“I won’t eat that,” the motherinlaw declared, eyeing the dish with revulsion.
“What is this?” Eleanor sniffed, as if a bucket of trash had been set before her.
“It’s just stew,” her daughterinlaw Solène replied with a grin, lifting the lid of a ceramic tureen and ladling out the steaming, colorful broth. “I love cooking with vegetables from my own garden.”
“The difference is invisible to me,” the motherinlaw sneered. “But I admit, tending a garden takes a lot of effort!”
“Absolutely,” Solène laughed warmly. “When it’s a hobby, its always enjoyable.”
“Youre talking about *your* hobby, not an imposed one,” Eleanor sniffed, pursing her lips. “Who did you make this for?”
“For us. It’s not a lotjust enough for two meals.”
“I won’t touch that porridge,” the motherinlaw snapped, waving her hands back. “The content is incomprehensible!” Eleanor pretended to gag, covering her mouth and averting her gaze from the table.
Solène rolled her eyes and sighed.
She had met Maxime, Eleanors son, a year and a half earlier. Their love was so intense they married a month later, without a lavish ceremony. With the money they saved, they purchased a countryside house and were gradually turning it into a home.
Meanwhile, Solène had only seen Eleanor four timesonce for each holiday Maxime visited his mother, three of those visits at Solènes urging.
Eleanor had always regarded her sons marriage as folly, but she had no control over an adult, independent Maxime, so she waited for what she considered the natural, logical outcome. That outcome kept being delayed, and it was beginning to irritate her.
She could not understand what Maxime had found in this ordinary girl, nor how Solène had managed to captivate him. He was a handsome young man, constantly surrounded by more refined and attractive women.
Eleanor, a city dweller through and through, had raised her son the same way. Her maternal intuition told her Maxime already had enough of rural life and that a little push would return everything to how it had been. After a bitter experience, she was convinced he would eventually find a partner who would forge genuine friendships with her.
But she needed to act quickly and prevent the clever Solène from trapping her son with a child!
Eleanor devised a plan: she called her daughterinlaw to ask for an invitation, since she hadnt been invited to their housewarming.
Solène reminded her that she had called twice, only for Eleanor to decline each time, claiming she was busy. Eleanor brushed off those excuses with a wave of her hand and declared she intended to visit her son.
Two days later she found herself in a spacious, bright living room, barely containing her indignation.
Her son, like her and her late husband, despised soups! In their family, only easily recognizable dishes were accepted.
How could Maxime have let his wife take charge so quickly?
Was she a sorceress?
A chill of anxiety ran through Eleanor. She instantly dismissed the crude notion that Solène was holding Maxime by bedroom exploits.
Solène and tricks? Incompatible! Surely a spell! Otherwise, how could her son be eating that mixture?
Eleanor shot a hateful glance at her daughterinlaw. She pretended to be a saint while she slowly assassinated her own husband.
“What makes it incomprehensible?” Solène asked, apparently oblivious to her motherinlaws performance, as she filled a second bowl with stew and handed it to Eleanor.
“It’s simple. Theres cabbage, onions, carrots, grated beetsmy grandmas recipe. No potatoes this time, but next time there will be. Then a few fresh herbs from the garden and a splash of cream!”
“Eat your porridge!” the motherinlaw shouted, waving her hands.
“You could use it at your age! Fiber regulates the bowels and improves gut flora. A thriving flora means a thriving owner!”
Eleanor flushed at Solènes boldness but said nothing and continued, “Why are you forcing Maxime to eat this?”
Solène blinked, puzzled.
“He seems to like it.”
“What can a man do if theres nothing else to eat?”
“Cook what he prefers? Order takeout? Visit a neighbor? Go to his mothers?” Solène listed with a smile.
At the last suggestion, Eleanors face turned even redder.
“Dont be sarcastic! At least ask me what he likes, out of courtesy.”
“Eleanor, I asked him directly. Hes old enough to speak for himself. He says he likes everything.”
“Hes lying! Cant you see? At first he didnt want to upset you. Now hes forcing himself!”
