“With everyone. The whole weekend.”
“Oh?!?” He set down his laptop. “Are you okay with that?”
Was I okay with spending another $300 on groceries while being criticized for my hosting skills? Was I okay with having my home turned upside down by people who treated it like a free vacation rental?
“I’m fine!” I said, my smile steady as a plan clicked into place. “Absolutely fine.”
Friday afternoon arrived with the subtlety of a marching band.
Three cars pulled into our driveway, disgorging the familiar cast of characters: Juliette in her oversized sun hat, Sarah and Kate with their arms full of nothing but designer purses, and six children who immediately began treating my lawn like their playground. Or rather, battleground!
“Annie!” Juliette swept me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and entitlement. “I hope you’ve got everything ready. We’re absolutely starving!”
“Almost ready,” I said, my smile so sweet it could have caused diabetes.
I set the picnic table beautifully with mason jars filled with wildflowers from my garden, cloth napkins folded just so, and a pitcher of fresh lemonade catching the afternoon sun. It looked magazine-perfect, which was exactly what I was going for.
“Oh, how lovely!” Sarah exclaimed, settling into her chair. “You always do such a nice job with these things.”
“Where’s the food?” Kate asked, glancing around expectantly.
“Coming right up!” I said, disappearing into the kitchen.
I emerged with a tray of cucumber sandwiches. The crusts were surgically removed and sliced into triangles so delicate they looked like they’d apologize for existing. Alongside them sat a pot of black tea, lukewarm and sulking like a spinster aunt left off the wedding invite list.
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear a neighbor’s dog barking three houses away.
Juliette blinked slowly, like a computer trying to process an error message. “Um… where’s the barbecue, dear?”
I tilted my head, channeling every ounce of Southern charm I’d ever witnessed. “Oh, I didn’t shop this time. Since you all love our barbecue so much, I figured you’d want to bring the meat yourselves!”
The silence stretched like taffy. Sarah’s mouth had fallen open. Kate looked like she’d been slapped with a wet fish.
“There’s a wonderful butcher about 15 minutes down Riverview Road,” I continued cheerfully. “They’re open until six. The grill’s all ready. There’s fresh charcoal in the storage bin! What are you waiting for?”
“But… but…” Juliette sputtered. “You invited us!”
“Actually, you invited yourselves!” I corrected gently, taking a sip of tea. “But don’t worry! I’m sure the kids will love these sandwiches once they try them.”
The children, bless their honest little hearts, immediately began their protest chorus.
“Where are the hot dogs?” Tyler demanded.
“I want hamburgers!” Madison wailed.
“This tastes like plants!” announced three-year-old Connor, dropping his sandwich like it had offended him. “That coo-coom-bur looks scary. Mommy!”
Juliette stood up, her chair scraping against the deck with the sound of nails on a chalkboard. “This is incredibly rude, Annie. We’re family.”
“Exactly! And family helps family. We’ve hosted every holiday for four years. I thought it was time for everyone to pitch in.”
Sarah and Kate exchanged glances that could have started a wildfire. Bryan, who had been watching from the kitchen doorway, finally stepped forward.
“There’s a great selection at Morrison’s Meat Market,” he offered diplomatically. “I could give you directions. Or we could all go together, yeah?”
The look Juliette shot him could have curdled milk at 50 paces. “I cannot believe you’re supporting this… selfishness.”
