I smiled because screaming was not polite.

By the time they finally left that night, they had eaten through nearly two hundred dollars’ worth of food, left trash in my yard, sticky fingerprints on my doors, and juice boxes behind the couch.

Bryan helped me load the dishwasher while I picked popsicle sticks out of my flower beds.

“Bee,” I said, using his nickname, “your mother moved the couch again.”

“She’s just trying to help, Nini,” he said gently, though I could see the guilt in his face.

“She also ate two hundred dollars’ worth of groceries. Again.”

He sighed. “I know. I’ll talk to her.”

But we both knew he probably would not. Bryan loved me, but he had spent his whole life trying not to upset his mother. And I had spent years trying to be patient.

The next morning, Juliette called.

“Annie, darling! We had such a wonderful time yesterday. The children are still talking about those ribs.”

“I’m glad they liked them,” I said.

“And we’re all coming for the Fourth of July,” she continued. “The whole gang. We’ll make a weekend of it. Won’t that be fun?”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“The whole weekend?” I asked.

“Yes! We’ll arrive Friday afternoon. Make sure you get plenty of those little sausages. The kids devour them. And Sarah has not stopped talking about your potato salad. Don’t forget the ribs, dear. Juicy, like last time.”

Part 2:

Then she hung up.

She did not ask. She did not offer to bring anything. She simply informed me that I would be feeding her entire family for three days.

That evening, I told Bryan.

“She’s coming for the Fourth.”