I’d spent the entire morning making sure everyone had enough to eat, drink, and enjoy themselves. What I didn’t expect was to watch one guest treat all that effort as if it only belonged to her.
Five in the morning, and I was already in the backyard hosing down the patio furniture like a woman possessed. Leo’s 42nd birthday barbecue was in a few hours, and I had a spreadsheet, three grocery bags on the counter, and roughly zero regrets. I loved this. Truly.
Hosting was my thing.
Ten dishes, four desserts, drinks, and so on. And a playlist I’d curated at midnight like a lunatic.
I was already in the backyard.
***
By 7 a.m., Leo shuffled out in his robe, squinting at me over a mug of coffee.
“Zoe. Honey. It’s my birthday, not a royal wedding.”
“You say that every year, baby.”
“And every year, you cook enough to feed a small country.”
I pointed a wooden spoon at him.
“And every year, our guests bring at least one dish too. That’s how it works. That’s the deal.”
“You say that every year, baby.”
My husband grinned and kissed the top of my head.
“Most of them, anyway.”
We both knew who he meant. Neither of us said her name.
Linda. My mother-in-law (MIL). In 15 years of celebrating every holiday at our house, she had never once brought a single dish to a gathering. Not a bag of chips. Not a store-bought pie. Nothing.
She always came with Jessica and Nicole, my sisters-in-law. And they always came hungry.
We both knew who he meant.
“You know,” I said, stirring the potato salad, “your mother treats our house like a free buffet.”
Leo laughed.
“She’s just old-school.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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