moves to stand directly in front of me and braces a hand on each of my shoulders. “I am freely offering my help to execute your excellent idea. If you turn me down, I will be deeply, deeply offended.” His expression is serious, though I still detect a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

“If you insist, I would be a fool to turn you down.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now…” Alex leans over and peers into my crate, which he referred to earlier as a Mary Poppins bag of food. “I think you said something about making another recipe.”

17

ALEX

Ihave a new morning routine, thanks to Nora.

Now, instead of chugging a bottled protein shake for breakfast on my way out the door, I make myself a smoothie bowl with lots of toppings. The second video we recorded after the salmon we made last week was a thick tropical green smoothie with orange juice and frozen pineapple masking the spinach and avocado flavors. When she poured it into a bowl and sprinkled coconut flakes and sliced almonds on top, I was skeptical. But I should know better than to doubt her by now. It was almost like eating healthy sherbet, and I have officially adopted it as a favorite for breakfast or as an after-dinner treat to satisfy my enormous sweet tooth. I’ve eaten it six separate times now, and I don’t think I’ll get tired of it any time soon.

Today is Saturday, and she’s coming over mid-morning for a full day of recording videos. She says we’re going to make some recipes that take a little longer this time and I’m excited about it. I also plan to ask for her help with an adjacent project: Operation Impress My Family with Really Good Homemade Food, or OIMFWRGHF for short.

My confidence in the kitchen has been growing steadily, to the point where I did a thing yesterday. Last night when Maddy called to check on me—something she does about once a week because she takes her role as the oldest sibling seriously—I impulsively volunteered to host a Fourth of July blowout at my house next week. Maddy sounded dubious, but I persisted when she asked if I was sure.

“Sure I’m sure. You don’t even have to do a thing except show up. I’ll take care of all the food and everything. The kids can play in the pool, and you can just relax.”

I then proceeded to text Grant and extend the same invitation to him and Annie. I was met with patent incredulity that only doubled my resolve. I will make this the best Independence Day cookout they’ve ever attended. I want my brother and sister to be miserable with guilt over their underestimation of my abilities. I want Grant to cringe in shame when he remembers how he laughed and said, “I’ll make sure to eat before I come.”

The thing is, I’m actually not even mad. My track record for being capable of something like planning a big celebration warrants their skepticism, which is to say that I’ve never even attempted such a thing in all my twenty-seven years. I’ve always been the guy who contributes a bottle of soda or a package of pre-made cookies at family gatherings, so I’ll extend them some grace in their doubt. But I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if they don’t walk away rethinking everything they know about Alexander Lockwood after this party.

But I think I’ll need a little help from Nora to pull it off.

“Why, if it isn’t my good friend Nora,” I greet her when she arrives around ten o’clock. I meet her in the driveway with an iced vanilla coffee that I made while I was waiting not-so-patiently for her. “How are you this fine weekend?”

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