A Week of Sausage: When My MotherinLaw Monitors Our Servings
The Sausage for the Week How My MotherinLaw Counts Our Bites
It was July when HélèneLucienne was scrubbing the windows, shaking the cushions and reminding her daughter that it was time to come out to the countrythe garlic was ready for harvest. Élodie tried to plead: work, commitments, the kids Yet her mother, as stubborn as ever, would not 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 stay glued to your phones!
At last they settled on a weekend visit, half to help in the garden and half to enjoy a quiet evening.
Alexandre had no desire to travel. Their last trip ended badly, leaving a sour taste. He had simply asked for a slice of sausage to go with the couscousonly to be flatout denied by his motherinlaw. The rebuff left him speechless.
On Saturday they left early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted, and stored. All that remained was the evening, dinner, and family chatter. Alexandre showered, then slipped into the kitchen. Élodie and her mother were setting the table, the scent of couscous filling the room. To pass the time, he opened the fridge, grabbed a few slices of sausage for a sandwichwhen suddenly
Dont touch that! HélèneLuciennes voice crackled like a gunshot.
The sausage was thrust back into the fridge. Alexandre froze, caught in the act.
Whats happening, Mom? Élodie asked, bewildered.
The sausage is for breakfast, with bread! Not now. Dont ruin your appetite! the motherinlaw snapped.
Alexandre tasted the couscous, but found no meat in it. He asked again for a bit of sausage. Another denial.
Why this obsession? HélèneLucienne exploded. 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. With his appetite gone, he drifted to the garden sofa, staring at the ceiling. Élodie joined him later.
Lets go back inside. I cant stand this atmosphere. Every move is watched, as if I were a thief. Im even scared to butter my toast too much, lest it be snatched from my hands.
There isnt even a grocery store here, Élodie muttered, embarrassed. Just the greengrocers truck on Wednesday.
We should have brought food instead of cherries and apricots, Alexandre grumbled. Im leaving tomorrow. Ill pick you up later. Without meat I wont last long.
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. HélèneLucienne watched them go, her eyes cold.
A year passed without them setting foot in HélèneLuciennes house. She, however, visited them freely, and oddly enough she raided their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she liked without asking. Alexandre even laughed:
Look, the sausage! Apparently it has free rein here
Come spring the calls resumed:
So, when are you coming? The garden isnt going to tend itself.
Alexandre resisted until Élodie suggested a ruse:
Lets bring supplies. That way Mom cant tally our portions.
He agreedon the condition they swing by the supermarket first. And there they were again, standing at the country house with bags piled high.
What now? Apricots again? HélèneLucienne asked, pursing her lips. While rummaging through the bags she uncovered cheese, meat, and sausage, then fell silent.
Now you wont have to calculate how many grams I eat, Alexandre quipped.
HélèneLucienne let out a faint scoff but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she whispered to Élodie:
It would be nice if you always brought provisions. Simpler for me, easier for you.
Élodie nodded, caught between irritation and amusement. The bottom line was clear: Alexandre was willing to return, armed with groceries, and without arguments or accusations. In the end, that too felt like a kind of family happiness.
A Week of Sausages: When My Mother-in-Law Critiques Our Servings
