Let The King Kneel For Me.

HAYLEY

“Aunt Susan, the next time you disrespect my mommy, I will dump cockroaches into your favourite dresser. The big, flying ones.”

Cold, crisp silence descends on the table as Toby stands there, trembling with a rage that seems too powerful for his small, six year old body. 

No one dares to correct him. Even the staff are frozen.

Aunt Susan turns to me, one perfectly painted brow lifted in a scandalous expression, obviously waiting for me to call my son to order.

Well, whoopty doo. I’m not saying shit.

Today was supposed to be my happy day, but she chose to ruin it.

I organized this entire dinner with so much love. I woke up at the crack of dawn and slaved away in the kitchen for hours making all their favourite dishes. But what did I get in return? Nothing but insults.

Sipping from my glass of Chardonnay, I pretend like I didn’t hear a thing.

Unimpressed with my silence, Aunt Susan’s derisive scoff cuts through the air like a well sharpened knife. Then she addresses my son with that sickly sweet tone that never fails to grate on my last nerve;

“But Toby dear, I did not tell a single lie. Your mother has lost her place in this household. I’m sure your daddy has found someone better than a lazy housewife who does nothing but make demands of him all day.” 

Her tone is cold and unforgiving;

“Hayley doesn’t know jack shit about keeping a husband. Little wonder my dear Edward feels trapped in this sham of a marriage.”

Okay, that’s it. 

I’ve had enough.

For six years, six bloody years, I tried to stay meek and silent. I did my best, sacrificing my own peace of mind in a bid to respect my in-laws. 

Not anymore. It gets to a point.

I sit upright, my steady voice betraying the violent rage that breathes through my lungs.

“First of all, aunt, do not swear in front of my son. Show some respect.

Also, I do not think you’re in any position to talk about my inability to keep a husband, seeing that you’ve had six of those in your lifetime and your longest marriage only lasted two years.”

The ruthless jab lands in the room like artfully spilled rotten beans. 

There, I said it. And I sure as hell ain’t taking it back. 

Humiliation is the language of a bully. And today, I have decided to stop being the butt of their jokes. It’s high time I reminded these motherfuckers that I was raised on the streets.

There’s lots of gasping and blinking and pearl clutching going on.

Aunt Susan’s face is a mask of rage. Her mouth is open so wide, you’d think she was going into anaphylactic shock.

I pat my lips elegantly with the edge of my napkin, keeping my cold, ruthless gaze trained on her and the rest of my husband’s cousins.

I should back down, but I’m feeling petty today. 

“Why are we acting so surprised? I thought our dearest Aunt’s failed marriages were public knowledge. Or do we need a trip down memory lane?”

Toby, ever my partner in crime, lights up with the most beautiful, mischievous smile.

“Whenever you’re ready, mommy.”

I bop him on the nose. “My sweet boy.”

Turning to my frozen audience, I continue seamlessly;

“I hate to do this, but I believe we all need a little reminder. 

Aunt Susan has had six husbands in her lifetime. Husband number one and two both died from heart failure. No surprises there. 

Husband number three chased her out of his mansion in the middle of the night because she kept trying to steal his property documents. How greedy of you, Aunt.

Husband number four and five both cheated with women my age. Which is shocking because Aunt Susan knows everything about keeping a husband, doesn’t she?

Just yesterday, husband number six was here. He made quite the ruckus, screaming at the top of his lungs and calling her a witch. I wonder what she did to the poor man.”

I pause to catch my breath, basking in the absolute, delicious silence that follows.

Around the table, expressions range from shocked to terrified.

But my focus is on my dear Aunt, and the look of absolute humiliation on her face.

“Is it now clear, Aunt Susan, that you’re the last person on earth I would ever take “man-keeping” advice from? 

Maybe if you had adopted some of that wonderful advice, at least one of your marriages would’ve lasted past the toddler stage…!”

For a moment, no one dares to speak. 

Except her. Dontella DaSilva. Edward’s younger sister, aka, the witch. 

She shoves to her feet, literally foaming at the mouth, her green eyes shooting sparks;

“Who the hell do you think you are to speak to Aunt Susie in that manner?!”