Chapter 2 - The Gel Nails
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Despite the throbbing pain radiating up my right arm, I managed to serve the extravagant dinner to the eleven people gathered around Brenda’s massive oak dining table. I sat quietly at the very end, picking at my cold mashed potatoes, while the family practically tripped over themselves to shower Chloe with praises.
Luke sat across from me, laughing loudly at a joke his brother-in-law, Oscar, had just made about fantasy football. He didn't even glance in my direction. He didn't notice the makeshift bandage I had wrapped around my burned wrist.
When the dinner finally concluded, the guests slowly migrated back toward the living room with their wine glasses, leaving the dining table looking like a war zone. Chloe stood up, smoothing down her expensive designer dress. She picked up her empty plate, walked over to where I was sitting, and casually dropped it right in front of me. She held up her hands, admiring her freshly manicured fingers.
"Hannah, wash mine too, okay? I just got these gel nails done this morning, and I absolutely cannot risk chipping them with dish soap," Chloe said, her tone dripping with unearned arrogance.
I stared at her dirty plate, then slowly looked up at her smug face. I took a deep, steadying breath.
"My hand is badly burned, Chloe," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You can rinse your own plate, and Luke can put the heavy dishes in the dishwasher."
The room suddenly fell dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop on the hardwood floor.
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Brenda, who was halfway to the living room, stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around slowly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. She marched back to the table and slammed her delicate porcelain coffee cup down so hard the hot liquid splashed over the rim.
"Excuse me?" Brenda snapped, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage. "Since when does a man in this house have to wash dishes? What is wrong with you?"
