Chapter 2 - Cold Brew and Hard Realities
The antique grandfather clock in the foyer chimed eight times before Susan’s heavy designer slippers scuffled down the wooden stairs. Daniel and I were sitting side by side on the outdoor sofa, comfortably sipping lukewarm tea from chipped mugs, watching the mist burn off the water. We didn't speak. We simply waited for the inevitable explosion.
""Maggie?"" Susan’s voice echoed down the hall, sharp, melodic, and laden with expectation. ""Maggie, darling, is the French press ready? And please tell me you remembered the almond milk this time! Yesterday’s froth had entirely too much dairy!""
Silence answered her.
A moment later, Susan swept into the kitchen wearing a peach silk kimono, oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses perched atop her styled hair, and a frown of profound annoyance. When her eyes found the bare countertops—no steaming bacon, no golden hash browns, no freshly squeezed valencia orange juice—her jaw dropped in theatrical disbelief. She grabbed the single sheet of blue-taped paper off the marble island.
Daniel had written it in bold black Sharpie: Self-Service Weekend in Progress. Kitchen supplies available in town at the General Store (4 miles east). Enjoy your stay.
""What on earth is the meaning of this childish joke?"" Susan screeched, bursting through the screen door onto the deck. She marched straight toward us, her manicured finger waving like a tiny baton. ""Daniel! Where is your mother-in-law? My back is aching from that dreadful mattress in the guest room, I have a migraine coming on, and there isn't a drop of caffeine in this house! Why aren't the breakfast trays laid out?""
Before Daniel could open his mouth, Susan’s gaze drifted toward the railing. The bright scarlet geraniums were sitting triumphantly in the center of the wooden perimeter, their lush green leaves catching the morning sun. Her eyes narrowed to venomous slits.
""And who moved these atrocious weeds back onto the railing?"" she gasped, clutching her chest. ""I made it explicitly clear yesterday that these monstrosities ruin my sightline! I cannot properly photograph the horizon for my garden club forum with these peasant flowers cluttering the foreground! Move them immediately!""
I didn't flinch. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea, looked her dead in the eyes, and smiled. ""Good morning, Susan. The flowers are staying exactly where Mom planted them. And as for your breakfast, the frying pans are in the bottom left cabinet, the dish soap is by the sink, and the grocery store opens at nine.""
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Susan turned an alarming shade of magenta. ""Excuse me? Are you speaking to me like a common delinquent? Daniel, are you going to sit there and allow your wife to insult your mother under a roof where we are invited guests?""
Daniel stood up, towering over his mother. For the first time in his life, he didn't shrink back from her piercing gaze. ""Mom, you aren't guests anymore. Guests say thank you. Guests carry their own coffee mugs to the dishwasher. Guests don't treat my wife’s mother like an unpaid scullery maid and banish her beloved garden from her own porch. Maggie is gone for the weekend. If you want food, you cook it. If you dirty a dish, you scrub it. Welcome to reality.""
