A Week of Sausage: When My MotherinLaw Judges Our Portions
The Sausage for the Week or How My MotherinLaw Counts Our Bites
It was midsummer, July, when Hélène Lucienne was scrubbing the windows, shaking out the cushions and reminding her daughter that it was time to head out to the countrythe garlic was ready for harvest. Élodie tried to justify staying: work, obligations, the kids but her mother, as stubborn as ever, wouldnt budge.
Summer will be over soon, and youre still cooped up in your Paris flat! she snapped over the phone, irritated. The strawberries will spoil, the potatoes will turn green, and youll keep your noses buried in your phones!
At last they settled on a weekend visit, partly to help in the garden and partly for a quiet evening.
Alexandre, however, had no desire to travel. Their last visit had ended badly, leaving a sour taste. He had simply asked for a bit of sausage to go with the couscousbut his motherinlaw flatly refused. She was so curt that he was left speechless.
On Saturday they left early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted and stored. The evening, dinner and family chat were left for later. Alexandre showered, then slipped into the kitchen. Élodie and her mother were setting the table while the aroma of couscous filled the room. To kill time, he opened the fridge, grabbed a few sausage slices for a sandwichwhen suddenly
Dont touch that! Hélène Luciennes voice cracked like a gunshot.
The sausage was shoved back into the fridge. Alexandre froze, stunned.
Whats happening, Mom? Élodie asked, bewildered.
The sausage is for breakfast, with bread! Not now. And dont spoil your appetite! the motherinlaw snapped.
Alexandre tasted the couscous, but there was no meat in sight. He asked again for some sausage. Another refusal.
Why this obsession? Hélène Lucienne snapped. Youve already eaten half of it! Do you know how much it costs? Its supposed to last the whole week!
He pushed his plate away. Devoid of appetite, he drifted out to the garden sofa, staring at the ceiling. Élodie joined him later.
Lets go back inside. I cant stand this vibe. Every move feels watched, like Im a thief. I even fear buttering my toast too much, lest it be snatched from my hand.
There isnt even a grocery store nearby, Élodie muttered, embarrassed. Just the greengrocers van on Wednesdays.
We should have brought food instead of cherries and apricots, Alexandre grumbled. Im leaving tomorrow. Ill come back for you later. I cant survive without meat.
Well leave together, Élodie declared firmly.
The next morning they drove back to Paris. Élodie lied to her mother, claiming a work emergency for Alexandre. Hélène Lucienne watched them go with a cold stare.
A year passed without them stepping foot in Hélène Luciennes house. She, however, visited them freely, and oddly enough she would open their fridge as if it were hers, taking whatever she wanted without asking. Alexandre even laughed about it:
Look at the sausage! Apparently, here it has full rights
In spring the calls resumed:
So, when are you coming? The garden wont wait.
Alexandre resisted until Élodie suggested a trick:
Lets bring supplies. That way Mom cant count our portions.
He agreedon the condition they swing by a supermarket first. And there they were again, standing before the country house, arms loaded with bags.
What is that now? Apricots? Hélène Lucienne asked, lips pursed. As she rummaged through the sacks, she discovered cheese, meat, sausage, and fell silent.
Now you wont have to calculate how many grams I eat, Alexandre quipped.
Hélène Lucienne made a small, disdainful sound but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she whispered to Élodie:
It would be nice if you always brought provisions. Easier for me, easier for you.
Élodie nodded, torn between annoyance and amusement. The bottom line was clear: Alexandre was willing to return, this time with groceries, but without fights or accusations. And, on reflection, that was a kind of family happiness too.
A Week of Sausage: When My Mother-in-Law Critiques Our Helpings
