“Finally,” Beatrice sighed. “I was about to faint from hunger.”
I set the platter down. No one said thank you. No one commented on the aroma. They just grabbed the serving spoons and began to heap mounds of food onto their plates with the grace of starving wolves.
“So,” Chloe said between bites of stuffing. “Did you hear about the menu at Lumière tonight? They’re doing a gold-leaf mousse. I’m going to post it on my story. It’s going to get so many likes.”
“Class, Chloe,” Beatrice beamed. “That place screams class. Not like… well.” She gestured vaguely at my dining room, at the hand-embroidered tablecloth I had made. “This is cozy, Elena. In a rustic sort of way.”
“It’s certainly filling,” David muttered, chewing with his mouth open. “Pass the gravy.”
I handed him the boat. He drowned his turkey in it without tasting it first.
I sat down at the far end of the table. My plate was empty. I was too exhausted to eat, and honestly, watching them devour my art like it was fast food killed my appetite.
“So, Elena,” Chloe said, looking at me with a smirk. “Still looking for work? Or have you decided to just be a housewife permanently? David says the job market is tough for… people with your skillset.”
“I’m keeping busy,” I said, taking a sip of water.
“Busy doing what?” Beatrice laughed. “Dusting? Oh, honey, don’t be embarrassed. Not everyone is cut out for the corporate world. Or the professional world. Some people are just meant to serve.”
I gripped my glass tighter. Patience, I told myself. Just get through dinner.
But Chloe wasn’t done. She picked up the gravy boat. She poured a ladleful onto her mashed potatoes. She took a bite.
And then, she stopped chewing.
