Red Wine

Johnathan’s hands rested atop her shoulders. Elle could feel the warmth of his body behind her, both of them gazing at her image in the mirror. Her white blouse was clean, unblemished, and she tilted her head as she tucked it into her black pencil skirt.

“You look beautiful,” her husband murmured, placing a gentle kiss on the side of her head. The doorbell rang and she heaved a sigh. “It’ll be over before you know it. Your food smells great, the house looks exceptional, just like you…” He winked as he walked backward out of the bathroom door, wiggling his eyebrows.

Straight, blonde hair swayed as she shook her head, chuckling, knowing that despite her husband’s dreadful mother she was about to greet—her monster-in-law—she had married a good one.

She swiped the edge of her red lip with a finger, ensuring there were no smudges, and mulled over her appearance once more. Polished, immaculate, spotless. It would have to do. It would have to be enough, although Elle knew she would be ridiculed and insulted regardless.

Elle’s heels clicked against the glossy, marble floors of their mansion, given to them as a wedding gift from Johnathan’s mother three years ago. His family’s wealth seemed bottomless, and ever since Johnathan’s father suddenly passed when he was young, her mother-in-law made it very common knowledge that this home was theirs because of her. They knew they wouldn’t receive a penny of his father’s generational wealth unless Johnathan were the last one standing, and even then, he would have to pry it out of his mother’s cold, dead hands. They didn’t mind, though. Her husband was everything that was kind in the world, and money meant little to them—even if Johnathan needed more funds to start his business. Elle wished she could have met his father. Maybe then the connection to her husband’s genuine personality might make sense as it was nothing like the conniving, wicked woman she was now staring in the face.

“Ellenor,” Johnathan’s mother beamed, feigning enthusiasm. Elle inwardly cringed at her full name, her white teeth shining in the brightest smile she could muster.

“Vivian, always a pleasure. Happy Thanksgiving,” Elle said in a timid, soft voice as she leaned to offer a hug. Vivian gave her a tight smile and handed Elle her coat, ignoring her attempt at a hug, and stepped around Elle as she cupped her son’s cheeks in her palms.

“Johnathan, dear, you’re looking skinny.” She tsked, eyeing Elle. “Is your wife not feeding you? Now you know I will pay for staff that can cook—”

“Mother…you know she is a chef. Of course I am being fed. Quite regularly, too.” Johnathan winked, glancing suggestively at his wife, a smirk gracing that handsome face. Elle’s eyes widened, but her blinding smile remained, thankful Vivian didn’t catch on to her son’s teasing. Her fingers had twitched at his mother’s comment, the only indication that she was dissatisfied with her mother-in-law's insult. Vivian knew she was a chef at a three-star Michelin restaurant. She took pride in her cooking and had always been overjoyed at the guests who raved about her food, but Johnathan’s mother appeared to be the only person who made disliking her creations look easy.

Elle cleared her throat, motioning towards the dining room. The dining table, much longer than a table should ever be for only two occupants, was decorated with an assortment of decorative fall leaves and pumpkins and pine cones. She had a knack for home décor and attempted to hide her disappointment at the already furnished mansion years ago. Thankful. She was supposed to be thankful for a free home. When the holidays rolled around, Elle added whatever color and festive touch she could think of, hoping to add some character in this open, airy space that felt lonely whenever Johnathan wasn’t home. The disdain in Vivian’s eyes told her enough about what she thought of Elle’s homey touch as she placed herself at the head of the table.

“Mother, I hope you came hungry. Elle made the best—”

“Ellenor, don’t you have any wine? This is a special occasion, after all,” Vivian exclaimed, glaring at the water that was already beside her plate.

Elle’s fingers twitched beneath the table.

“My mistake,” she murmured, the chair beneath her screeching in protest while she stood, as if it was exasperated that she was so weak. She returned with two glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir, pouring one for Johnathan as well.

“Thank you, honey,” her husband praised, admiration shining in his blue eyes. The same eyes that kept her grounded. Kept her sane. Especially in moments where Vivian was concerned.

“Mother…” he mumbled.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Ellenor. However, if you just accepted my offer to hire a butler…”

“Mom, we’ve been over this before. The two of us are very capable, and you know it’s just Elle when I am away.”

“Dear, you know I worry for you. What mother would I be if I did not worry for my only son? And you’re always off messing around and wasting your time in Ohio with those dirty children. Who knows what disease you might catch,” she huffed.

