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“Sam, I’ve made all of your favorites,” Kellie says, standing and indicating she wants his plate.
“I can see that, Mom,” he replies happily, passing her his dish.
As she begins piling mac and cheese, fried chicken, mini sliders, coleslaw, and fries onto his plate, I reach for the bottle of wine, feeling uneasy that she’s treating Sam like a child. I understand she’s happy he’s home, but this is ridiculous. He’s not an invalid. And he’s not sixteen years old. If she wants him to remember who he is, she needs to start treating him like a grown man.
I throw back my Riesling, Saxon’s grinning face distorted through the bottom of my wine glass. He reads my annoyance clearly.
“How’s work, Lucy?” Greg asks, trying to make conversation.
“I haven’t been there for a little while, but I hope to get back soon.”
When Kellie attempts to serve Saxon, he shifts his plate away from her. She doesn’t hide her scowl.
“This ongoing war in Syria is just devastating. All those millions of people affected. Will your organization be lending a hand?”
“Yes, we will. It’s been a continuing battle for quite some time. I’ve worked quite closely with many humanitarian groups across the globe, trying to strategize a plan of action. After…” I pause, as I was going to reveal that after our honeymoon, I was scheduled to go over and offer aid to the war torn country.
Samuel knew this and supported me one hundred percent, but now, I can’t be too sure what he’ll think.
“I was actually scheduled to go over at the end of next month for twelve weeks,” I confess, nervously rearranging my silverware. “But I think I’ll postpone. I can always be as effective here as I would be over there.”
“It’s awfully dangerous over there, Lucy. And besides, you’re needed here,” Kellie says as she cuts into her chicken.
She’s right, but this is my job. This is what I love doing. This ismynormal.
“I think you should go,” Saxon interjects, leaning back in his seat, sipping his beer.
“Don’t be absurd,” Kellie snaps. “Samuel needs her here.” Sam looks at his mom and screws up his face in dispute.
“And the homeless, famished people of Syria don’t?” Saxon counters smartly.
“They’re not my problem. Samuel is. I’m sorry they live where they do, but if they want to blow one another up, then good riddance, I say. They’re doing our troops a favor. They should bomb that entire country. Nothing good comes out of there, anyway.”
My mouth hangs open and I blink twice.
Saxon shakes his head, disgusted. “That’s a lovely attitude to have, Kellie. Screw the needy because Sam bumped his head.”
Samuel snorts besides me, but doesn’t say a word. The old Sam would be reprimanding his mom for such unethical, prejudiced views. But this Sam finds the entire exchange hilarious. Greg picks up on the hostility and uneasily tugs at the collar of his Abercrombie polo.
I should chastise Kellie, but I don’t. No matter how much of a bigot she is, she’s still practically my mother-in-law and I was raised better than that. I simply smile bitterly and sip my wine.
I’ve lost my appetite, but can feel Kellie eyeing my empty plate. My mother’s warm voice echoes in my ears to be the bigger person and let this go. I do. I serve up the smallest amount of food possible and pick at it like a sparrow.
We eat in relative silence, the TV filling the void. Kellie and Greg chat amongst themselves, laughing about whatever trivial bullshit fills their day. I have no idea why I’m so unreceptive towards them. I’ve never been this way before. I used to love hearing about their plans to travel, or what was installed on the farm. But has Kellie always been so annoying, and has Greg always been so…gutless?
As I peer across the table at an uninterested Saxon, I know the answer is yes.
“Sammy, remember this?” Kellie holds up her arm, a thin gold bracelet sliding down her slender forearm.
I have no idea why on earth she would ask him if he remembers. Has she forgotten he’s suffering from amnesia?
Samuel looks at her, mid-bite, shaking his head, completely uninterested.
“Well, I do. You bought this for me for Mother’s Day. You were nine. You couldn’t wait and gave it to me a day before. Saxon, what did you get me again?”
He tips the beer bottle towards her wrist. “That bracelet.”
Her face pales. “No, that’s not right. Sam got me this.”
