Chapter 2 - THE MAROON MATRIARCH
The mother slowly rose to her feet.
The joints in her knees popped loudly in the heavy silence.
She shifted the baby to her left hip, anchoring the child’s weight against her pelvic bone.
Her right hand dropped to her side, her fingers curling inward until her trimmed nails bit into her own palm.
She stared down at the head of the table.
The elderly woman in the maroon dress slowly uncrossed her legs.
The sharp tip of the black stiletto clicked gently against the hardwood floor.
The woman’s grey hair was styled into an immaculate, stiff wave, not a single silver strand out of place.
Around her wrinkled neck hung a thick, heavy string of perfect white pearls.
The old woman raised a manicured hand.
Her fingers, adorned with heavy gold rings, brushed lightly against the pearls.
The spheres clicked together—a soft, expensive sound.
She tilted her chin upward, looking down the bridge of her nose at the frantic mother.
The corners of her lips twitched upward into a slow, terrifyingly serene smile.
"Don't make a scene."
The words floated through the warm dining room, dripping with aristocratic boredom.
The mother’s jaw locked.
The muscle beneath her ear jumped, a rapid, uncontrollable spasm.
Her eyes darted to the porcelain plate sitting directly in front of the older woman.
It was piled high with roasted chicken, glazed carrots, and steaming potatoes.
A silver fork rested lazily on the rim, a piece of meat still clinging to the tines.
The mother felt the baby shiver violently against her ribs.
The child’s stomach let out a hollow, liquid gurgle.
The mother’s right hand shot forward.
Her fingers clamped around the curved edge of the expensive porcelain plate.
The ceramic was burning hot, but she didn't flinch.
She ripped the plate upward, tearing it away from the pristine white tablecloth.
Gravy sloshed over the rim, burning her wrist.
She didn't hesitate.
She swung her arm in a vicious, horizontal arc.
The heavy porcelain left her fingers.
It sailed through the air, flipping end over end.
The plate smashed directly into the center of the elderly woman’s chest.
CRACK.
The porcelain shattered into jagged white shards upon impact with the heavy pearl necklace.
Brown gravy exploded outward in a violent starburst.
Roasted chicken and steaming mashed potatoes splattered across the immaculate maroon silk.
The old woman gasped, a sharp, ugly sound resembling a dying bird.
Her hands flew up, her gold rings sinking into the hot, greasy mess now coating her collarbones.
The smug smile was instantly wiped away, replaced by wide, terrified eyes.
A piece of glazed carrot slid slowly down her pale cheek, leaving a sticky orange trail in her expensive foundation.
The heavy oak chair screeched backward as the elderly woman scrambled away from the table.
She clawed at her chest, her perfect hair unraveling as she hyperventilated.
The mother stood perfectly still.
She did not apologize.
May you like
She just squeezed the baby tighter, feeling the warmth of her child’s tears soaking through her blue shirt.
---
