Mother’s Greed

The gift wrap is exquisite; translucent, pearl white adorned with a large golden bow. I carefully peel off the paper to reveal a gorgeous glass serving dish. The edges fan out slightly, tipping over to show a hint of tinted pink glass. Some sort of intricate design swirls around the center, like a flurry of snowflakes. The dish sits upon a small but sturdy holder, wide at the bottom for balance. 

Typically, dishware does nothing to tickle my fancy. My cupboards and drawers hold the bare minimum for a young couple and our dishes have always been plain and simple. This dish whispers to me, like the ominous humming of some ancient chant. Nudging my leg, Stephen shoots me a concerned look. 

“Wow, Deb. It’s amazing.” I manage to squeak.

“Thank you! I knew you would like it.” Debbie beams, lightly hitting her husband Greg in excitement. It is true; I love this dish.

“Where’d you get something so great?” Stephen asks, taking the dish gently from my grip.

The sudden loss feels painful as the surrealness of such a wonderful dish evaporates. 

“You wouldn’t believe! The man next door, you know him right? Sweet guy, kind of a recluse?”

“Debra!” Greg huffs.

“Oh hush up, you know what I mean. He baked us some cookies and put them in that dish. He said we could keep it since he’s downsizing.”

“Wow, what luck.” Stephen grins.

Yes. Our luck.

Ig is evening and the itch to fill the dish overpowers all other senses. I want the dish on full display for tomorrow. My parents will be coming for lunch. Mother has always been a materialistic person, and I can just imagine the greedy look on her face when she catches a glimpse of my new possession. But what to fill it with?

Charging through the kitchen, nothing escapes my inspection for the perfect dish decoration. Stephen watches me from his spot at the table, grinning with amusement as I huff and puff from disappointment.

“Trina, just let it go. The dish doesn’t need anything special. Just leave it out on the coffee table or something.” 

Shaking my head in frustration, I continue to hunt.

“Stephen, this is my mother we are talking about. She will want to have it so badly, I have to make it look impossible to pass up.”

“Is this some sort of revenge?”

“No. This is my way of showing Dad what an awful person she is and how she only cares about money and what he can get her. She’ll kick up a fuss and it’ll be the last straw.”

“Just because he told you they were having issues doesn’t mean-“

“Yes it does. My Dad is getting more and more irritated with her overzealous spending habit.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter Trina! Just leave it be.” 

“Fine.” Grinding my teeth, I end up putting the dish out on the dining room table. Empty. The dish still looks magnificant, sparkling as the light hits each angle. I’ll humor Stephen for now but the search resumes tomorrow morning.

The next day..

“Oh, what a splendid dish! I’ve never seen anything like it!” 

The greed in Mother’s voice was unmistakable, dripping with jealousy. I smile politely.

“Oh yes, Debra has such luck. I truly adore it.”

“But dear, do you really need it? You hardly ever host.” 

“Carol, leave it be. You have plenty of nice things at home.” Dad grumbles, shoving a spoonful of potatoes in his mouth. 

“I wasn’t asking for it Simon! I was just stating a fact.” 

Stephen shoots me a smirk across the table, unsurprised by Mother’s antics. She is a master manipulator, curtesy of living with my horrible grandmother for eighteen years. 

“Mother, you can borrow it sometime. Let us finish eating first.” 

I notice the flash of annoyance before she smiles. I won this battle. 

After lunch, Mother and Father stayed for dessert and a movie. The dish made one last appearance as they gathered their belongings to leave.

“When do you think I could borrow it, dear?” She asks sweetly. 

I stare at her, ready to deliver the final blow. This will be the breaking point, proof for Dad that he needs to put a final end to Mother’s atrocious spending habits.

“In a month.”

“Now, Trina that is not fair! You won’t even use it, you should just give it to me!” 

With a huff, she marches over to the table and grabs the dish. Anger fills every fiber of my being and I charge at her. I see Dad reach out to grab the dish from her while Stephen attempts to block my rage. Unfortunately, the sudden onslaught spooks Mother, who lets out a loud cry before bringing her hands up for protection. Without the dish.

An ear-splitting crash fills the air, viberating my eardrums. 

Slowly, I look down at the collection of glass shards littering the oak floors. 

“You rotten woman.” An angry voice, shaking with fury rings out. “I’ve had it! No more! I am shutting down your access to the bank accounts and selling the truckloads of garbage you’ve stockpiled in the house!”

Mother’s face, pale as a ghost, turns to face Dad, shocked at his harsh words. Before she could respond he barks at her to go to the car and wait there, practically spitting acid. She glances at me with a pained expression, her mouth attempting to form words but Dad cuts her off.

“An apology won’t fix the mess you’ve made. Go!”

After Mother rushes out the door, Stephen moves to grab a broom from the hall closet.

“Oh Trina, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I know that dish was important to you so I’ll see what I can find.”

“No, no Dad it’s okay, really. I should have just put it away. I knew she would want it.”

“You mean you set it out on purpose?”

“Yes. I was hoping she would kick up a fuss and that you could finally see how bad her spending and greediness is getting out of control. But now I see I went too far.”

“Wel, it worked. I’m sorry the dish had to suffer the brunt of the damage but just the thought if her stealing something, especially from you, infuriates me! I will keep a close eye on her from now on. Thank you, darling. I will send you something later, something just as nice.”

Kisses and hugs are exchanged and I wave Dad goodbye from the front door. It took almost thirty minutes, but Stephen and I seemed to have gotten all of the glass. Thankfully, we have no pets or children to worry about.

Stephen, a natural empath, notices my silence and wraps me in a long hug before ushering me up to bed. It had been a stressful afternoon. Time for some well-deserved sleep.

Three days later...

Sure enough, a package came from Dad. Smiling at his neat penmanship, I read the letter taped to the front of the box. It was another apology, promises of making things right with Mother and hoping that I liked the gift. 

Stephen plops down next to me on the couch, nursing a lukewarm coffee. I must be nervous because he puts a hand on my forearm, squeezing gently. Opening the flaps with painstaking slowness, I lift out the packaging fluff and peer into the space. My heart drops.

“Well pull it out.”

Carefully, I ease out the new dish and sigh. It was awful. Absolutely terrible. But I could never say this to my father. He probably took several hours to choose this particular dish, considering every detail and contemplating what I would like. It was pretty enough but the color, a weird brown-green, is off-putting, resembling baby food and vomit. The designs were less appaling, a mismash of shapes with no purpose other than to fill space. 

“That’s...different.”

“I hate it. So much. But I can’t tell him that!”

“Why not? It isn’t like he’s a hairdresser who gave you a crappy haircut.”

“This is exactly that feeling, Stephen! Except he’s my dad, so it would be ten times worse. I feel so disappointed and conflicted and angry and sad. I have no idea what to do with this.”

“Well, not like you have no choices. Either give it back, keep it or donate it, to name a few. Good thing is, unlike with hair, you have more immediate options.”

“Ugh, I guess you’re right. I just hate this icky feeling. I don’t want to hurt his feelings but I was really looking forward to this gift. He always taught me to be considerate of others when it cones to gifts. Guess I’ll sleep on it and decide in the morning.”

I donated it.