[TM] 314: Write about a memorable family meal
Altered neural pathways snap themselves back into line, reshaping themselves into form they should have always held. Memories and thoughts reassert themselves, scrambling along each road in greedy hunger, clamoring to be heard after long denial. Daniel thought he was healing one wrong, reminding her of a pain she'd known, a fury suppressed in a fog of forgetfulness, but there are so many more secret cuts beneath that he touches, heals only to have them start to bleed again in fresh bursts of heated pain. She can see the pattern of the scalpel's blade stretching back across forty years, cutting away bits and pieces of her. Never enough the others would notice, but enough to change...
Daniel thinks the tears that course down her cheeks are for Nathan, and in so many ways they are, for what Arthur has done to him, for the vengeance he's exacted, for the way he could throw away her son--their son--but where her bafflement sat upon her before her husband--she nearly chokes on the thought of the word now--took the knowledge away before, now it his reasoning is crystalized in her restored memory.
Nathan would bow no more than his father had, and Arthur could tolerate the sight of it no more now than then. His perfect revenge, exacted without knowledge, made it all the more cruel in some ways. He could hold it close, still having her love, planted and twisted into her, and think he'd won.
Not anymore. Never again.
Thanking Daniel, she sends him away, and stares around the kitchen for a few blank moments, before sending the staff home with some excuse about wanting to do something for her husband herself. They smile knowingly and she lets them think what they would. She calls Rene.
She hasn't made soup in ages, but she knew how to cook well once, and it turns out it is not something you forget. She prepares it with care, spooning servings into bowls when she hears him arrive. To his, she adds a final ingredient without a moment's hesitation, a smile curving her lips.
For Nathan. For him. For her. Arthur deserves whatever he gets.
She serves the soup with another smile, as compliant as he's ever wanted her, eating her own soup calmly. His compliments are just something to take as her due. When he pauses, discomfort flitting over his face, she doesn't even look up, still eating calmly for a moment, before finally casting him a cool glance.
"I lied. It's not your mother's recipe."
He looks in her eyes, he sees her smile, he knows, and then he falls. Angela takes a moment, a breath, and then she prepares herself to play another role as grieving widow. It will be her most challenging yet, as all she wants to do is exult, but she's already paid dearly, she can maintain it for a little while longer.
She is free, and she is herself, and soon the world will be as it is meant to be again.
Daniel thinks the tears that course down her cheeks are for Nathan, and in so many ways they are, for what Arthur has done to him, for the vengeance he's exacted, for the way he could throw away her son--their son--but where her bafflement sat upon her before her husband--she nearly chokes on the thought of the word now--took the knowledge away before, now it his reasoning is crystalized in her restored memory.
Nathan would bow no more than his father had, and Arthur could tolerate the sight of it no more now than then. His perfect revenge, exacted without knowledge, made it all the more cruel in some ways. He could hold it close, still having her love, planted and twisted into her, and think he'd won.
Not anymore. Never again.
Thanking Daniel, she sends him away, and stares around the kitchen for a few blank moments, before sending the staff home with some excuse about wanting to do something for her husband herself. They smile knowingly and she lets them think what they would. She calls Rene.
She hasn't made soup in ages, but she knew how to cook well once, and it turns out it is not something you forget. She prepares it with care, spooning servings into bowls when she hears him arrive. To his, she adds a final ingredient without a moment's hesitation, a smile curving her lips.
For Nathan. For him. For her. Arthur deserves whatever he gets.
She serves the soup with another smile, as compliant as he's ever wanted her, eating her own soup calmly. His compliments are just something to take as her due. When he pauses, discomfort flitting over his face, she doesn't even look up, still eating calmly for a moment, before finally casting him a cool glance.
"I lied. It's not your mother's recipe."
He looks in her eyes, he sees her smile, he knows, and then he falls. Angela takes a moment, a breath, and then she prepares herself to play another role as grieving widow. It will be her most challenging yet, as all she wants to do is exult, but she's already paid dearly, she can maintain it for a little while longer.
She is free, and she is herself, and soon the world will be as it is meant to be again.