fiction

Chapter 3 - The Cold Handshake

Brittany’s mother, Evelyn, was a woman who evaluated people the way an appraiser evaluates estate furniture: quickly, coldly, and by brand name. Throughout dinner, Evelyn had made sure everyone within earshot knew about her recent trip to Martha’s Vineyard and her eldest daughter's promotion at the firm.

When dessert was served, Brittany brought out a warm apple galette on a vintage crystal tray.

"Joan, sweetie," Evelyn said, leaning across the table with an overly sympathetic tilt of her head. "It must be so nice for you to just relax these days. Not having to worry about hosting or keeping up with... well, delicate things."

"It leaves plenty of time for reading, Evelyn," Joan replied softly, her hands folded neatly over her napkin.

"Oh, absolutely! Simplicity is so practical at your age," Evelyn chuckled, taking a dainty sip of her espresso.

While the rest of the table dissolved back into chatter about stock portfolios and winter holiday plans, Emily leaned over toward Joan.

"Grandma," Emily whispered, her voice barely audible over the clinking of coffee cups. "I'm so sorry about Mom."

Joan turned her head slightly, offering her granddaughter a reassuring, warm smile. "You have nothing to apologize for, Emily. You showed me who you are tonight."

"She was so mean to you," Emily added, her fingers tightening around her cloth napkin. "It's not fair."

"Fairness isn't something people give you, sweetheart," Joan murmured quietly, reaching down to squeeze Emily’s hand under the edge of the tablecloth. "Sometimes it's something you have to reveal to them when they least expect it."

Emily looked confused, but before she could ask what her grandmother meant, Brittany called out from the head of the table.

May you like

"Emily! Stop whispering at the table, please. Help your cousins take the dessert plates into the kitchen."

Emily sighed, cast one last glance at Joan, and stood up. Joan watched her go, then subtly slid her coat key out of her purse. It was time.

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