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

 

Marlene continued eating with even greater appetite. Between bites, she talked about her life, her successes, everything she had achieved, as if she constantly had to emphasize the difference between herself and me.

“We just finalized the purchase of the new apartment,” she announced, looking proudly at her parents. “Three bedrooms, park view, twelfth floor. It cost $450,000, but Michael and I felt it was worth the investment.”

Her father raised his glass.

Let’s toast to that. To success, to the future.

Everyone raised their glasses, except me, of course. I didn’t have a glass, just my water glass, which now seemed to mock me with its transparency.

“And the best part,” Marlene continued, “is that we finally have the space we’ve always wanted. No interruptions, no unexpected visitors, no more worries about accommodating people who just drop by unannounced.”

She looked me straight in the eye. She wanted to make it clear that she was talking about me, that she was telling me—without saying it directly—that I was no longer welcome in her life.

Michael coughed awkwardly.

“Marlene, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“What’s necessary?” she interrupted with the affected friendliness she had developed. “I’m just sharing our good news. Is there a problem?”

“Nothing,” he replied, looking down again.

And then I understood. My son wasn’t just a coward. He was an accomplice. He had long since chosen a side, and that side wasn’t mine.

The waiter came back to clear away some empty plates. He looked at me as if he were wondering why I was still sitting there empty-handed.

I felt sorry for him. He’d probably experienced a thousand awkward moments in this restaurant, but this one was definitely among the five worst.

“Would you like dessert?” he asked professionally.

“Of course,” Marlene replied immediately. “Have the best option for four.”

Four, not five. Four.

The waiter nodded and walked away. I was still there, a ghost, someone who’d been removed from the equation,
but for some cruel reason, still occupying the chair.

Marlene’s mother leaned forward and looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and condescension.

“Dear Helen, what do you do for a living these days? Or are you already retired?”

It was a trap. I knew it right away. If I said I was retired, it would confirm their idea that I was a directionless old woman. If I said I worked, they’d probably mock my job. But before I could answer,
Marlene spoke for me.

Helen did all sorts of things. Cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing. Honest work. Nothing to be ashamed of,

of course.

The way she said “honest work” sounded like the exact opposite. It sounded like contempt, like arrogance, like an expression of gratitude that I never had to stoop so low.

“Admirable,” Marlene’s father said, but his tone was condescending. “Hard work always deserves respect. Although, of course, we made sure Marlene had every opportunity so she wouldn’t have to endure this.”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t say anything. I just nodded because every word that came out of their mouths was another reason to wait, to let them continue talking, to make them feel safe on their pedestal.

Michael finally looked at me. For a moment, I saw something in his eyes. Guilt? Shame? I’m not sure, but it
disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Mom,” he said softly. “Is everything alright? You’re so quiet.”

“I’m fine,” I replied calmly. “I’m just observing.”

Marlene gave a short laugh.

“Observing. How interesting.”

She turned to her mother.

“See, I told you, she’s quiet.”

The desserts arrived. Four plates of tiramisu with edible gold flakes. Because, of course, the dessert had to be ostentatious, too. While they devoured their plates, I stood motionless with my glass of water, which I hadn’t even touched. Condensation had formed at the bottom. I watched as the drops slowly slid down the glass, like tears I wouldn’t shed. I didn’t want to give them that pleasure.

Marlene wiped her mouth with her napkin and sighed contentedly.

This is absolutely my favorite restaurant. The quality is second to none. Of course, it’s not for everyone.

Another jab. Another blow, disguised as a casual remark. I wondered how many more would follow before this torment finally ended.

Her father ordered a cognac. Michael ordered a whiskey. The women ordered more wine. I still had my water. No one offered me anything else. No one asked if I