“That’s delicious.”
“Glad you like it,” she said. “Will’s not so sure.”
“He’s iffy about having his food mixed together,” I said. “But this is objectively amazing. He’ll deal. Where is he?”
Kat pointed upward. Will’s bathroom was directly above the kitchen. “Wanted a shower right when he came back.”
My almost fifteen-year-old son had robotics four days a week. They were gearing up for a major competition the third week of school.
“You guys haven’t eaten yet?” I asked.
“No. He just got home fifteen minutes ago.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I got here about a half an hour ago. I stopped by on my lunch break and put the roast in. Let’s see if we can expand Will’s culinary horizons. And this thing was easy. If he likes it, I’ll show him how to put it together before he leaves for school.”
Since my son was a baby, Will’s Aunt Kat, my former sister-in-law, had been an integral part of his life. She started watching him three days a week while my ex, Will’s father, and I started our careers here in Waynetown. Will had a hard time getting close to people. But Kat was like a second mother to him. She was my best friend. My sister for life, even though Jason and I were over.
“Hurry up!” Kat went to the stairwell and shouted up. “You don’t need that much water for your skinny little body!”
I smiled. Kat had been yelling that exact thing to Will since he was about three years old. A moment later, I heard the faucet upstairs stop.
“How was he when he got home?” I asked.
“Good,” she said. “Sounds like he and the new coach worked out their issues. I didn’t hear the diatribe.”
“That man is just as stubborn as Will is,” I said.
“So you’ve met Mr. Ball?”
“I have.”
Kat smiled as she grabbed the plates from the cupboard. “Did he remind you of anyone?”
“He wasn’t very friendly. But he seemed more organized than the last coach. Had spreadsheets to hand out and everything.”
“Exactly,” Kat said, putting the plates on the table. “He reminds me of Will. I think they’re both sitting on the same end of the spectrum, Mara. This should be an interesting year.”
“You might be right now that I think of it. Well, hopefully they’ll gel instead of clash.”
“You and me both. Because Mr. Ball has also been named the new special ed algebra teacher. Will’s going to have him in class, too. He just got his schedule.”
Kat grabbed an envelope off the counter and handed it to me. It had already clearly been opened by Will. My son opened letters, cereal boxes, and chip bags like a raccoon. I read off his schedule. He’d gotten two of the teachers we’d requested but Mr. Ball was new.
Will himself tramped down the stairs, his hair still dripping wet. He reeked of body spray typical of teenage boys. I knew it was better than the alternative.
“How was Mr. Ball today?” I asked.
“Hi, Mom,” Will said. Every time I saw him, I swore my boy grew another inch. As it was, he was about half a head taller than me. His father was six foot two. Will would catch up with him by next year at this rate.
“He’s getting better,” Will said. “Some of the parents complained.”
“I’ll bet they did,” Kat muttered. I shot her a look, hoping Will hadn’t overheard. But he was entranced by the contents of the crock-pot.
“Give it a chance,” I said.
“Here,” Kat said. She spooned Will’s portion out, putting the meat, carrots, and potatoes in separate quadrants of his plate. She left the gravy on the table.
