CHAP 3 — Dinner for Three
Derek came home at 2:07 a.m.
He did not come alone.
I heard his key in the lock, then his low laugh, then the soft click of heels entering my apartment.
Marissa Cole stepped in behind him wearing a camel coat, perfect makeup, and the nervous smile of a woman who had convinced herself she was entering a marriage already dead.
Derek froze when he saw me standing by the dining table.
“You’re awake,” he said.
I looked at him.
“I came home early.”
Marissa glanced at the DoorDash bag, then at my wool hat still on the chair. She was younger than me. Twenty-seven, maybe. Soft blond waves, expensive perfume, delicate gold necklace. She looked uncomfortable for exactly three seconds.
Then she remembered she had won something.
Derek took off his coat slowly.
“Claire, this is not how I wanted to do this.”
“No?” I asked.
He exhaled, annoyed already.
“Don’t make it ugly.”
That sentence almost made me smile.
Ugly had already happened while his mother was barefoot in a silk robe, stirring powder into my soup.
Marissa touched his arm.
“Derek, maybe we should leave.”
“No,” he said. “We’re done hiding.”
Behind him, Valerie appeared in the hallway.
She had changed nothing. Plum robe. Crooked silver hair. Bare feet. But when she saw me standing beside the table, her face tightened.
Then she saw the soup.
For the first time since I had known her, Valerie looked afraid.
I pulled out three bowls.
Derek frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“You came for a conversation,” I said. “Sit down.”
Marissa looked at him.
Derek, arrogant enough to mistake calm for weakness, pulled out a chair.
“Fine.”
Valerie remained in the hallway.
I ladled soup into two bowls from the container she had touched. I did not fill mine. I simply set an empty bowl in front of my chair.
Derek noticed.
“Not eating?”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Of course. Everything has to be dramatic.”
Marissa sat quietly, eyes moving between us.
I placed one bowl in front of Derek.
One in front of Marissa.
Valerie’s hand flew to her throat.
“Derek,” she said.
He looked back, irritated.
“What?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
I sat down slowly.
The antique mirror reflected all of us: Derek at the table, Marissa tense beside him, Valerie pale in the hallway, and me in my faded sweater with my pharmacy badge still clipped to my bag.
Derek picked up the spoon.
Valerie took one step forward.
I looked at her.
“Is something wrong with dinner?”
Her eyes snapped to mine.
She knew.
She knew I knew.
Derek rolled his eyes.
“Jesus, Mom. It’s soup.”
Then, before Valerie could reach him, Derek lifted the spoon and swallowed.
The sound he made afterward was small.
Confused.
Not pain yet.
Just surprise.
Valerie screamed.
May you like
Not like a mother startled.
Like a murderer watching the wrong person fall.