“They aren’t dirty, Mom. They are gifted, bright kids, and if you just supported my dream and listened…”

Elle was suddenly very interested in her food, tuning out the conversation that happened more times than she could count. Johnathan’s best friend from college owned a non-profit organization that aided gifted children who came from homes of abuse or poverty or lack of education. This organization was a sanctuary for them, a place that allowed them to thrive and make their dreams a reality. It was inspiring work, actually, and Elle was proud that her husband wanted to open and run a location closer to where they lived—closer to Elle’s restaurant. The only obstacle was Johnathan’s lack of funds, and he desperately tried to convince his mom to invest in a business that meant so much to him.

Her mouth watered at the aroma of Thanksgiving food placed before her. She was proud of her labor and spent hours making sure the turkey wasn’t dry and that the mashed potatoes were rich and creamy. Elle scarfed down her meal, as politely as she could, and went for seconds. Nothing could chase the hunger she felt this evening.

Even though Vivian grimaced at her choice of a second serving, Elle continued and ignored the unspoken insult. It was always something. Elle was never good enough for her son. Her food never had enough flavor, her clothes were always too unflattering for her figure, she wore too much or too little makeup, her voice was too high-pitched—Vivian openly claimed it was the source of her headaches, even though Elle knew it was the ungodly amount of wine she consumed.

“…it’s a wonder she pays attention to anything,” Vivian guffawed, shaking her head. “Ellenor, I asked you a question.”

 Elle snapped her attention to her mother-in-law with an apologetic smile.

“It would seem your plate is more interesting company than your husband and I, but I said that we are out of wine.”

“Just one more glass, Mom, you have to drive,” Johnathan said, his glass empty because Vivian drank from his once her supply was gone.

Elle took a steadying breath, rising from the table once more as she stated her apologies. Taking her time, she returned with a large glass of their best red wine from the cellar and the pumpkin pie she baked earlier that day. She’d been craving it for weeks, and once she smelled the perfect combination of cinnamon and nutmeg steaming in the oven, nothing would stop her from taking a heaping slice. Not even Vivian.

“That looks amazing,” Johnathan declared and wasted no time as he jabbed his fork directly in the middle of the pie and shoved a hefty serving into his mouth. Bits of pumpkin pie fell onto the tablecloth, and Elle giggled at her husband. At this point, it was nearly tradition to eat the pie right from the dish. They were always too excited for their favorite dessert, and Johnathan once told her, “Why waste a dish if we are going to eat it in one sitting?”

Vivian watched with disgust while she brought the glass of wine to her lips and took a long swig.

“Johnathan…you’re better than this…” Vivian scolded. “Just because your wife doesn’t watch her figure does not mean you have to follow suit and act like a caveman. And look at this mess. I mean, with the way she scarfed down her food it was like she was eating for two.”  

Johnathan’s mom glanced at the only two glasses of wine on the table and then toward Elle’s stomach.

“Unless you’re…”

“Surprise!” Johnathan shouted, rubbing Elle’s belly excitedly. “You’re going to be a grandma!”

Vivian gaped at Elle with wide eyes, probably wishing her son had listened to her years ago when she often stated Elle—within earshot—was not worth marrying.

“It is no wonder your face looks so puffy,” was her monster-in-law’s only response.

Elle stabbed her fork into her pie, glaring across the table at her baby’s grandmother with as much confidence as her shy demeanor could handle. She made sure Johnathan’s mother could see the rage and hatred simmering in her eyes, and she held her stare as Vivian downed her wine with a smug look.

Suddenly, the glass in Vivian’s hands fell, shattering across the luxurious marble floors.

“J-johna…” Vivian stuttered as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. A loud thump echoed across the spacious mansion. Vivian was on the floor, unconscious. Johnathan and Elle abruptly rose from their seats, her son rushing to his mother’s side. Before he had the chance to shake her shoulders or check for a pulse she began convulsing.

“Call for help, now!” he yelled, frantically trying to help Vivian.

Elle hastily ran to the phone near the entryway but chose to wait a second. Two seconds. Three. Then dialed for help. Horror laced her words while she spoke to the operator and glanced in the mirror sitting on her entryway table. Her free hand grasped the side of her head in distress, and there was a small smudge of red lipstick on the corner of her mouth. The perfect picture of a perturbed daughter-in-law. They made it too easy.

She peered at Johnathan before the kitchen wall obscured her view and briskly walked to the sink. He was too absorbed with his dying mother. Soon, sirens would sound in the distance, but Elle knew it would be too late. She gripped the bottle of red wine and slowly poured it down the sink as she swiped that smudge of wine-colored lipstick from the corner of her mouth. Her red lips curved into a feline smile.