Free Stranger in the Room: A Novel by Amanda Kyle Williams

everyone you’ll be here with Aaron for the big neighborhood barbeque.”
    “I’m sorry, Mom. Rauser has an impossible caseload right now. And I really needed to take this job up north.”
    “Well, at least his work is important.”
    “There goes another year of therapy.”
    Mother fake laughed. “Oh please! You are not that fragile, Keye. And why do you have to call him Rauser? Why can’t you call him by his name? I’ll tell you why. Because
Rauser
is impersonal. It’s exactly like Dan said. You have a problem with intimacy.”
Zing
. Score one—Dan, ex-husband, sensitive area. Intimacy—a slam dunk.
    “I learned it from the best,” I said, and the bitterness in my voice surprised even me.
    “What is that supposed to mean?” Mother pounced. “And you wonder why relationships are difficult! Maybe that’s what you should be talking about in therapy instead of your parents, who worked hard their whole lives to take care of you and your brother.”
    “Okay, well, this has been really fun. Listen, Mother, I need you to check on Miki and White Trash at my house, okay? I’ll only be gone a couple of days. Will you just call and make sure she’s taking care of my cat? And if she’s not, will you?”
    “What’s wrong with Miki? I just spoke to her the day before yesterday.”
    “There was a break-in at her house. She seems, well, jumpy. She’s staying at my place while I’m gone.”
    “Oh my Lord. Was she hurt? What happened?”
    “She’s fine. She wasn’t hurt. Maybe you should call her,” I suggested.
    “I’ll invite her over for our cookout. I’m making black-eyed pea and roasted poblano salsa, butterbean humus, tomato-and-eggplant bruschetta with artichoke pesto, and we’re going to grill some pizzas and pile them up with arugula and feta.” Emily Street was self-taught, but she could flat-out cook her ass off. A line formed at her door when she was testing new recipes.
    Her voice turned sugary and singsongy. “I just can’t decide whichof your favorites I should make. Peach empanadas with homemade crème fraiche ice cream or red velvet whoopie pies.”
    My mouth watered. First of all, we know how to grow peaches down South. They are meaty and sweet, and when they’re lightly cooked, all that juice runs out and seeps into the pastry, and it will damn near take your head off. And red velvet cake, well, when it’s done just right, it’s a southern delicacy. No picnic or family gathering I could remember came without it. Of course my mother had to put her own spin on everything. Over the years that peach pie on the checkered tablecloth evolved into a plate of gorgeous empanadas. The red velvet cake now comes in personal handheld sizes, with vanilla cream that squeezes out between the layers.
    “Jesus. That sounds amazing.”
    The door squeaked again. “Howard, do you know your daughter just used the name of the Lord in vain?”
    “Bye, Mom. Love you.”
    “Keye, wait.” The screen door again. “I have some news, and I want you to hear it from me.”
    I braced myself.
    “There was this video recipe contest on that cooking network, and mine won.”
    “That’s fantastic. What did you win?”
    “The opportunity to submit an audition tape for my own cooking show. Miki knows TV people who will help me make it. My own cooking show, honey!”
    “You’re auditioning for a television show?”
    “Isn’t it wonderful? I may have to go to Hollywood.”
    “Is that where they make cooking shows?”
    “Okay, well, maybe New York. Or someplace.” Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “But you know your father won’t support me. Frankly, Keye, we’re moving in different directions.”
    “What? It sounds like you’re going in exactly the same direction. You’re both beginning second careers and finding things that make you happy. Lots of couples do it, Mom. Dad always liked you doing your own thing.” He liked it when she stayed busy and left him alone, but I decided not to say