Chapter 2 - The Text That Broke the Table
Jenna stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the glass. The words glowed in the dimming kitchen light, stark and unapologetic.
“We’ve decided to celebrate at a restaurant instead. It’s adults only. See you guys later.”
Jenna felt the blood rush from her face, pooling heavily in her stomach. She read it once. She read it twice, hoping the letters would rearrange themselves into something resembling decency. They didn't.
From the hallway, Ava’s voice drifted in, bright and full of nervous anticipation. “Mom, should I light the taper candles now, or wait until Uncle Greg pulls into the driveway?”
Jenna didn't answer. Instead, she stepped quickly into the hallway, her fingers trembling as she unlocked her phone and dialed her father’s number. It rang twice before he picked up, the background noise instantly revealing a cacophony of clinking glasses, ambient jazz music, and loud laughter. They weren't at home. They hadn't been planning this for just five minutes.
“Dad?” Jenna’s voice was dangerously low. “Where are you? You’re supposed to be here. The food is plated. Ava has been cooking for three days straight—”
“Oh, Jenna, we changed plans,” Robert interrupted, his tone breezy, dismissive, and dripping with an infuriating casualness. “We’re already seated at the bistro downtown. Much easier. No fuss.”
“You’re not coming?” Jenna’s voice cracked, the sheer audacity of it choking her. “Dad, she cooked a multi-course dinner for twenty-three people. She organized everything. Her name cards are on the table!”
There was a brief, heavy pause on the line. When Robert spoke again, his voice carried that patronizing edge that had governed Jenna’s entire childhood.
“Well, tell her not to take it personally, Jenna. Honestly, we just didn’t want a big production tonight. Besides, you can just freeze the leftovers. It’s not like it’ll go bad.”
Click.
He hung up.
Jenna stood frozen, the dial tone buzzing mockingly against her ear. Pure, unadulterated fury surged through her veins, hot and sharp. Without a second thought, she dialed her mother.
Miriam Vance picked up on the first ring, sighing heavily before Jenna could even draw breath to speak.
“Jenna, listen to me,” Miriam said preemptively, her tone defensive. “It’s sweet that Ava wanted to play chef, we really appreciate the thought, but quite frankly... well, none of us wanted to spend a milestone birthday eating food prepared by a teenager. It feels a bit unsanitary, to be honest. We wanted a real restaurant experience.”
“She’s trained for this, Mom! She’s spent hundreds of hours mastering technique—”
“It’s not real cooking like a professional restaurant, Jenna. Honestly, you enabling this little obsession of hers is getting out of hand. We’re having a wonderful time here. Have a good evening.”
Click.
Jenna lowered the phone, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the device. Before she could figure out how to breathe, a soft rustling sound made her spin around.
Ava was standing in the doorway.
The light had completely drained from her face. She had heard enough of Jenna’s side of the conversation to piece together the rest, but what destroyed her wasn't her mother’s words—it was the glowing screen of her own phone, which she had picked up off the counter.
Someone in the family group chat had just posted a photo.
It was a wide-angle shot of a long, pristine table at downtown’s most exclusive, overpriced bistro. In the center sat Robert and Miriam, flanked by Jenna’s sister, Chloe, and Chloe’s husband. And right there, smiling brightly into the camera lens, were Chloe’s two kids—seventeen-year-old Tyler and nineteen-year-old Sophie.
Adults only?
Chloe’s kids were barely older than Ava. In fact, Tyler was three months younger.
May you like
Ava stared at the picture. Then, slowly, she turned her head and looked through the doorway into the dining room. She looked at the twenty-three empty place settings. The hand-calligraphed menus. The delicate white roses. And finally, sitting proudly on the sideboard, the dark chocolate cake with its glossy lettering: Happy 67th, Grandma.
Without a word, Ava picked up her cell phone, her thumb shaking violently, and dialed her grandmother’s direct line.
