Page 129 of The Stranger
“Says the man who ruined my bechamel sauce last time he tried to help.”
I bark out a laugh. “I was an amateur back then … I’m a pro now.”
Her eyebrows spring up near her hairline, but she doesn’t call me out on my bullshit.
Tonight is important to her, I can tell. She wants to impress her family, but I’d be surprised if any of them even appreciate the effort she’s gone to.
“Something smells nice,” her mother says, entering the kitchen.
“I’m trying to recreate your roast chicken. I know it’s one of Dad’s favourites.”
“Oh, let’s see,” she replies, stepping up to the oven to peer inside. “That looks wonderful, Lilah.” And now I feel like an arsehole for always thinking the worst of these people. She eyes me by the stovetop. “It’s nice to see you helping in the kitchen. My husband could take a leaf out of your book.”
“Hmm,” I hum under my breath.
“Where is Dad?” Delilah asks.
“He and Abby have taken the baby for a walk outside.” I glance in her direction and notice the smile on her face doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It hurts her to know she’ll never have that type of relationship with her father. I get it, I do. I’ve never been close with my dad, but I alsonever had to witness him bond with another sibling. “You don’t mind if they walk around the property, do you?”
“Of course not,” Delilah replies. “I want you guys to feel comfortable while you’re here.”
Not too comfortable.
The sooner these people leave, the better.
“It’s so beautiful here,” her mother says.
“Isn’t it? We occasionally see platypus swimming in the stream and have kangaroos on the property often.”
“How lovely.”
When the food is ready, I help my mother set the table, while Delilah’s mum helps her plate everything up.
The other two grifters eventually wander up to join us, which has my mother pouring herself a second glass of wine.
She probably needs it to get through the next hour. I could use a stiff drink myself, but I need to remain vigilant around these people, for Delilah’s sake, not my own.
Once we’ve taken our seats, the food is brought out. The sweet smile on Delilah’s face hits me right in the chest. I can see how proud she is. Unfortunately, that look of pride falls right off her face when her father is the first to start.
“You are a guest,” he says to his wife when she places his meal down in front of him. “You shouldn’t be slaving away in the kitchen.” His accusing eyes move to me. “If these people can afford to live in a house such as this, they should have help waiting on them … not my wife.”
These people?
“Delilah cooked the meal all on her own,” she says in her daughter’s defence. “I only helped with the plating.”
“You don’t need to lie for her, Mum,” Abigail chimes in.
“She’s not lying,” I grate out as I simultaneously count to ten in my head.
“Nobody asked for your opinion,” her father grumbles.
“If you are going to make unfounded accusations, I’ll be giving my opinion whether it is asked for or not.” The room falls quiet as Delilah’s shaking hands place a plate down in front of me. “Thank you. It looks delicious, sweetheart,” I say as my hand moves to the small of her back to comfort her.
Mrs St. James places the next dish in front of Abigail, who immediately screws up her nose. She leans in and inspects her plate before moving her attention towards her sister. I brace myself for the venom I know she’s about to spew.
My hand is still resting on the small of her back, and when I feel her body stiffen, she knows what’s coming as well.
“You rub this fancy house in our faces and then serve us peasant food?”
