Camila tensed immediately. She knew what was coming. Throughout the evening, she had noticed her mother-in-law’s glances directed at her mother. She saw her whisper to her friends, pointing at Doña Elena Morales ‘s sober gray suit . She saw her frown when Elena picked up her silverware with a certain insecurity.
“Mom, please,” whispered Alejandro .
Patricia had already taken the microphone.
— Dear friends —he began—, I want to say a few words about my son’s election.
The room fell silent, like before a storm.
“Of course, I imagined a different daughter-in-law. From our circle. With the right background”—she paused—”But love, as we know, doesn’t ask questions. He fell in love. With a simple girl, from a very modest family. Anyway, we’ll get over it.”
Elena sat at the end of the table, her gaze fixed on her plate. Her hands rested peacefully on the snow-white tablecloth.
“However, it now seems,” Patricia continued, “that we’ll have to support not only the newlyweds, but all their relatives as well. Because when your mother has spent her entire life serving food to children in a public school cafeteria”—she smiled wryly—“you can’t exactly call it a dowry, can you?”
Some guests laughed uncomfortably. Others looked away.
Patricia was savoring the moment.