“Oh!” Solène sighed, pulling a long face. “The stew is ready; were not tossing it. He has to try. Will you support him too?”
“What?!” the motherinlaw exclaimed, eyes wide.
“No? Too bad. Im sure your son would appreciate your solidarity.”
“You”
“Solène! Were home!” Maximes cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.
A fluffy white cloud burst into the living room, barking.
“Aaah!” Eleanor shrieked, hiding behind Solène.
“Dont worry, thats Louna. She doesnt bite and shes wellbehaved,” Solène reassured, raising her hand. The dog calmed and sat obediently. “Sweetie, youre wonderful.”
“Why are you letting the neighbors dogs in?” Eleanor whispered, still shocked.
“Why neighbors? Shes ours. Shes indoors because shes a family dog. She lives with us.”
“Indoors? Thats unsanitary!” the motherinlaw shouted. “And Maxime hates dogs!”
“No, Mom, you dont like dogs.” Maxime entered the room. “Hello, youre just in time for lunch.”
“Hello, my son!” Eleanor stood still, waiting for a kiss on the cheek, but Maxime gave her a brief hug while Solène received a gentle kiss on the lips.
“So, shall we eat?” the host sniffed the air, a dazed smile on his face.
“With pleasure, Maxime, but theres nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“You prepared food for the pigs. You never told me you had that. The smell must be worse than the city traffic.”
Maxime looked puzzled at his mother, then at Solène, then at the set table.
His neck muscles tightened and his gaze returned to his mother, stripped of the earlier lightness.
“Honestly, Id forgotten those quirks,” he said, a bitter smile touching his lips.
“What quirks, son? Our tastes, our principles, our traditions! You never complained!”
“As a child I feared your wrath. As an adult I didnt want to worsen things with you.”
“What are you talking about?!” Eleanor shouted, incredulous, prompting another round of Lounas barking.
“Quiet!” Eleanor protested, threatening the dog Solène held with her fist. “She has her preferences,” she snarled at Solène, “but why do you let yourself be trampled? Happy to be fed filth? Let her turn the house into a menagerie? Who really rules this roof?”
“I” Maxime murmured darkly.
“Then act like the master of the house!” Eleanor declared, satisfied.
“Wheres your luggage?” Maxime asked.
“Always at the entrance!” she complained instantly. “I havent eaten since the trip.”
“Perfect. Thank Solène for the invitation.”
“What?”
“Thank Solène for this final attempt at reconciliation and apologize.”
“But she”
“Mom!”
“Thankyou and excuseme,” Eleanor muttered irritably.
Solène nodded solemnly.
“Lets go.”
“Where?”
“Where everything fits your taste, your rules, your traditions.”
“But Maxime, I” her son began, but he cut her off:
“Those were your tastes with dad, not mine. My opinion mattered little. Yet he once said to me, You dont like whats ours, create your own. I followed his advice. Here its my taste, my rules, my traditions. The lady of the house is my wife. Not happy? You still have your place.”
“My son! She turned you against me!” Eleanor adopted a plaintive tone. “She enchanted you!” she whispered dramatically.
Maxime had had enough. He grabbed his mothers arm, led her to the entrance, grabbed her travel bag, opened the door, and silently escorted her to the gate, then said:
“By the way, know that Solène was on your side. She gets along with her family. She didnt think it would be like ours. In the kitchen a dish was prepared for you, but the stew was the test. You showed your true face,” Maxime opened the door: “The taxi is waiting.”
“You but how did you arrange a taxi?!” Eleanor stammered, still reeling from her sons bluntness.
“I told Solène to wait and not let you out right away. She did the right thing.”
“You! You!” Eleanor fumed.
“I, Mom, am the master of the house, just as you wanted,” Maxime signaled to the driver, set his mothers bag down without waiting for her to climb into the car, entered the property and shut the door.
“A spell,” Eleanor concluded, convinced shed diagnosed her son. Already seated in the taxi, she rummaged through her phone, searching for a way to break the enchantment, certain there must be something that would bring her son back.
I Won’t Eat That, Declared the Mother-in-Law, Glaring at the Dish in Revulsion
