Chapter 1: The Four Pounds She Couldn't Have
"What the hell am I supposed to eat?"" Charlene Mercer screamed, seconds after slapping me across the face.
I stood beside my kitchen island, one hand pressed against my burning cheek, staring at my mother-in-law.
Behind her, my husband stood in the doorway.
Spencer was thirty-nine years old. We'd been married for three years and two months. He had just watched his mother hit me because I had thrown four pounds of short ribs into my own trash can.
He said nothing.
Not a word.
I looked at him for several seconds before turning back to Charlene.
"That," I said quietly, "is exactly what I've been wondering for three years.""
Neither of them understood what I meant.
They would.
But first, you need to understand why eighteen pounds of beef had become the most expensive lesson of my marriage.
Three days earlier, I'd stood inside a butcher shop on a Thursday morning, examining the marbling on a beautiful rack of short ribs.
"Big gathering?"" the butcher asked.
"Family dinner.""
"How many people?""
"Twenty, possibly twenty-two.""
He raised his eyebrows.
"That's a lot of short ribs.""
"I'd rather have too much than too little.""
I smiled as I said it.
At the time, I genuinely believed the evening would be something worth remembering.
My husband, Spencer, had recently received a promotion at his company. After nearly two years of working toward it, he'd become regional operations director.
When he told me, he'd come home carrying champagne and lifted me off the floor in our living room.
"We did it, Opal!"" he'd shouted.
I laughed as he spun me around.
"We?""
He kissed my forehead.
"You know what I mean.""
I did.
I also knew that I paid the mortgage on our Connecticut home, covered the utilities, bought most of our groceries, and handled the insurance.
Spencer contributed occasionally, although his definition of contributing had become increasingly flexible.
Still, I wanted to celebrate him.
I wanted his family to sit around our dining table, enjoy a beautiful meal, and see the man I'd spent three years supporting.
So I bought eighteen pounds of premium short ribs.
The total was $386.42 after tax.
I remembered the amount because it was only the beginning of the expenses.
There were vegetables, potatoes, wine, appetizers, desserts, fresh flowers, and enough ingredients to feed an entire neighborhood.
The marinade came from my mother.
She had taught me the recipe when I was twenty-two, standing beside me in her little Pennsylvania kitchen while rain tapped against the windows.
"Good food takes patience, Opal," she'd told me.
Then she'd pointed her wooden spoon at me.
"But remember something. Patience is not the same thing as letting people walk all over you.""
I'd laughed.
My mother had never met Charlene Mercer.
If she had, I suspect she'd have repeated that advice considerably more often.
On Friday night, I prepared the marinade.
Fresh rosemary, garlic, smoked paprika, red wine, brown sugar, and a handful of ingredients I measured by instinct.
I rubbed it into every piece of meat, arranged everything in covered trays, and placed them in the refrigerator.
Spencer wandered into the kitchen around nine.
He opened the refrigerator and whistled.
"That's a lot of meat.""
"Your mother invited twenty people.""
He paused with a bottle of water in his hand.
"She did?""
I stopped working.
"What do you mean?""
"She mentioned something about having people over.""
"At our house, Spencer.""
"Right. Our house.""
He was already looking at his phone.
I wiped my hands on a towel.
"Did you know she'd invited everyone four weeks ago?""
"Probably.""
"Probably?""
"Opal, don't start. Mom's excited about my promotion. Let her have her fun.""
I stared at him.
"She's having her fun in my kitchen, with my money, while I work sixty hours a week.""
"Our money," he corrected.
I glanced at the stack of unopened bills beside my laptop.
"Of course.""
He kissed my cheek and walked away.
I stood there listening to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.
Then I covered the meat and placed it in the refrigerator.
I told myself the dinner would be worth it.
I told myself that when twenty relatives walked through our front door, ate the food I'd prepared, and congratulated Spencer, I would feel proud.
I told myself a lot of things during those three years.
Most of them were excuses.
Saturday morning arrived before the sun.
