Three cars pulled into our driveway, disgorging the familiar cast of characters: Juliette in her oversized sun hat, Sarah and Kate with their arms full of nothing but designer purses, and six children who immediately began treating my lawn like their playground. Or rather, battleground!
“Annie!” Juliette swept me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and entitlement. “I hope you’ve got everything ready. We’re absolutely starving!”
“Almost ready,” I said, my smile so sweet it could have caused diabetes.
I set the picnic table beautifully with mason jars filled with wildflowers from my garden, cloth napkins folded just so, and a pitcher of fresh lemonade catching the afternoon sun. It looked magazine-perfect, which was exactly what I was going for.
“Oh, how lovely!” Sarah exclaimed, settling into her chair. “You always do such a nice job with these things.”
“Where’s the food?” Kate asked, glancing around expectantly.
“Coming right up!” I said, disappearing into the kitchen.
I emerged with a tray of cucumber sandwiches. The crusts were surgically removed and sliced into triangles so delicate they looked like they’d apologize for existing. Alongside them sat a pot of black tea, lukewarm and sulking like a spinster aunt left off the wedding invite list.
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear a neighbor’s dog barking three houses away.
Juliette blinked slowly, like a computer trying to process an error message. “Um… where’s the barbecue, dear?”
I tilted my head, channeling every ounce of Southern charm I’d ever witnessed. “Oh, I didn’t shop this time. Since you all love our barbecue so much, I figured you’d want to bring the meat yourselves!”
The silence stretched like taffy. Sarah’s mouth had fallen open. Kate looked like she’d been slapped with a wet fish.
