USED AS THE HELP
Three days before the party, Jessica called.
“We’re having a very exclusive housewarming,” she chirped. “David’s bosses are coming. Even the CEO of Apex Global might show up!”
“How exciting,” I said. “What time should I arrive?”
A pause.
“Well… we’re short on staff. Since you don’t have much going on, maybe you could help prep? And serve?”
My heart sank—but I needed to know how far she’d go.
“I’ll be there,” I told her.
And so I arrived early, wearing the plain black pants and white shirt she demanded. Jessica barely looked at me before pointing to a mop, then to a pile of dishes, then to a counter that “wasn’t shiny enough.”
My son walked by once, frowning when he saw me wiping the counters.
“Mom? Why are you doing that?”
“Jessica asked me to help,” I replied.
“She offered,” Jessica insisted sweetly. “She couldn’t afford a housewarming gift, so this was her way to contribute.”
I saw my son hesitate—saw him want to say more—but he didn’t. He let his wife treat me like hired help.
That hurt most of all.
