She dropped them on the counter with a loud thud and sneered, “I don’t like Doris’s cooking,” she announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s like chewing on cardboard or swallowing salt straight from the shaker. Bland, over-salted, and completely uninspired—just like her.”
The room went still for a moment, and then she tossed her head, eyes gleaming.
“You know, family dinners used to mean something. Now? It’s just a reminder of how pathetic some people are. Doris tries, bless her heart, but you can’t polish a stone that’s already cracked all the way through.”
The twins giggled, but Lester wasn’t done.
“Yeah, Mum, I mean, why even bother pretending you care? You make food like you don’t want us here. Like you’re waiting for us to leave just to be alone with your failures.”
Loisa nodded, picking up the thread with a sharp grin.
“Honestly, it’s kind of sad, mum. You cook like you’re punishing us. Like every burnt edge and dry bite is your little protest. But we’re not fooled. We see right through you.”
Elizabeth snatched a bag from the counter, opening it with exaggerated care.
“So family, eat this. Real food. Food that people who actually matter deserve. We leave in an hour.”