Chapter 4 - The Confrontation on the Line
My phone vibrated against the wooden picnic table, its screen lighting up with Vivian's name.
Around me, the backyard was filled with laughter. Cousin Jesse's kids had butter smeared across their cheeks, and Mr. Miller was telling a hilarious story about his fishing trip while cracking a massive crab claw. The air smelled of Old Bay and summer breeze.
I wiped my hands on a paper towel, picked up the phone, and slid the bar to answer.
"Mara!" Vivian’s voice was so loud I had to hold the receiver an inch away from my ear. "Where on earth are you? We have twelve people sitting at the table, and there is no food!"
"Hi, Vivian," I said, my voice calm, almost conversational. "I'm at my mother's house."
There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. "Your mother's? What are you doing there? You were supposed to be bringing the crabs back here!"
"You told me to take them back," I said. "So I did."
"I told you to exchange them for jumbo crabs!" Vivian shrieked. "Not to steal them and run off to your mother’s! We have guests here, Mara! This is incredibly selfish of you!"
"I didn't steal them, Vivian," I said, looking at the pile of bright red shells in the center of our table. "I bought them with my own money. And since you and Brooke agreed there was nothing in the claws and that they were too small to serve, I figured I’d save you the embarrassment of having them on your table."
"Mara, let me speak to her," I heard Daniel’s voice in the background, followed by the sound of the phone being rustled away.
"Mara?" Daniel’s voice was tight, strained with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "What is going on with you? This isn't funny. Mom is crying in the kitchen, and Richard is making jokes about us not being able to afford dinner. Just bring the crabs back. We’ll steam them here, whatever size they are."
"They're already steamed, Daniel," I said.
"Great! Then load them in the car and drive them over. It'll take you twenty minutes if you take the bypass."
"You don't understand," I said, a small, genuine smile forming on my lips. "They're already steamed, and we’re currently eating them. There are only about five left."
The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. I could hear the faint hum of their air conditioner through the receiver, a stark contrast to the lively, warm sounds of my mother's backyard.
"You're eating them?" Daniel whispered.
"Yes. And Brooke was wrong, by the way. The claws are packed. They’re delicious."
"Sometimes, the only way to make people realize the value of what you bring to the table is to take your plate and leave."
"Mara, how could you do this to me?" Daniel's voice was cracked now, the reality of the social disaster in his parents' dining room finally sinking in. "You're my wife. You're supposed to have my back."
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"I've had your back for eight years, Daniel," I said. "But tonight, I realized that while I was busy looking out for you, nobody was looking out for me. Enjoy your takeout."
I hung up the phone and set it face down on the table.
