Chapter 3 - The Screaming in the Kitchen
At precisely one o'clock, the doorbell rang.
Daniel rushed to answer it, his forehead slick with sweat, his shirt rumpled from his frantic, half-hearted attempt to wipe down the dining table with a damp paper towel.
In walked Brenda Mercer, draped in a faux-fur coat, followed by Daniel's father, Arthur, and his sister, Megan, who was pushing a double stroller containing her newborn twins.
"Oh, it is freezing out there!" Brenda announced loudly, stepping into the foyer and immediately tossing her coat toward Daniel without looking at him. "Daniel, why is the hallway so chilly? Did you forget to turn the heat on?"
"Uh, hi Mom," Daniel stammered, catching the coat awkwardly. "The... the thermostat is acting up."
Brenda swept into the living room like a queen inspecting her domain. She wore oversized gold jewelry and a look of permanent disapproval. She immediately glanced around, her sharp eyes catching the light layer of dust on the coffee table and the unvacuumed rug.
Her eyebrows shot up in instant disdain.
"My goodness," Brenda sniffed, pulling a silk handkerchief from her purse and ostentatiously wiping the arm of the leather sofa. "Where is Esme? Is she sleeping in again? The house looks completely unattended."
I stepped out from the library, holding a warm cup of herbal tea, looking completely relaxed.
"Good afternoon, Brenda," I said pleasantly. "Welcome."
Megan scoffed, parking the double stroller in the middle of the walkway. "Must be nice to lounged around all day, Esme. Some of us have been up since four in the morning with twins."
"Well, Megan," I replied smoothly, "life is all about the choices we make, isn't it?"
Brenda ignored my comment, marching straight toward the dining room. "Well, I am absolutely famished. Traffic from the valley was atrocious. Daniel, go tell Esme to set the table. I hope she made that wonderful truffle-infused risotto to go with the Wagyu this time."
Daniel looked like he was about to pass out. "Mom, well... see..."
"What is taking so long?" Brenda snapped, turning on her heel and marching directly into the kitchen. "I'll just get a glass of chilled sparkling water myself."
She pushed open the heavy swing door to the kitchen.
What happened next will be burned into my memory forever.
Brenda took two steps onto the hardwood floor, stopped dead in her tracks, and let out a blood-curdling scream so loud, so high-pitched, and so violent that the neighbors across the street later admitted they thought a murder was taking place.
"AAAAAHHHH! DANIEL! WHAT IS THIS CATASTROPHE?!"
The scream echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the mansion.
Megan gasped, dropping her diaper bag, and rushed into the kitchen behind her mother. Arthur blinked in confusion, while Daniel turned a ghostly shade of white.
I followed them slowly, taking a delicate sip of my tea.
Brenda was standing in the center of the kitchen, clutching her chest, her face red with pure, unadulterated outrage.
The scene before her was a war zone.
The sink was overflowing with crusty, moldy dishes from three days of neglect. Flocks of fruit flies were buzzing around a bag of garbage that Daniel had failed to tie up. The granite counter was coated in greasy grease stains, and sitting in the middle of the island was a single, rusted aluminum pot containing lukewarm, clumped-together generic spaghetti covered in watery, dark red jarred sauce.
Beside the pot stood a green plastic shaker of fake parmesan cheese.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Brenda shrieked, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at the pot of cheap pasta. "WHERE IS THE SUNDAY FEAST?! WHERE IS THE CLEANER?! IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT MY FAMILY?!"
She spun around, glaring at me with venom in her eyes. "Esme! Have you lost your mind?! You invite us into this pigsty and offer us... THIS SLOP?!"
May you like
I smiled warmly, taking another sip of my tea.
"Don't yell at me, Brenda," I said, my voice dripping with arctic sweet satisfaction. "Ask your son. He's the one in charge of the household budget now."
