A Dish Best Served Cold

The invitation never came.

Amelia had known it from the start. She could feel the tension building in her mother’s voice for weeks before the trip was even announced. “Your sister and I are going to Europe,” her mother, Brenda, said with a tone dripping in forced casualness. It wasn’t a question or an invitation. It was a declaration.

Amelia tried to pretend it didn’t sting, but it always did. For years, she had been the one on the sidelines, while her mother poured all her affection and attention into Amelia’s sister, Grace. Grace, the golden child—her mother’s pride and joy—was lavished with trips, gifts, and endless praise. Amelia had learned long ago that it wasn’t worth fighting for Brenda’s affection. It was better to stand on the edges and watch it all fall apart.

But something was different about this trip. As Brenda and Grace packed their suitcases for a two-week vacation to Europe, Amelia felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. The usual knot of anxiety in her stomach wasn’t there. Instead, she felt an odd satisfaction—an instinct that something wasn’t quite right. It was as though life was giving her a glimpse of revenge, a dish served cold, without her having to lift a finger.

As Brenda and Grace boarded the plane, the cracks began to show almost immediately.

The flight was delayed by six hours.

Brenda huffed and complained, her voice echoing across the terminal as she berated the flight attendants for the delay, as if they had personally conspired to ruin her day. Grace, who had been excited about the trip, slumped in her seat, her enthusiasm draining by the minute. Amelia could imagine the scene in her head, her mother’s entitlement on full display as she snapped at the airport staff, demanding compensation. But all her tantrums did was cause more embarrassment as passengers around them rolled their eyes.

By the time they finally boarded, the exhaustion was already seeping in. Brenda had insisted on flying business class, of course—nothing but the best for her and her golden daughter—but even luxury couldn’t fix the sour mood.

When they finally landed in Paris, the city Brenda had been so eager to show off to Grace, things took a turn for the worse.

Their luggage was missing.

Brenda’s perfectly curated wardrobe, her designer bags, her toiletries—everything was gone. It had been misplaced during their layover, the airline said, and there was no telling when it would be returned.

Amelia imagined Brenda’s shriek echoing through Charles de Gaulle Airport, her arms flailing as she demanded to speak to a manager. But, of course, there was nothing anyone could do. They left the airport with nothing but their carry-ons, which held little more than the basics. Brenda’s grand plans for her glamorous Parisian wardrobe were shattered.

The hotel was supposed to be the pinnacle of luxury, but when they arrived, there was yet another problem. The room had been double-booked, and the only available suite was a small, cramped space on the first floor with a view of a brick wall.

Brenda was livid.

"This is unacceptable!" she screeched at the front desk clerk, who merely shrugged in response. It was the busiest time of year, and there were no other rooms available. Brenda and Grace would have to make do.

The once-excited Grace, who had been eagerly anticipating the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and a shopping spree on the Champs-Élysées, was now visibly sulking. Brenda, however, refused to let the inconvenience derail her plans. She was determined to have the perfect vacation, and nothing—not even a ruined hotel reservation—would stop her.

But as the days unfolded, the mishaps piled up like dominoes.

The weather, which had been forecasted to be sunny and mild, turned unexpectedly cold and rainy. Brenda had packed only for summer, and with their luggage still lost, she and Grace were forced to buy overpriced jackets and umbrellas from tourist shops. Even the new clothes didn’t help much, as Brenda refused to acknowledge the fact that her meticulously planned outfits had gone to waste.

And it wasn’t just the weather. At every turn, something went wrong. On the first day, Brenda had planned a visit to the Louvre, but they arrived just as the museum was closing. She had mixed up the time. The next day, they missed their reservation for a dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant because Brenda had spent too long shopping and got lost in the maze of Parisian streets.

Their vacation was a comedy of errors, but Brenda’s narcissism prevented her from admitting any fault. She blamed Grace for being slow, she blamed the locals for not speaking better English, and she blamed the universe for conspiring against her. Grace, usually loyal to a fault, was beginning to show signs of frustration. Her patience was wearing thin, and Amelia could almost picture the silent tension growing between them.

Things took a darker turn when Grace fell ill.

It had been a hot afternoon when they visited a street market, and Grace, already feeling worn out, drank from a questionable-looking bottle of water. By evening, she was doubled over in pain, her face pale as she lay in their tiny hotel room. Brenda panicked, but true to form, her concern was more about how it affected her vacation than Grace’s well-being.

They rushed to a local clinic, where Brenda berated the doctor for taking too long and not speaking English fluently enough for her liking. The doctor, unfazed by her outbursts, prescribed medication and rest for Grace. But the damage was done—half of the trip had been wasted, and Grace was in no condition to continue with the itinerary Brenda had so carefully crafted.

To make matters worse, Brenda lost her purse in the chaos of rushing to the clinic. With it went her credit cards, identification, and sense of control. She was forced to rely on Grace’s dwindling funds, a situation that only exacerbated the tension between them.

The final straw came during a day trip to Versailles.

Brenda had been looking forward to showing Grace the grandeur of the palace, but when they arrived, it was swarming with tourists. The lines were unbearably long, and the palace’s golden halls, once a symbol of splendor, felt like a claustrophobic nightmare.

But that wasn’t the worst part. In the middle of the tour, Brenda caused a scene when she berated a staff member for not allowing her to skip the line. Her loud, entitled demands drew the attention of nearby tourists, who began recording her meltdown on their phones. Within hours, a video of Brenda’s public tantrum had gone viral online, much to her horror.

By the time they returned to Paris, Grace had had enough. The once-favored daughter was now on edge, snapping at her mother and retreating to her own space. The final days of the vacation were spent in sullen silence, with Brenda growing more and more irritable as everything fell apart around her.

Amelia, back home, watched it all unfold from a distance. Brenda’s constant complaints and desperate attempts to salvage her crumbling vacation came through in sporadic texts and phone calls, each one more frantic than the last.

But Amelia didn’t feel sorry for her. In fact, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

The irony was delicious.

Brenda had excluded her from the trip, believing that she was doing Amelia a favor by sparing her the "boredom" of family time. In reality, it was Amelia who had been spared—spared from the chaos, the entitlement, the toxic dynamic that always followed in her mother’s wake.

Amelia spent those two weeks in quiet contentment, enjoying the serenity of her own company. She went to the park, read books, met with friends, and took long walks through the city. Without her mother’s overbearing presence, she finally felt free.

And as Brenda and Grace returned from their disastrous vacation, Amelia was greeted with the sight of her mother—disheveled, tired, and still bitter about the way things had gone. Grace had retreated into her own shell, no longer the enthusiastic golden child, and Brenda was left to stew in her own misery.

Yet even then, Brenda refused to acknowledge her role in the disaster. She blamed everyone but herself—the airline, the hotel, the weather, the locals. She refused to see that her narcissism had been the cause of every mishap, every inconvenience.

Amelia didn’t need her mother to learn her lesson. She didn’t need Brenda’s validation, her approval, or even her affection anymore. The trip had done exactly what it needed to do—it had shown Amelia that the exclusion she had once feared was actually her greatest protection.

As Brenda sulked in the living room, recounting every detail of the disastrous trip with a sour look on her face, Amelia smiled to herself. She had been spared, and in her mother’s misery, she found peace.

The best revenge, it seemed, was letting life do the work for her. Brenda may never learn her lesson, but Amelia didn’t need her to. In the end, that was enough.