At four o'clock, my alarm sounded.
I slipped out of bed, pulled on an old sweatshirt, and walked barefoot into the cold kitchen.
I preheated the oven, arranged the short ribs in heavy roasting pans, poured in the cooking liquid, and covered everything tightly with foil.
By five, the smell of garlic and rosemary had filled the house.
By seven, I'd answered three work emails.
By nine, I'd chopped vegetables.
At eleven, Spencer appeared wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.
"Wow. That smells incredible.""
"Good morning to you, too.""
He kissed the top of my head.
"Mom says she's bringing a few extra people.""
I slowly put down my knife.
"How many?""
"Maybe four.""
"Spencer, we already have twenty people coming.""
"Then twenty-four. What's the difference?""
"The difference is that I bought food for twenty people, and I've been cooking since four this morning.""
He poured himself a glass of orange juice.
"You're good at this stuff, Opal. You'll figure it out.""
Then he walked away.
At noon, I started preparing the potatoes.
At one, I arranged the serving dishes.
At two, I polished the dining table and placed fresh flowers in a glass vase.
At three, Spencer's sister, Vanessa, arrived without knocking.
She walked into the kitchen wearing oversized sunglasses and carrying an enormous empty tote bag.
"Hey, Opal!""
"Hi, Vanessa.""
She opened my refrigerator, examined the shelves, and popped a strawberry into her mouth.
"Wow. You really went all out.""
"I wanted to make something special for Spencer.""
She looked at the roasting pans.
"Those are the short ribs?""
"Yes.""
"All eighteen pounds?""
I frowned.
"How did you know how much I bought?""
"Mum told me.""
Something about her answer made me put down the dish towel.
"Your mother told you how much meat I bought?""
Vanessa shrugged.
"She said you were doing a massive dinner. Anyway, I came to see if you could spare some.""
"Spare what?""
She pointed toward the roasting pans.
"Some of those.""
I blinked.
"Some of the short ribs?""
"Yeah. Mum said she wanted to take a few home for tomorrow.""
I stared at her.
"Tomorrow?""
"She's having people over.""
"Then she can buy her own food.""
Vanessa laughed as though I'd made a joke.
"God, Opal. Don't be so dramatic. It's just meat.""
"Four hundred dollars' worth of meat.""
She rolled her eyes.
"Well, it's not like you're struggling.""
Before I could respond, Charlene's voice came from the hallway.
"Vanessa, did you ask her?""
My mother-in-law appeared in the kitchen carrying her expensive leather handbag.
She didn't greet me.
She walked directly to the refrigerator and inspected the trays.
"Goodness. You didn't make all this just for tonight, did you?""
I folded my arms.
"I made it for the twenty-four people you're bringing to dinner.""
Charlene turned toward me.
"Don't be difficult. Family shares.""
"Family also asks before taking things.""
Her expression changed.
Vanessa quietly closed the refrigerator.
Charlene stepped closer.
"Watch your tone, Opal. You're not talking to one of your little office assistants.""
I looked at the woman who had entered my house without knocking and was already treating my groceries like her personal property.
Then I looked at Vanessa's empty tote bag.
"No," I said.
"I'm talking to someone who doesn't own this food.""
Charlene's lips tightened.
"We'll discuss this later.""
She walked out.
Vanessa followed her.
But before leaving the kitchen, she glanced back at the roasting pans.
And smiled.
I should have understood what that smile meant.
Instead, I returned to my potatoes.
At six-thirty, the first guests arrived.
At seven, the house was full.
People complimented the flowers, admired the dining room, and congratulated Spencer.
Charlene accepted every compliment as though she'd personally arranged the entire evening.
And then, while I was upstairs changing into my black dress, fourteen pounds of my short ribs disappeared from my kitchen.
I would discover that shortly.
But the first warning came when I returned downstairs and found Vanessa standing beside my refrigerator with her phone in her hand.
May you like
She was smiling at someone.
And the back door was still open.
