The invitation arrived a week ago. Michael called me, which was unusual because lately he’d only been sending me short, impersonal messages
like “Everything’s fine” or “See you later.” His voice was strangely pleasant when he told me that he and Marlene
wanted to invite me to dinner, “just to catch up,” he added
.
“Mom, we feel like we’re drifting apart. We want to fix everything.”
How naive of you to believe me!
I put on my best outfit: a pearl-grey dress. Simple, but elegant. Nothing ostentatious. I’ve never sought attention
. I styled my hair. I put on light makeup. I wanted to look presentable for my son, to show him that,
despite being 64, I was still his mother, the woman who had sacrificed everything for him.
When I arrived at the restaurant, everyone was already seated. Michael, Marlene and, to my great surprise, her parents too.
Four people were waiting for me at a table clearly set for five. They greeted me with a quick kiss, without any physical contact. Marlene smelled of a luxury perfume, the kind that costs over $200. She wore an impeccable beige dress and jewelry that sparkled so much it almost blinded me.
“You’re late, Helen,” she said, looking at her gold watch.
She called me Helen, not Mom. She never did. Just Helen, as if we were friends of the same age, as if there was no
family hierarchy.
“The traffic was hellish,” I replied, sitting on the only available chair, the one in the corner, as if
they were trying to hide me.
The restaurant was impressive. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers, immaculate white tablecloths—a place where
each dish cost the equivalent of some people’s weekly salary. I recognized a few customers: businessmen, local politicians,
truly wealthy people. I wondered how Michael could afford it. As far as I knew, he earned a good living at his consulting firm,
but not to this extent.
Learn more
about gastronomy,
dining, and
wine.
The waiter approached me
The rest is on the next page
