“Know your place,” my son said. I simply replied, “Understood,” and when the cook came, there was silence at the table.

 

Everything is outrageously expensive. Marlene didn’t even open her package. She snapped her fingers.

Yes. She literally snapped her fingers and said,

“Five lobsters Thermidor, the large ones, and a bottle of your best white wine.”

“Four lobsters,” Michael corrected her gently, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

Marlene looked at him, puzzled, then her gaze followed his to mine. And then she smiled. The same smile she puts on when she’s about to plunge the knife in.

“Oh yes,” she said, as if she’d just remembered I existed. “Four lobsters.”

She turned to the waiter and added in a raised voice, just loud enough to sound casual, but loud enough for everyone to hear:

“We’re not giving her any extra food. Just water.”

The waiter blinked, embarrassed. He looked at me, expecting me to say something, to order something. But before I could open my mouth, Michael interrupted.

“But Mom already ate before she arrived, didn’t she?”

His tone was gentle, but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was a veiled command.

I felt something break inside me. It wasn’t anything dramatic. No mournful background music, no slow motion. Just a silent tear somewhere in my chest where hope had once been.

“Sure,” I finally said. “Plain water is perfectly fine.”

Marlene smiled contentedly and leaned back in her chair. The waiter nodded and hurried out, probably relieved to have escaped the tense situation. Marlene’s parents didn’t seem to have overheard the conversation at all. They were too busy admiring the restaurant and noting how exclusive it was.

And so dinner began. Well, their dinner.

I just finished my glass of water, clear, cold, still, exactly as it should be, apparently.

Ten minutes later, the lobsters arrived. Four enormous, steaming plates, the aroma of butter and herbs filling the entire table. The waiter carefully placed them in front of Marlene, Michael, and their parents, who hadn’t spoken a word to me since my arrival. No hello, no how are you? Nothing. It was as if I were invisible, or worse, part of the furniture.

Marlene was the first to crack open her lobster shell. The cracking sound echoed in the awkward silence that had settled over the room.

She took a generous piece of white meat, dipped it in melted butter, and brought it to her mouth with deliberate slowness. She closed her eyes as if tasting something divine. Theatrical. Everything about her was always so theatrical.

“Excellent,” she murmured cautiously, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Absolutely excellent. This place never disappoints.”

Her mother nodded enthusiastically.

It’s without a doubt the best restaurant in town. So exclusive, so sophisticated.”

Michael also began to eat, although I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring intently at his plate, concentrating on pulling apart the lobster as if it were the most important task in the world.

Coward.

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