Carefully gripping the hot handles, Margaret carried the pan into the living room and placed it on a thick wooden board in the center of the table.
The crust gave a faint crackle.
The aroma was so rich and tempting that Diane swallowed involuntarily and reached for her fork almost at once.
Thomas also brightened. He leaned forward, looking at the roasting pan with sincere interest.
Diane’s mood transformed in a heartbeat.
“Well, I had begun to think fish was the only thing you knew how to make,” she said, suddenly much sweeter as she eyed the most golden piece of meat. “You are capable when you want to be. Cut it quickly while it’s hot. And give me some of those potatoes from the edge.”
Margaret did not pick up the knife.
For several seconds, she simply watched the guests prepare themselves for the main course.
Then she gripped the hot iron handles again, lifted the pan from the table, and carried it back into the kitchen.
Daniel straightened sharply.
“Mom, where are you taking the meat? Put it back! It smells incredible!”
Margaret did not answer.
She returned to the kitchen, set the roasting pan on a thick wooden board, and covered it with its heavy lid so the meat would stay warm. Then she walked back toward the living room at an unhurried pace.
Nothing in her expression suggested that anything unusual had happened. She looked as calm as if she were dusting a shelf or putting away clean dishes.
When she reached the table, she picked up the large platter of pastries.
She carried it into the kitchen.
Then she returned for the eggplant rolls.
Next came the plate of homemade roast pork.
After that, she removed the crystal fish dish—the very piece of serving ware they had criticized only minutes earlier.
One by one, every dish disappeared from the festive table and reappeared on the kitchen counter.
In the silence, even the refrigerator’s steady hum could be heard.
Diane was the first to understand.
“Margaret, have you completely lost your mind in your old age?” she shrieked, her earlier condescending tone gone. “What kind of performance are you putting on? We are sitting at a celebration table!”
Margaret looked at her in-law without anger.
“A few minutes ago, you said the table was poverty-stricken. Why should I serve respected guests food you consider slop and poison you with cholesterol? The pollock reminds you of cat food. The salad is drowning in mayonnaise. The napkins are cheap. So don’t suffer. No one is forcing you to eat here.”
Her quiet voice struck harder than shouting would have.
For several seconds, Diane could not find a reply.
Daniel, however, sprang up from the sofa.
Red patches spread across his face.
“Mom, stop this ridiculous act! I’m embarrassed in front of my father-in-law and mother-in-law because of you! Put the food back. Everyone is hungry! You’re behaving like a hysterical woman!”
Margaret studied her son as though she were seeing him clearly for the first time.
Before her stood a grown, broad-shouldered man in a neatly pressed shirt—a shirt his mother had once bought for him. He was well groomed, well fed, and confident. Yet he could not summon even the smallest measure of respect for the woman who had spent decades being ready to give him everything she had.
“You should have been ashamed of something else, son,” Margaret said with the same steady calm. “You should have been ashamed to sit in my home while your mother was insulted over food she spent two days preparing and paid for herself. But if my table embarrasses you in front of your relatives, take your wife, her parents, and go to the good restaurant Diane was talking about. They can serve you arugula, king prawns, and beautifully starched cloth napkins there.”
Emily clenched her hands.
“Are you throwing us out? On our anniversary? We came here with open hearts! We wanted to spend a normal family evening together!”
Margaret went to the front door and opened it wide.
“You came to eat for free and once again explain what a terrible hostess I am. This has been happening for five years, always following the same script. But it ends today. There will be no celebration. Put on your shoes.”
Diane shot to her feet.
She was breathing heavily with outrage, and her floral silk scarf had slipped crookedly over one shoulder.
In the hallway, she angrily pulled on her suede shoes.
“Don’t expect to see me set foot in this apartment again!” she hissed. “You’re an insolent, uncivilized woman! We came here peacefully, and now you’re throwing meat in our faces! No manners, no upbringing. You were a nobody when you started, and you’re still a nobody! Come on, Thomas. There’s nothing for us here.”
Thomas gave Margaret an apologetic look and sighed quietly. He did not dare argue with his wife. Without a word, he followed Diane out.
Emily snapped her purse shut with an exaggerated click and stepped onto the landing without even turning toward her mother-in-law.
Daniel was the last one by the door.
He looked at Margaret with open fury.