Chapter 2 - Enter the In-Laws and the Coronation of Cruelty
Saturday evening arrived with the stifling heat of late summer. At precisely 6:00 PM, the front door buzzer echoed through our apartment. Virginia practically skipped to the intercom, her silver bracelets jangling loudly, buzzing her sister Brenda upstairs with the enthusiasm of a general welcoming reinforcements to the front lines.
Brenda walked in smelling of suffocating lavender perfume and expensive hairspray. She was a taller, sharper version of Virginia, with eyes that immediately scanned our living room, cataloging every piece of furniture, every decorative pillow, and every supposed flaw in our decor.
"Oh, Virginia, the apartment is simply darling," Brenda cooed, shedding her designer shawl onto our cream-colored sofa without asking. "Though, honestly, I don't know how you manage living in such a cramped space. In Bakersfield, we are so used to open air and actual square footage."
Virginia beamed, basking in her sister's condescension. "Well, sweetheart, you know how young people are these days. They start small, and they make do with whatever modest means they have."
I stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a simple black linen dress, holding a tray of appetizers. I didn't rush to greet Brenda. I walked out calmly, setting the tray down on the coffee table right in front of them.
Brenda glanced down at the toasted crostinis topped with goat cheese, caramelized onions, and fresh figs. She picked one up with two manicured fingers, inspected it as if it were a biological specimen under a microscope, and took a cautious bite.
"Hmm," Brenda hummed, chewing slowly. "Interesting flavor profile, Chloe. A bit too ambitious for a casual Saturday, don't you think? Back in our day, a simple cheese and cracker platter was more than enough for family. But, of course, everyone tries to be a gourmet chef nowadays."
Virginia laughed, a high, musical sound that made my teeth grind. "Oh, Brenda, don't encourage her. You should taste what she calls 'chicken parmesan' on Tuesdays. Poor Justin has practically lost five pounds since we got here."
Justin, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, finally shifted uncomfortably. "Mom, the chicken is fine. Really."
"Nonsense, sweetheart," Virginia dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "A mother knows when her son is starving. Now, where is the main course? Brenda and I are quite eager to see what culinary masterpiece you've managed to pull together tonight, Chloe."
The emphasis on culinary masterpiece was thick with sarcasm. Brenda chuckled softly, leaning in close to her sister.
I felt a strange, icy calm wash over me. My heart rate slowed down. Every muscle in my body uncoiled. The stage was set. The audience was seated. And the curtains were about to rise.
"Dinner is ready," I said, my voice smooth, polite, and entirely devoid of fear. "Please, everyone, take your seats at the dining table."
As we all moved toward the dining room, I caught Walter—my father-in-law—looking at me with a strange expression. Walter had spent the entire week staying mostly silent, hiding behind his newspaper, avoiding his wife's crossfire. But as he passed me, he gave me a fleeting, almost imperceptible nod, as if he knew something catastrophic was about to happen and secretly welcomed it.
We all sat down. The table was set with our best china and polished silver. In the center sat my homemade beef bourguignon, simmering in a rich, aromatic red wine reduction, surrounded by garlic mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus. It smelled incredible.
Yet, the moment Virginia sat down, she didn't even bother waiting for me to serve. She picked up her serving spoon, shoveled a massive portion of potatoes onto her plate, and then took a large ladle of the beef stew, dumping it haphazardly over her food.
May you like
Then, she paused, hovering her spoon over the dish.
She let out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh—the kind of sigh meant to draw the attention of every single person at the table.
