Chapter 6 - Who Fed the BoyIrene rested both hands on the dish. "For almost a year," she said, "your mother came to my back door at least twice a week."
Priscilla's face grew even redder. "I had a lot going on."
"Exactly," Irene said.
Marcus looked at the label again. "Tuesday?"
"Chicken and rice," Irene said. "Thursday was usually soup." She continued. "One night, Marcus had pneumonia. Priscilla hadn't slept properly in two days. She came over crying and said, 'I can't keep up.' I gave her dinner and told her, 'Feed your boy. Nobody said you had to stir every pot yourself.'"
Marcus opened the casserole dish. The smell hit him. He laughed. "This is it."
"I cooked plenty too," Priscilla snapped.
"I know you did," Marcus said. He took a bite, chewed, then glanced toward the garbage. "So explain something, Mom."
She stiffened.
"If Irene feeding me didn't make you less of a mother, why did Delphine ordering dinner make her less of a wife?"
Priscilla opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Finally: "That was different."
"How?" Irene asked.
"I was overwhelmed."
"So am I," I said from across the table.
May you like
Irene asked, "When I fed Marcus, did you love him less?"
That ended the argument. Priscilla slowly sat down. For once, nobody rushed to rescue her from the silence.
