When I finally carried the last platter to the table, my hands were shaking from hunger.
I lowered myself into the chair at the head of the table and lifted a forkful of hot mashed potatoes toward my mouth.
I never got to taste it. A jewel-covered hand suddenly shoved me forward, forcing my face into the plate.
“Sit up straighter!” My mother-in-law, Eleanor, barked behind me. “You’re slumping over your food like you were raised without manners, Clara.
Show some respect at my family’s table.” The room fell silent. Then David laughed.
Not awkwardly. Loudly. Genuinely. “Oh man, Mom, you got her good!” he said, pointing straight at me.
“Look at her face. That’s hilarious.” Several relatives laughed with him.
Hot gravy ran down the collar of my white dress. They expected tears. They expected me to run away.
