The Place Lorraine Chose For Me
By the time dinner was finally ready and the long table in the dining room glittered with candles and polished silverware, I felt as though every part of my body had reached its limit, and the quiet ache in my lower back had begun to spread into my abdomen in waves that made me pause whenever I tried to move too quickly.
When I stepped into the dining room carrying the last tray of food, Lorraine glanced at me briefly before tapping her fork against the edge of her wine glass.
“Everything looks presentable,” she said with a tone that sounded more like inspection than gratitude. “Now bring the rest from the kitchen and we can begin.”
I hesitated for a moment, shifting my weight slightly because standing had become increasingly uncomfortable.
“Lorraine,” I said gently, “would it be alright if I sat down for a few minutes before we start? My back has been hurting quite a bit today.”
Her reaction was immediate.
She placed her glass down sharply and looked at me as though I had just committed a serious breach of etiquette.
“The family sits together at this table,” she replied coldly, “and the person who prepared the meal finishes the work first.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Colin spoke before I could.
He leaned back in his chair, swirling the dark red wine in his glass while glancing at several of his colleagues who were watching the exchange with polite curiosity.
“Just listen to my mother, Marissa,” he said calmly. “Let’s not turn dinner into an awkward moment.”
The way he said it—casual, dismissive—made the room feel suddenly smaller.
Lorraine folded her arms.
“If you need to eat,” she added, “you can do that in the kitchen after everyone else is finished. Standing is good for circulation anyway.”
The quiet laughter from one of the guests told me everything about how they viewed the situation.
At that moment, I realized that I had not been invited to share dinner with them.
