A Week of Sausage: When My MotherinLaw Judges Our Servings
The Sausage for the Week or How My MotherinLaw Counts Our Bites
It was deep in July when HélèneLucienne was scrubbing the windows, shaking out the cushions and reminding her daughter that it was time to head out to the countryside the garlic was ready for harvest. Élodie tried to explain herself: work, obligations, the kids Yet her mother, as stubborn as ever, would not budge.
The summer is almost over, and youre still cooped up in that Paris flat! she snapped over the phone, irritated. The strawberries will wilt, the potatoes will turn green, and youll stay glued to your phones!
Eventually they settled on a weekend visit, partly to help in the garden and partly to enjoy a quiet evening.
Alexandre had no desire to make the trip. Their previous stay had ended badly, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He had simply asked for a little sausage to go with the couscous but his motherinlaw had flatly refused. She had been so terse that he was left speechless.
On Saturday they left early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted and stacked. All that remained was the evening, dinner, and family chatter. Alexandre took a shower and then slipped into the kitchen. Élodie and her mother were setting the table. The aroma of couscous filled the room. To kill time, the man opened the fridge, grabbed a few slices of sausage for a sandwich when suddenly
Dont touch that! HélèneLucienne barked like a gunshot.
The sausage was immediately shoved back into the fridge. Alexandre froze, stunned.
Whats going on, Mom? Élodie asked, bewildered.
The sausage is for breakfast, with bread! Not now. And dont spoil your appetite! the motherinlaw cut sharply.
Alexandre tasted the couscous, but there was no meat in sight. He asked again for a bit of sausage. Another denial.
Why this obsession? HélèneLucienne snapped. Youve already eaten half of it! Do you know how much it costs? Its supposed to last the whole week!
Alexandre pushed his plate away. With his hunger gone, he drifted outside, lay down on the garden sofa, staring at the ceiling. Élodie joined him later.
Lets go back inside. I cant stand this vibe. Every move feels watched, as if I were a thief. I even fear buttering my toast too much, lest it be ripped from my hand.
There isnt even a grocery store here, Élodie 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, because I cant survive without meat.
Well leave together, Élodie declared firmly.
The next morning they drove back to Paris. Élodie lied to her mother, citing a work emergency for Alexandre. The motherinlaw watched them go, eyes flashing with displeasure.
A year passed without another footstep in HélèneLuciennes house. Yet she dropped by theirs without hesitation, and oddly enough she opened their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she wanted without asking. Alexandre even laughed about it:
Look at the sausage! Apparently it has full rights here
When spring rolled around, the calls started again:
So, when are you coming? The garden wont wait.
Alexandre resisted at first, until Élodie suggested a ruse:
Lets bring supplies. That way Mom cant count our portions.
He agreed on the condition they swing by a supermarket first. Soon they were back at the country house, arms loaded with bags.
What is this now? Apricots again? HélèneLucienne asked, pursing her lips. Digging through the sacks, she uncovered cheese, meat, and sausage, and fell silent.
Now you wont have to calculate how many grams I eat, Alexandre joked.
HélèneLucienne let out a faint, disdainful snort 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, torn between irritation and amusement. The bottom line was clear: Alexandre was ready to return, this time with groceries in tow, without quarrels or accusations. And, when you think about it, that was a kind of family happiness too.
A Week of Sausages: When My Mother-in-Law Critiques Our Servings
