“Perfectly fine,” I replied without looking at her.
“You seem tense.”
“I’m fine.”
She put her coffee mug down on the counter with a loud thud. “Look, if you’re still upset about the room, I think you’re being very immature. It’s time for you to get over it. Things change. You’re getting older. You need to adapt.”
I turned to look at her. She was wearing a designer tracksuit that cost what I used to earn in a week selling tamales 20 years ago. Her hair was up in a perfect ponytail. Her nails were freshly done—all paid for with money my son went into debt to give her.
“You’re right,” I said with a calmness that surprised me. “Things change.”
She smiled, thinking she had won again.
She had no idea what was coming.
On Friday night, Valerie gave me the news.
“Mother-in-law, some friends are coming over for lunch tomorrow. We’re going to be in the living room, and we need privacy. Can you stay in your room? Oh—and if you could make something tasty, we’d appreciate it. You know, your enchiladas are good. Make those.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
Robert was sitting on the couch watching football on TV. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me.
“What time?” I asked.
“Around 1:00 in the afternoon.” She leaned closer like she was doing me a favor. “And please wear something presentable—not that old robe you always wear.”
I barely slept that night. I knew Lucy would arrive in the morning. I knew I just needed to hold on a little longer.
But I never imagined that before my daughter arrived, I would experience the greatest humiliation of my life.
Saturday, 11:00 in the morning, I started making the enchiladas—refried beans with the special touch my mother taught me. Freshly made tortillas, cream, crumbled fresh cheese. The aroma filled the house.
At 12:30, the doorbell rang. Valerie ran to open it.
Four women her age came in, all dressed up, perfumed, laughing loudly. They brought bottles of wine and bags from an expensive boutique.
“Welcome to my house,” Valerie said, emphasizing the my while glancing at me.
They settled in the living room. I served the enchiladas on the breakfast bar, thinking they would come get them.
But Valerie came into the kitchen and gestured with her hand. “Mother-in-law, bring them to the living room. And bring us the wine too.”
I froze. “What?”
“Serve us in the living room. We don’t want to get up.”
I took a deep breath. I took the tray with the plates and went out.
Valerie’s friends looked at me with curiosity. “Oh, that looks delicious,” said one of them, a blonde woman wearing sunglasses inside the house.
I served the plates. I went to get the wine.
When I came back with the bottle and glasses, Valerie was showing her friends her new room upstairs.
“Come on, I’ll show you how it turned out. It’s beautiful.”
The five of them went upstairs. I stayed downstairs, feeling my stomach churn. I could hear their voices and laughter from the second floor.
“It’s gorgeous, Val.”
“And this was your mother-in-law’s room?”
“Yeah, but you know how older ladies are,” Valerie said. “Everything old and depressing. We did her a favor by moving her to a smaller room.”
Laughter.
They came down after 10 minutes. They sat down to eat. I was in the kitchen cleaning, trying to disappear.
But then I heard Valerie’s voice.
“Mother-in-law, can you bring us more napkins?”
I came out with the napkins. When I put them on the table, one of the friends—a brunette with huge earrings—looked at me with a condescending smile.
Leave a Comment