She had hated that sentence for years. Taking sides. As though every boundary automatically created teams. As though asking not to be volunteered required a family civil war.
Tiffany’s face flushed. “Fine.”
She thrust the phone back at Margaret.
“Talk to your son.”
Margaret lifted it to her ear.
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes.
“I thought Tiffany had arranged the meal.”
“Tiffany told me I was cooking.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you tell people I was hosting?”
“No. She sent the invitation.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“Tiffany?”
Her daughter-in-law looked toward the window.
Kevin continued. “I saw the group message. It said ‘Christmas at Margaret’s.’ I asked if you were okay with it. Tiffany said you were excited.”
Margaret looked at the woman standing ten feet away.
Tiffany did not deny it.
“And you believed her,” Margaret said.
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
Kevin was quiet.
“That is not a trick question.”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming over.”
Tiffany turned sharply. She had heard that.
“No,” Margaret said.
Kevin stopped.
“I do not need you to rush here and manage this for me.”
“Mom—”
“I need you to tell the truth in the family group message.”
Another silence.
“What truth?”
“That I did not invite twenty-five people. I did not agree to cook. I learned about this today.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened.
“Margaret.”
Margaret held up one finger.
Kevin exhaled. “Okay.”
“And you will not write that there was a misunderstanding.”
Tiffany whispered something under her breath.
Margaret continued. “There was no misunderstanding. Tiffany made a decision without asking me. You failed to verify it. Those are the facts.”
Kevin swallowed audibly.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
She ended the call.
Tiffany stared at her.
“You really want him to humiliate me in front of the whole family?”
“No. I want him to correct a false impression you created.”
“You are enjoying this.”
Margaret looked around the kitchen.
The unopened cards. The designer purse. The list still glowing on Tiffany’s phone. The refrigerator she had opened as though conducting an inspection.
“No,” she said. “I am mourning how normal this became.”
That answer landed differently.
Tiffany’s face flickered.
For a second, Margaret saw embarrassment.
Then anger returned.
“So what am I supposed to do with twenty-five people?”
