Then he pointed to the garden.
—And those roses… you should prune them. They seem too neglected.
Those roses were my pride and my joy. I’d been treating them for three years. But for Juliette, everything she couldn’t control had to be fixed.
While she was criticizing my home and my garden, Sarah and Kate invaded the kitchen with bags, cups, toys, wipes and snacks that they hadn’t even brought with them. Their children ran throughout the house like a whirlwind.
Eight-year-old Tyler spilled the juice of a popsicle on my white carpet and screamed asking where the bathroom was.
Her sister Madison opened the pantry and protested:
Why don’t you ever have any good snacks?
The “good snacks” were just the ones I bought every time. The same people they never wore.
From the courtyard, Juliette raised her voice again.
—Yes! The meat looks a little dry. Are you sure you didn’t cook it too much?
I smiled. Because screaming wouldn’t have been polite.
When they finally left that night, they had devoured food worth almost two hundred dollars, left garbage around the garden, sticky footprints all over the house and juices hidden behind the sofa.
While Bryan was helping me load the dishwasher, I picked up the popsicle sticks in my rose bushes.
—Honey, your mother moved the couch again.
“Just try to help,” he replied with a guilty expression.
—He also ate food worth two hundred dollars. Again.
I sigh.
—I know. I’ll talk to her.
But we both knew he probably would never do that. Bryan loved me, but he’d spent his whole life avoiding confronting his mother.
The next morning the phone rang.
—Yes! We had so much fun yesterday. The kids still talk about your ribs.
“I’m glad you liked them.
—It is decided: we will all come to your house on the weekend of July 4. We’ll arrive on Friday. Don’t forget to buy those sausages that children like so much. Oh, and the potato salad. And of course, the ribs.
He didn’t even wait for my answer. He hung up.
He didn’t ask us if it was okay with us. She didn’t offer to bring anything. He simply assumed that I would feed the whole family for three days.
That same night I told Bryan.
—Your mother will come to visit us on the weekend of July 4.
—With everyone?
—With everyone.
He closed the laptop.
—Is that okay with you?
Was it right to spend another three hundred dollars on people who treated our home like a free resort? To cook, clean, serve and, what’s more, to endure criticism?
I looked at him smiling.
-Obviously.
And right then my plan was born.
Three cars arrived on Friday.
Shopping bags? None.
