“People like what they like, Rox,” she said, shredding cabbage for a coleslaw that she’d drown in a thick mayonnaise dressing. “You can’t be such a food snob.”

“Using real cheese makes me a food snob?”

“That, and the fact that your eyeballs are about to come out of your face because of the way I’m making my coleslaw,” she said, not even having to turn around to see my face.

I put my eyeballs back into my face. “I have a great recipe for coleslaw. Maybe I could try it sometime?” I offered.

“You do realize my coleslaw is my mother’s recipe, and her mother’s before her, right?”

“I do know this, and I know people love it, Mom. I just thought that maybe we could try something new for a change and—”

“Hey, Albert!” my mother called to an older gentleman sitting at the end of the counter.

“What’s the good word, Trudy?” he answered, not looking up from his newspaper. Albert had been coming in every afternoon as long as I could remember, lingering after lunch to read the funnies.

“What’s your favorite side dish here?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes at the pile of Velveeta shreds.

“Coleslaw,” he replied, and she turned to smile prettily at me.

“Hey, Albert!” I shouted back.

“What’s up, Roxie?”

“If there was a new side dish on the menu, maybe a different kind of coleslaw, would you try it?”

“Sure, I love all kinds of coleslaw,” he answered, never taking his eyes off his newspaper.

My mother’s pretty smile became one with teeth.

“Hey, Albert?” she called out, voice considerably more aspartame.

“Yes, Trudy?”

“Would you say that while occasionally you might like to try something new, there’s something to be said for consistency? Having what you like when you like it?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” he answered.

My mother is the first person in history to swagger while shredding.

“Hey, Albert,” I called out.

“Yes, Roxie?”

“Would you say that sometimes we all tend to get a little complacent and order the same thing every day, simply because it’s what we’re used to, and that perhaps, if someone created something new and innovative, it might be exactly the new something you were looking for, without even knowing you were looking for it?”

“You betcha.”

A head of cabbage was thrown down on the counter, causing my pile of neon cheese to topple over.

“Hey, Albert!” my mother called out.

But Hey, Albert had other ideas. “Now, both of you just cram it! I’m trying to read my funnies. If I wanted to hear this kind of squabbling, I could have stayed home with my wife!”

A rustle of newspaper. A clatter as an annoyed coffee cup hit an innocent saucer. Cabbage and cheese shredding were resumed.

“Just so you know, you can make changes if you like,” she said a few minutes later.

“Thanks.”

“Who knows, maybe some fresh blood is just what this place needs.”

“Mom—”

“When I took this place over from your grandfather, they were still serving tongue on the menu. Can you imagine?”

“Mom—”

“So when it was my turn I kept some of the old recipes, of course, but I added a few things here and there, tweaked a few ingredients now and then, and over time I revamped almost the entire menu! So you see—”

“Mom. I’m not staying,” I said quietly, moving around the counter to make sure she saw me. “End of the summer, that’s it. Okay?”

She looked like me like she wanted to say something else, but in the end simply nodded. “Hey, Albert—want some more coffee?” she called.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I smothered a laugh as she went out to kibitz with him, stirring the cheese sauce. My phone vibrated and I saw that I had a Facebook alert. A new friend request, from The Chad Bowman! I quickly friended him, and just as quickly got a message from him.

Painting Party Friday Night, and you’re invited! Bring old clothes and some booze. We’ll provide the paint and food! Love, Chad and Logan.

Awesome.

I’d always marveled at girls who could walk into any room without knowing a soul and own it. I’d watched my friend Natalie make friends with almost everyone in our class. She could talk to anyone, and did talk to everyone, and everyone gravitated toward her. Clara was quieter, a bit more serious, but still fully capable of meeting new people. Most people had the small-talk gene.

I wasn’t born with it, but I’d cultivated it over time. Away from home, I’d learned from my new friends how easy it could be to socialize. Now I could go to a party where I didn’t know anyone and be okay, even have fun. I’d met some of my best company this way. I wasn’t the life of the party, but I no longer felt like the death of it.

However, knowing everyone at a party could be even worse than not knowing anyone—so I was a little nervous as I approached Chad’s house Friday night. I knew every family and every kid and every cousin in town, and every single one of them knew me. Especially after my triumphs, winning cooking contest after cooking contest as a kid, started to make me stick out. Being emotionally invested in things like Vietnamese cinnamon versus Cambodian cinnamon tended to draw attention in your average American high school. And though Chad had been a “nice” popular kid, some of his friends sometimes fell over into the “mean” category. And some of them might be here tonight.