“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he said.
“Around noon?”
“Of course. Rachel is looking forward to it. Stella would also like to come. Is that okay?”
“Everyone is welcome here.”
There was a strange pause.
“Thanks, Mom.”
He sounded relieved, as if he had expected me to object.
I should have paid more attention.
The following morning, I was awake before sunrise.
I seasoned the meat, sliced onions, washed lettuce, prepared potatoes, and filled our large glass dispenser with iced tea.
By nine, the house smelled of coffee, spices, and roasting vegetables.
Tom stood outside preparing the grill, wearing his old Texas Rangers cap with a towel over one shoulder.
“You happy?” he called through the screen door.
“I am.”
And I truly was.
At eleven, my nieces Erica and Louisa arrived.
They were my sister’s daughters, but I had always loved them as if they were my own.
Erica brought a warm apple pie wrapped in a dish towel. Louisa carried fruit salad and a bottle of wine.
“It smells incredible in here,” Erica said, kissing my cheek.
“What can we do?” Louisa asked, already putting down her purse.
That question alone showed the difference between them and certain other guests.
People who respected a host did not arrive expecting to be served while everyone else worked.
At twelve-thirty, the doorbell rang.
Julian stood outside with the same boyish smile that had always softened me.
“Hi, Mom.”
I hugged him, and for one brief moment, he held me like he had when he was younger.
Then Rachel stepped forward in a red sundress that seemed better suited for an expensive rooftop brunch than a backyard barbecue.
Behind her stood Stella in beige slacks and jewelry that clicked whenever she moved.
Rachel gave me an air kiss.
“Betty, your house smells wonderful.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Stella looked around.
“It’s a beautiful day.”
Then I noticed the bags.
A large canvas tote hung from Rachel’s shoulder. It was open just enough for me to see several plastic containers stacked inside.
Stella carried an oversized handbag and a folded grocery bag beneath one arm. When she moved, I heard more containers knocking together.
I waited for one of them to mention dessert, salad, bread, or anything else they might have brought.
Neither did.
Rachel stepped into the entryway and glanced around.
“It’s so warm and cozy in here.”
Stella nodded.
“Yes. Very lived-in.”
It was the first small insult of the afternoon.
A polite guest might have meant comfortable.
Stella meant old.
I smiled anyway.
“Everyone is outside.”
When we entered the backyard, Tom waved from the grill.
“Good to see you, Julian.”
Stella admired the spread.
“This is quite a feast.”
Tom looked proud.
“Betty bought thirty-three pounds of beef.”
The moment he said it, Rachel and Stella exchanged a quick glance.
Their expressions did not show gratitude.
They showed calculation.
“Thirty-three pounds?” Rachel laughed. “No wonder we brought containers.”
The patio went still.
Realizing what she had admitted, Rachel quickly added, “You always make too much, Betty. We didn’t want anything to be wasted.”
Nothing had even been served.
Lunch began pleasantly enough on the surface.
Rachel and Stella immediately sat down. Neither offered to help.
Then the comments started.
Stella looked toward my flower bed.
“Your roses are surviving the heat surprisingly well, though the one near the fence looks tired.”
I had watered those roses every morning.
Rachel touched my green tablecloth.
“This is cute. Vintage?”
“It belonged to my mother.”
“Oh,” she replied. “That explains it.”
When Tom brought out the sausages, Stella took one bite.
“They’re good. Perhaps a little less salt next time.”
Rachel tasted the salad.
“Very fresh. I normally use a lighter dressing, but this is nice too.”
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