A few weeks before the Fourth of July, he called to announce, almost as if he were doing me a favor, that they would also be coming on Memorial Day.
—Annie, honey, we’re coming to visit you for Memorial Day. The kids love your ribs.
Of course they loved them. I’d buy them, marinate them, cook them, and serve them. Afterward, Juliette would sit comfortably on my terrace and explain everything she thought I’d done wrong.
That Memorial Day was another true marathon.
As soon as she entered, Juliette began moving the living room furniture as if she were a professional decorator.
—That sofa would look much better in front of the window.
“I like it where it is,” I replied.
—Don’t be silly, my dear. I have a very keen eye for these things.
Finally, he completely changed the layout, leaving the coffee table almost blocking the hallway. Then he surveyed his work with a satisfied smile.
Then he pointed to the garden.
—And those roses… you should prune them. They look too neglected.
Those roses were my pride and joy. I’d cared for them for three years. But for Juliette, everything she couldn’t control had to be fixed.
While she criticized my house and garden, Sarah and Kate invaded the kitchen with bags, cups, toys, wipes, and snacks they hadn’t even brought with them. Their children ran around the house like a whirlwind.
Eight-year-old Tyler spilled popsicle juice on my white carpet and screamed, asking where the bathroom was.
His sister Madison opened the pantry and protested:
—Why don’t you ever have any good snacks?
The “good snacks” were the ones I bought every time. The same ones they never brought.
From the courtyard, Juliette raised her voice again.
—Annie! The meat seems a little dry. Are you sure you didn’t overcook it?
I smiled. Because yelling wouldn’t have been polite.
By the time they finally left that evening, they had devoured nearly two hundred dollars worth of food, left garbage all over the yard, sticky footprints all over the house, and juice boxes hidden behind the couch.
While Bryan helped me load the dishwasher, I collected popsicle sticks from my rose bushes.
—Honey, your mom moved the couch again.
“Just trying to help,” he replied with a guilty expression.
—He also ate two hundred dollars worth of food. Again.
Sigh.
—I know. I’ll talk to her.
But we both knew he probably never would. Bryan loved me, but he’d spent his whole life avoiding confrontation with his mother.
The next morning the phone rang.
—Annie! We had so much fun yesterday. The kids are still talking about your ribs.
—I’m glad you liked them.
—It’s decided: we’re all coming to your house on the Fourth of July weekend. We’ll arrive on Friday. Don’t forget to buy those sausages the kids love so much. Oh, and the potato salad. And, of course, the ribs.
He didn’t even wait for my answer. He hung up.
She didn’t ask if it was okay. She didn’t offer to bring anything. She simply assumed I’d feed the whole family for three days.
That same evening I told Bryan.
—Your mother is coming to visit us on the Fourth of July weekend.
—With everyone?
—With everyone.
He closed the laptop.
—Is that okay with you?
Was it fair to spend another three hundred dollars on people who treated our home like a free resort? To cook, clean, serve, and, on top of that, endure criticism?
I looked at him smiling.
-Obviously.
And that’s when my plan was born.
Three cars arrived on Friday.
Shopping bags? None.
Juliette came down first, wearing an oversized hat and posing as a VIP guest. Sarah and Kate followed, carrying designer handbags… and nothing else. The six children then invaded the garden.
—Annie! I hope everything’s ready. We’re starving.
—Almost everything.
The table was beautiful. Wildflowers, cloth napkins, and freshly made lemonade.
“You always leave everything tidy,” Sarah commented.
“Where’s the food?” Kate asked.
I went to the kitchen and came back with a tray.
Cucumber sandwiches.
Remove the crust. Cut into small, perfect triangles.
And a teapot with hot black tea.
The silence was absolute.
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