Chapter 2 - The Stepford Smile
For a terrifying, disorienting second, I honestly thought I had walked into the wrong house. The dissonance between the strong woman I had raised and the fragile figure standing before me was too vast to comprehend. When Emily finally noticed me standing in the foyer, her eyes did not light up with the joy I had expected. Instead, they widened in sheer, unmistakable panic.
“Mom, you’re early,” she said, her voice tight and breathy, forcing a brittle smile onto her pale lips that did not reach her eyes.
I looked at the heavy tray trembling dangerously in her shaking hands, then glanced past her shoulder into the immaculate kitchen, where massive piles of dirty dishes were stacked precariously beside the porcelain sink. “Emily,” I said carefully, trying to keep my rising alarm in check, “what exactly are you doing?”
Before my daughter could formulate an answer, her mother-in-law, Patricia, materialized in the grand dining room entrance. She wore an expensive blouse and a polished, practiced smile that was entirely devoid of genuine warmth. “She insists on helping around the house,” Patricia announced, her tone dripping with passive-aggressive authority. “A woman nesting before the baby comes is perfectly natural. We encourage her to stay active.”
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I looked past Patricia into the dining room. Ryan, Emily’s husband, was lounging comfortably at the head of the table. He didn’t bother to stand up to greet me. He didn’t even look remotely embarrassed that his heavily pregnant wife was waiting on his family hand and foot. He simply gave me a dismissive, casual nod and said, “Hey, Carol. Long drive?”
Long drive? That was all he had to say to me? The absolute audacity of the man sitting comfortably while his eight-months-pregnant wife carried heavy trays like hired catering staff sent a wave of furious heat rushing through my veins.
