Chapter 2: Nineteen Missed Calls
At 9:30 that evening, I was sitting in Robert's old recliner, watching a Christmas movie I'd seen at least twenty times.
My plate was empty.
The pot roast had been tender, the potatoes creamy, and the pecan pie tasted exactly like the ones Robert used to request.
For the first time that day, I felt peaceful.
Then my phone rang.
Ethan.
I let it ring.
A minute later, another call came.
Then another.
By 10:15, I had received six calls.
At 10:42, Brooke sent me a message.
*Margaret, where did you put the food you brought?*
I stared at the screen.
Not Are you okay?
Not I'm sorry about earlier.
Just a question about the food.
I typed back.
*At home, where it belongs.*
Her response arrived almost immediately.
*This isn't funny. We need those dishes.*
I put the phone down.
A few minutes later, my neighbor, Denise, knocked on my door.
She was carrying a Christmas tin filled with cookies.
"Margaret, are you all right? I saw you come home earlier. I thought you were supposed to be at Ethan's.""
I stepped aside.
"Come in. I've got enough food for an army.""
Denise looked at the containers on my counter.
"Good heavens. Did you cook all that?""
"Apparently, it wasn't fancy enough.""
I told her what had happened.
I didn't exaggerate. I didn't leave anything out.
When I finished, Denise placed her cookie tin on the counter.
"That girl has some nerve.""
"She's young," I said automatically.
"She's thirty-eight, Margaret. That's old enough to know better.""
I smiled sadly.
Denise sat down and accepted a plate of pot roast.
"Do you know what bothers me most?"" she asked.
"What?""
"Your son watched her do that to you.""
I didn't answer.
Because that was what bothered me, too.
At 11:03, Ethan called again.
This time, I answered.
"Hello?""
"Mom!""
His voice sounded strained.
"What's wrong?""
"Where are you?""
"At home. You know that.""
"Can you come back?""
I looked at the clock.
"Why?""
There was a pause.
"Something happened with dinner.""
I almost laughed.
"Did the expensive food run out?""
"Mom, please. I'm serious.""
"So am I.""
He lowered his voice.
"Brooke is having a problem with the caterer.""
"What kind of problem?""
"They brought the wrong dessert.""
I blinked.
"Then order another dessert.""
"It's not that simple.""
"What does that have to do with me?""
He hesitated.
"Your pecan pie. People were asking about it.""
I stared at the wall.
"People who were told my food wasn't good enough?""
"Mom, can you please stop bringing that up?""
"Did Brooke ask you to call?""
Another pause.
"She's busy.""
Of course she was.
"Good night, Ethan.""
"Wait! Mom—"
I ended the call.
Denise raised an eyebrow.
"Did he apologize?""
"No.""
"Did he ask if you were hurt?""
"No.""
"What did he want?""
"My pie.""
Denise shook her head.
We both laughed, but it was a tired kind of laughter.
Around midnight, I finally went to bed.
I left my phone on the nightstand.
At 12:16, it rang.
At 12:24, it rang again.
At 12:39, I heard the familiar vibration against the wooden table.
I turned it off.
The next morning, Christmas Day, sunlight slipped through my curtains.
I made coffee and walked into the kitchen.
The food was still there.
I decided to take some to the senior center where Robert and I used to volunteer. They held a Christmas breakfast for people who didn't have family nearby.
I packed the pot roast, potatoes, and pie into clean containers.
Before leaving, I checked my phone.
Nineteen missed calls.
All from Ethan.
I stared at the number.
Nineteen.
The last one had come in at 6:03 a.m.
There were also four messages.
*12:51 a.m. — Mom, please call me.*
*1:17 a.m. — Something serious happened.*
*3:42 a.m. — I really need you to come over.*
*5:58 a.m. — Mom, please. I'm begging you.*
My stomach tightened.
I called him immediately.
He answered before the first ring finished.
"Mom!""
"Ethan, what's going on?""
I heard a door slam somewhere behind him.
Then Brooke's voice.
"Is that her? Tell her to come now!""
Ethan moved away from her.
"Mom, listen. The dinner was a disaster.""
"Why?""
"The caterer left.""
"What?""
"They said the final payment hadn't gone through. Apparently, the card Brooke gave them was declined, and they wouldn't serve the remaining courses.""
I leaned against the counter.
"That's unfortunate.""
"Mom, they left with the main course. Half the guests were already here. The dessert table was incomplete, and everyone was asking where the food was.""
I frowned.
"Didn't Brooke say she had everything under control?""
"She thought she did.""
"And what happened to the guests?""
"They're still here. Some are staying overnight.""
I looked at the clock.
It was 8:14 in the morning.
"Ethan, why are you calling me about this?""
His voice dropped.
"Because Brooke told everyone you were preparing the Christmas dinner.""
I went completely still.
"What?""
"She told her parents and our guests that you were bringing the traditional food. She said your pot roast was the centerpiece of the evening.""
I gripped the phone.
"But she told me to take it away.""
"I know.""
"She told me it didn't fit her theme.""
"I know, Mom.""
"And you stood there.""
He didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
"Why would she tell people I was bringing the food?""
"Because she needed something homemade to balance out the catering menu. She'd been talking about your cooking all week.""
I felt a strange chill.
"So she wanted my food. She just didn't want people to know it came from me?""
"Mom, please. I can't explain everything over the phone.""
"Then explain what you want me to do.""
"Come back. Please. Bring the food.""
I glanced at the containers I'd packed for the senior center.
Then I looked at the little Christmas card Robert had written years ago, still pinned to the refrigerator.
"Tell me something, Ethan.""
"What?""
"Did you tell your guests that your mother had been sent away because her cooking was too cheap?""
Silence.
Then Brooke's voice came through the phone, sharp and unmistakable.
"Margaret! Stop making this about your feelings! We have guests who need breakfast!""
I slowly lowered the phone.
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not even an attempt to hide the truth.
Just another demand.
I took a breath.
"Ethan, I'm not coming.""
"Mom—"
"I'm going to feed people who actually want to eat my food.""
Then I hung up.
But before I could put the phone away, another message appeared.
It wasn't from Ethan.
It was from an unfamiliar number.
**Mrs. Collins, my name is Richard Harrington. I'm Brooke's father.
I need to speak with you privately about something that happened at the party last night. Please don't bring any more food to the house until we talk.**
I read the message three times.
May you like
Why would Brooke's father tell me not to bring food?
And what had happened at that Christmas party that even my daughter-in-law's own father didn't want me walking into?
