A Week of Sausage: When My MotherinLaw Monitors Our Portions
The Sausage for the Week or How My MotherinLaw Counts Our Bites
It was midsummer, July, when Helen Lucienne was scrubbing the windows, shaking the garden cushions and reminding her daughter that the garlic was ripe for harvest. Elodie tried to plead: work, obligations, the kids Yet her mother, as stubborn as ever, would not budge.
The summer is ending, and youre still holed up in your flat in Paris! she snapped over the phone, irritated. The strawberries will wilt, the potatoes will turn green, and youll be glued to your phones!
At last they settled on a weekend visit, a chance to help in the garden and enjoy a quiet evening.
Alexandre had no desire to travel. Their previous stay had ended badly, leaving a sour taste. He had simply asked for a slice of sausage to go with the couscousonly for his motherinlaw to flatout refuse. The rebuff had left him speechless.
On Saturday they left early. Work went smoothly: the garlic was pulled, sorted and stored. The rest of the day belonged to dinner and family chatter. Alexandre showered, then slipped into the kitchen. Elodie and her mother were setting the table while the aroma of couscous filled the room. To pass the time, he opened the fridge and grabbed a few sausage slices for a sandwichwhen suddenly
Dont touch that! Helens voice cracked like a gunshot.
The sausage was slammed back into the fridge. Alexandre stood frozen, bewildered.
Whats happening, Mom? Elodie asked, puzzled.
The sausage is for breakfast, with bread! Not now. Dont spoil your appetite! snapped the motherinlaw.
Alexandre tasted the couscous, but found no meat in it. He asked again for a bit of sausage. Another denial.
Why this obsession? Helen snapped. Youve already eaten half! Do you know how expensive it is? Its supposed to last the whole week!
He pushed his plate away. Hunger gone, he drifted outside to the garden sofa, staring at the ceiling. Elodie joined him later.
Im going back inside. I cant stand this atmosphere. Every move is watched, as if Im a thief. Im even afraid to butter my toast too much, lest she snatch it from my hands.
There isnt even a shop here, Elodie whispered, embarrassed. Just the greengrocers van on Wednesdays.
We should have brought food instead of cherries and apricots, Alexandre muttered. Im leaving tomorrow. Ill pick you up later. Without meat I wont last long.
Well leave together, Elodie declared firmly.
The next morning they drove back to Paris. Elodie lied to her mother, claiming a work emergency for Alexandre. Helen watched them depart with a dark stare.
A year slipped by without another footstep in Helen Luciennes garden. She, however, visited them freely, often opening their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she liked without asking. Alexandre even laughed about it:
Look, the sausage! Apparently it has free rein here
Come spring, the calls resumed:
So, when are you coming? The garden wont tend itself.
Alexandre resisted until Elodie suggested a plan:
Lets bring supplies. That way Mom cant tally our portions.
He agreedprovided they made a detour to the supermarket. Soon they were again standing before the country house, bags piled high.
What now? Apricots again? Helen asked, pursing her lips. While rummaging through the sacks she uncovered cheese, meat and sausage, then fell silent.
Now you wont have to calculate how many grams I eat, Alexandre joked.
Helen let out a soft, disdainful snort but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she whispered to Elodie:
It would be nice if you always brought provisions. Easier for me, calmer for you.
Elodie nodded, half annoyed, half amused. The point was clear: Alexandre was ready to return, this time with groceries, but without quarrels or accusations. In the end, that proved to be its own kind of family happiness.
