These are our roles. They’ll probably never change, and the sooner I accept that, the happier I’ll be.
“Mama, you make the crawfish dip and fried green tomatoes with the remoulade. I’ll make the crusty bread and salmon croquettes. Then you start the oxtails and mac and cheese, and I’ll do the chicken and dumplings, and greens. You do the crust for the pies and I’ll do the filling. Wyatt–”
He holds up a hand and laughs. “I do whatever you two tell me to do. I already know how this song goes.”
I don’t bother with the shrug I want to give him because we don’t have time. When we get in the kitchen, I start on a quick bread first since it’ll need to set a bit. Then I take out a large bowl and the pan I’ll need for the salmon croquettes. At the restaurant, we use fresh salmon, but I don’t have time for that, so I go into the pantry and pull out the canned salmon. I spare a moment to look at the vanilla beans and think of the souffle I would have created. I shake it off and return to the task at hand.
Since Mama already has Wyatt chopping veggies for her dip and tomatoes, I gather everything I need from the fridge for the croquettes. Mama does beautiful croquettes but they require work, as does the bread. I split everything up with her having the easiest to prepare. My greatest fear has been her having a flare during this competition but so far she’s been fine. I can only guess she’s taking her medication properly.
We get the appetizers out to the table with an hour to spare, and I check out the Dolters before moving back into the kitchen. They’re running around, makeup smudged, perfectly done hair messy, and those pretty pink smocks smeared with unimaginable foodstuffs. If this wasn’t a competition, I’d show them some sisterly solidarity, but since it is, forget that noise.
The studio kitchen is cooler than our restaurant’s, so cooking in it is pleasant. Having the extra space to stretch out is a plus as well. Mama already has her oxtails in the oven and she’s making the cheese roux for the macaroni, so I beckon Wyatt over to help me. “Can you pick the collards for me please? Make sure and wash them at least five times.”
He claps me on the back. “This isn’t my first rodeo, sister.”
Because I don’t want him to be a cook the rest of his life, I’d never admit to him how excellent of a sous chef he is. He enjoys it, but he’s an accountant. He does the bookkeeping for Smothered in Love, but it’s not enough to fill his days. With the work he does in the restaurant, it doesn’t leave him a whole lot of time to pursue anything else. We’re all in a bit of a cycle around Mama’s dream.
One more visit to the subzero fridge and I pluck out a chicken. When I set it on the cutting board to debone it, I reach for my knives and freeze. I circle around the kitchen, looking for what, I don’t know. Help? Wyatt’s back is to me at the sink and Mama is next to him, draining her macaroni. Neither of them can go back in time and knock me upside the head for picking up Knox’s cards instead of sharpening my fucking knives.
In a panic, I run to the unisex bathroom. The person looking back at me in the mirror is not ready for prime time. The thick TV makeup they have us wear usually covers my freckles but they’re starting to peek through, the sweat melting my foundation. I dab at my face with a paper towel hoping to staunch some of the damage. What I wouldn’t give for my music right now. Instead I hum my favorite song, “Truly Madly Petty,” and calm my nerves. I made a mistake. A stupid mistake and there’s nothing I can do about it now. Time to face the music.
When I exit the bathroom, I practically bump into Knox.
“I hope you washed your hands, Amber.”
“Not now, Knox. In case you missed it, I’m a little busy.” There’re other crew members moving through the hallway and a couple stop to see what our exchange is all about.
Knox doesn’t miss that we have an audience. He walks closer to me and stops, expanding his stance. He raises his eyebrows and steeples his fingers. “You’ve got another secret. Why aren’t your knives sharpened?”
“How could you possibly know th–” I slap a hand over my mouth after one of the crew members gasps. Fucking Knox Everheart. Always here for my misery and finding whatever way he can to cause me embarrassment. It’s like school all over again.
During our second year, we’d fallen into a pretty good rhythm of hating each other. Hazing in school is already on the menu, but for me and Knox, there wasn’t a prank too low for either of us. Changing the kitchen layout overnight, hiding knives, clogging the toilet with yeast (that was mine), and everything else you could possibly think of. Once I was making a Baked Alaska for a mid-term exam. This is already a very difficult recipe to master, but when someone has fiddled with your equipment, it’s impossible. My dessert came out of the oven a ruined, runny mess. Knox looked perfectly innocent but I know he was the one who set me up. Everyone else in the class laughed their butts off. Even the professor had to hide a grin behind his hand. I’d been so embarrassed and angry; I ran out of the classroom.
You’d think I was the one who almost ruined his life instead of the other way around.
I push past him and go back into the kitchen. Mama raises her eyebrows, but I ignore her and head over to the cutting board to tackle the chicken. I crack my knuckles,
