She pulled a giant foil-covered tray from one of the bags she’d brought.
“I saved Thanksgiving,” she said.
She yanked off the foil like she was presenting a crown jewel.
It was one of those pre-cooked store turkeys. Pale, shiny, smelling like salt and chemicals.
I stared at it and honestly thought I might throw up.
Richard looked between us and said quietly, “Diane… that was out of line.”
She scoffed. “Richie, please.
I know what a proper holiday meal looks like.”
Family started arriving—Jason’s sister and her kids, my little brother, a couple of friends. The house filled with noise, but under it all was this weird, tense hum.
I finished the sides like a robot.
“Careful with the salt. Poor people food is always too salty.”
“Are those real cranberries?
How precious.”
“Don’t worry, everyone, the turkey is professionally prepared.”
She laughed. No one else did.
We finally sat down.
My mashed potatoes, my stuffing, my vegetables, my pies. Her turkey.
“To Jason,” she said.
“For buying a house worthy of his upbringing. And to our new little hostess, who did… her best.”
People shifted uncomfortably.
Jason squeezed my knee under the table.
Diane took a sip, then smirked. “You know,” she said, “I’m actually impressed.
For someone who grew up with nothing, you did manage to pull a few things together.”
“Mom,” Jason warned.
She ignored him. “When Jason told us he was marrying a girl who lost her mother so young, I worried,” she went on. “No mother to teach her how to run a home, how to cook, how to behave at a proper dinner.
But you’re doing… acceptably.”
I felt my face burn.
My brother, sitting across from me, narrowed his eyes. “You know she can hear you, right?” he said. “You’re not whispering.”
Diane smiled at him.
“I’m just being honest,” she said. “It’s admirable she turned out as well as she did, given her circumstances. Poor little orphan girl makes good.
It’s a nice story.”
The word “orphan” came out of her mouth like an insult.
My vision blurred for a second.
I pushed my chair back. “Excuse me,” I said. My voice sounded weirdly calm.
I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the edge of the counter so hard my fingers hurt.
For a minute, tears pushed at the back of my eyes.
I thought about all those nights making cheap meals for my dad, all the effort I’d put into that turkey, and now it was rotting in the trash.
I took a shaky breath, then another. The tears receded. In their place came something cold and steady.Continue reading…
