Chapter 2: Lines Drawn in the Kitchen

I squeezed her hand gently. "If you want it, eat it. We hardly ever buy pineapple anyway—it’s not a big deal."

I squeezed her hand, offering a reassuring smile. "Come on, Susie. You deserve a treat now and then."

That evening, just as Susan was about to cut into the pineapple, the front door opened and Rachel’s family returned.

The house was alive with evening sounds—the TV murmuring, the dishwasher running. Susan stood at the counter, knife poised over the pineapple, when Matt and Rachel burst in, arms full of shopping bags.

As soon as Matt walked in, the smell of cheap whiskey hit me like a slap. He’d clearly been drinking, and not lightly.

The scent hit me before I even saw him—a sour, boozy cloud that clung to his clothes. It was the smell of a bar at closing time.

I frowned, not liking what I saw. My jaw clenched. In my house, that kind of behavior never flew.

Matt staggered in, stopped by Susan, and jabbed a finger at the pineapple on the table. "Mom, did you buy this?"

He leaned against the counter, eyes narrowed at the pineapple like it had insulted him. His voice was too loud, already itching for a fight.

Susan forced a smile, trying to smooth things over by offering the pineapple. "I thought it’s been a long time since everyone had some, so I bought one for us to try."

Then, out of nowhere, Matt exploded: "Do you know how much gas I could buy with what you spent on this pineapple?"

He slammed his hand on the counter, making the utensils jump. His words just hung there, heavy and sharp.

Susan hurried to explain, fumbling with the receipt. "I only bought it because it was on sale, just three dollars a pound." Her voice was thin, barely more than a whisper, straining to keep the peace.

Matt scowled, raising his voice even more. He wasn’t about to let it go.

He glared at her, words sharp enough to cut. "Three bucks a pound isn’t expensive? Even I wouldn’t spend that much on fruit!"

"I’ve already told you to be frugal, to save wherever we can, but you just go ahead and splurge on stuff like this without thinking!"

He was repeating himself now, his voice rising with every word. It wasn’t about the fruit anymore—it was about reminding everyone who was in charge.

He turned to Rachel, demanding, "Aren’t you going to say something to her?"

He looked at Rachel, expecting backup, like Susan was some kid who needed scolding. My blood boiled.

Rachel, not wanting to get blamed herself, jumped in. "Mom, seriously, how could you buy this without talking to me first?"

Rachel’s voice tumbled out, fast and anxious. She looked at Matt, then back at Susan, clearly worried about being blamed herself.

"You know our situation now. Ethan’s about to start elementary school, we have to hurry to buy a house in the right district, and Matt’s project at work still needs tens of thousands under the table to get wrapped up smoothly! We need money everywhere. With you spending like this, how can our family afford it?"

She rattled off their worries like a grocery list, desperation creeping into her voice. Each item felt like another brick in a wall Susan couldn’t climb.

I felt my anger boiling over as I watched Susan’s face grow paler and paler. I slapped the table and stood up. "I bought the pineapple! It has nothing to do with your mom!"

The sound echoed in the kitchen, startling everyone into silence. I stood tall, refusing to back down.

I pulled Susan behind me, jabbing a finger at them. "You all say you need to save money. Matt, how much did your watch cost? Rachel, how much was that bag?"

I pointed at their fancy watch and bag, both gleaming in the kitchen light. The hypocrisy was impossible to ignore.

Matt’s watch? Eight grand. Rachel’s bag? Six grand. Both bought with our retirement cards. I thought about that as I stared them down.

I let the numbers hang in the air, daring them to argue. That money was our life’s work, and now it was on their wrists and arms.

Matt scoffed. "That’s not the same, I need mine for work."

He straightened his tie, like that proved his point. The excuse was weak, but he clung to it.

Rachel was just as self-righteous. "If I showed up at work with a cheap bag, I’d be a joke."