She was just like Yvonne. Sweet as sugar to your face, a viper behind your back. They'd both perfected the art.
"Look. Your mother-in-law sent this to threaten me. Are you still going to deny it? Unless you think I grabbed her phone and typed it myself?"
Cary went quiet.
"Mom, this really is your fault. If you hadn't insisted on coming over for dinner, Yvonne never would have done any of this."
"Mom, you're lucky Yvonne isn't making a bigger deal out of this. If you ask me, you owe her an apology."
My son's absurd words nearly made me black out from rage.
She was the one who gave me a dog bowl. She was the one who expected me to eat out of it like an animal.
And somehow, I was the one who owed her an apology.
There wasn't a universe where that made sense.
And I, Janet Abbott, would never accept it.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed the bowl of noodles, and dumped every last drop onto the passenger seat.
"Cary, listen to me carefully. She's the one who was wrong. I will not apologize."
His eyes went wide as noodles and broth oozed across the leather upholstery.
"Oh, and one more thing. You two wanted boundaries between us and your father."