“There. Your son understands.”
Nancy looked at her daughter-in-law.
Jessica was thirty-nine, dressed as if she belonged in a restaurant with linen napkins and a valet out front, not a booth in a little highway diner.
Sunglasses rested above her styled hair.
A polished handbag sat beside her.
Her bracelet flashed each time she moved her wrist through the sunlight pouring in from the window.
Nancy remembered when Jessica used to complain about grocery prices.
That was before Brian’s promotion.
Before the newer SUV.
Before expensive dinners and weekend trips became routine.
Before Nancy started feeling less like Brian’s mother and more like an inconvenient obligation he had learned to manage.
She picked up the stale slice of bread.
For a second, Jessica’s mouth curved with satisfaction.
Then Nancy placed it back on the table.
“I’m not hungry for that.”
Jessica blinked.
“You said you were starving.”
“For dinner.” Nancy’s eyes moved to the plate beside Jessica, where her steak had been scattered among the children’s fries and chicken tenders. “Not charity.”
Brian looked up at last.
“Mom.”
Nancy didn’t break eye contact with Jessica.
Jessica pushed a ketchup bottle aside.
“Charity?”
A laugh slipped out, thin and humorless.
“You’re eating with us.”
“You took my meal.”
“I gave it to the children.”
“You took it without asking.”
Jessica’s expression cooled.
“They’re your grandchildren.”
“I know exactly who they are.”
“Then stop acting offended.”
Brian set his cup down.
The ceramic met the saucer with a soft, careful tap.
“Can we just eat?”
Nancy turned to him.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you plan to keep pretending nothing is happening.”
His jaw tightened.
