Angela pointed toward the kitchen.
“Get up and make dinner yourself.”
“I am up.”
She shrugged.
“Then what’s stopping you?”
That was the moment something inside me finally gave out.
I stopped arguing.
I simply sat down at the kitchen table because standing there and trying to reason with her suddenly felt completely pointless.
One of the kids appeared in the doorway.
“Mom, can I have crackers?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, honey.”
Angela sighed.
“Crackers for dinner. Wonderful.”
I looked at her.
“Please stop talking.”
She looked genuinely offended.
“I came here to help.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yolanda…”
“Please.”
She finally went quiet.
For the next twenty minutes, the kitchen was filled with an uncomfortable silence.
Then the front door opened.
“Yoli?”
Nathan.
He stepped into the kitchen carrying his laptop bag.
He stopped immediately.
Our youngest was sitting at the counter eating crackers.
The older one was spreading peanut butter onto another stack.
And I was sitting at the table crying.
I felt awful.
I was hungry.
I was exhausted.
And I’d reached the absolute end of what I could politely absorb from his mother.
Nathan looked around.
“Where’s… dinner?”
Angela answered before I could.
“In the trash.”
Nathan turned toward her.
“What?”
“I threw it out.”
Slowly, Nathan placed his laptop bag on the floor.
He walked over to the trash can and looked inside.
His untouched steak dinner was sitting crookedly on top of my soup.
He looked at me.
Then at the kids.
Then at his mother.
“Mom, did you do this?”
Angela lifted her chin.
“Someone had to remind your wife what marriage means.”
Nathan stared at her.
He was angry.
Not mildly annoyed.
Not irritated.
Angry.
The kind of angry where Nathan usually needed a moment before speaking.
But then something unexpected happened.
His expression changed.
His brow remained furrowed, but he became strangely calm.
And then he smiled.
“You know what, Mom?”
Angela relaxed slightly.
“You’re absolutely right.”
I looked at him.
“Nathan?”
He raised one hand toward me without taking his eyes off his mother.
“Actually, thank you.”
Angela smiled.
“For what?”
“For looking out for me.”
There was the smallest hint of satisfaction in her expression.
Nathan continued.
“If takeout is unacceptable, then I think you deserve a reminder.”
“A reminder?” Angela asked.
“In a way.”
Nathan pulled out his phone.
“I just need to make one call.”
Angela sat down across from me.
“Anything for my boy.”
I watched Nathan walk out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
He spoke quietly at first, and I couldn’t make out what he said.
Then his voice carried through the doorway.
“Aunt Irene?”
Angela stopped smiling.
It happened so quickly that I almost missed it.
Her fingers froze against the tabletop.
Nathan continued.
“Yeah, it’s me. Do you still have that old Tuesday dish you always joke you should’ve thrown out twenty years ago?”
Angela stood up.
“Nathan?”
He ignored her.
“Perfect. Is there any chance you could bring it over with some of the old Tuesday dinner?”
Angela hurried toward the hallway.
“Nathan, hang up.”
He stepped away from her.
“Twenty minutes? Great.”
“Nathan!”
He ended the call.
Angela stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
Nathan slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Getting someone a second opinion.”
“Why are you calling Irene?”
“I don’t want it,” I said quietly.
Nathan finally looked at me.
“This one’s not really for you.”
Angela’s face had lost the confidence she’d been wearing only minutes earlier.
“Why are you calling Irene?”
“You’ll see.”
Nathan picked up a clean glass, filled it with water, and placed it in front of Angela.
“Nathan, don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Whatever you think you’re doing, stop it.”
Nathan opened the pantry and began making sandwiches for the kids.
Angela followed him.
“I mean it.”
“So did Yoli when she told you she had a fever.”
Angela stared at him.
“I was trying to help.”
“Then help me understand something.”
He looked toward the trash can.
“How exactly did throwing away her soup help?”
Angela said nothing.
Nathan returned to making the sandwiches.
For once, his mother had no immediate answer.
I had never seen Angela run out of things to say.
For the next fifteen minutes, she barely sat still.
She checked the front door twice.
She asked Nathan what Irene had said.
She asked whether he’d told Irene why she was coming.
Nathan refused to answer.
Finally, the doorbell rang.
Angela stood so quickly that her chair scraped backward across the floor.
Nathan looked at me.
“Stay there, Yoli.”
Then he walked toward the front door.
I heard it open.
A woman’s voice followed.
“Nathan!”
His tone immediately became lighter.
“Aunt Irene! Look at you.”
“I know. Ancient.”
“Move,” she said. “This thing is heavy.”
Nathan laughed.
Then I heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.
Slow, careful footsteps.
Someone was carrying something substantial.
Angela stood rigid beside the table.
Nathan appeared first.
Behind him came a woman I’d never met.
She looked to be somewhere in her seventies, with silver hair loosely pulled behind her head.
