“Don’t forget about the potluck this weekend,” she said. “But I have a theme, and it’s luxury foods. I’ll send out a message with everything I want you all to bring.”
If I thought that I was dreading the potluck before, Jessica’s message to the family group chat solidified how much I didn’t want to go.
Hi family, remember that the theme for the potluck is luxury. Here’s some of the things that you can bring:
Gourmet cheeses, imported chocolates, and high-end wines. You can go ahead and choose which country you want to pick.
I couldn’t believe Jessica. It was easy for her to dictate to everyone because her husband was as wealthy as they came. So, money was nothing for her.
“I know you want to skip the entire event,” Mark said when I read the list out to him. “But you can’t miss this. It’s for my father at the end of the day, okay?”
I nodded. If it were any other dinner, I would have skipped it altogether, but this one was particularly important. It was a celebration of my father-in-law’s retirement, and I knew it meant the world to Mark.
“I can’t afford to skip my shift at the mechanic,” he said. “I have no choice but to go. So you have to represent us here.”
“No, I know,” I agreed. “It’s just that your sister makes everything so difficult.”
My husband sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“I don’t know how we can afford to get anything on the list Jessica sent,” I said.
“We’ll figure something out. We always do,” Mark said, sitting down to eat dinner.
“Actually, love, you know what?” he asked, putting his fork down. “Make something. Make a casserole or something to take. I don’t see how Jess can complain about you bringing something home-cooked.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I said, smiling.
I decided to make a hearty homemade casserole. I used the age-old recipe that my grandmother had passed down, with a few tweaks, it had become my version of the dish.
“It’s delicious and always a hit with me,” Mark said as he got ready for his shift on the day of the potluck.
It was a dish that was always popular with my side of the family, and I figured it would be enough.
I arrived at Jessica’s house with my casserole, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, she eyed my dish with a look of disdain.
“Emily, what is this?” she asked, her nose wrinkled.
