I came home early today to cook something for Martha’s dinner. I decided to make a cake, I know it’s little but it always helps something. My poor sister has such good intentions and so much work, that I feel obliged to share her pains. 

I prepare the ingredients, which I bought in advance, but I see that I forgot the eggs. It’s not possible to make a cake without eggs, so I go to the grocery store next door and then come back to beat the egg yolks, the egg whites, add the flour, the yeast and the sugar. I put the cake in the oven and when I think "it’s done", suddenly look at the blouse full of flour and batter. I remember that I have to pick up George from school in five minutes, so I change clothes and run out. 

The traffic at this hour is infernal, I stand still for endless moments each time I walk a little further, only to stop again. When I get to school, everything is even worse, a mess with cars stopping to pick up the kids. I honk until I finally have room to park in the second row, to pick up my son by the hand, who was monkeying on the sidewalk in front of the school. I accelerate hard, just enough for the tires to squeak, heading home. 

I open the door to the building and walk up the stairs pulling George’s weight, finally arriving at my apartment. There is a horrible smell of burning and when I open the door, a puff of smoke hits me and leaves me breathless for a few moments. I run towards the kitchen to see my cake completely black. I open the oven and put my hands to my face. George runs around the kitchen celebrating my catastrophe. I feel like crying but calm down. Taking a deep breath, quickly coming to the conclusion that the best thing to do is to buy a cake on the way to Martha’s house. 

I get my son ready, with a bath and clean clothes. Sometimes I wonder if he is completely normal and blame myself for any harm he might suffer. I don’t know why, because I think I’ve always strived to be a good mother, but from time to time, yes, I blame myself: for not having given him a father, for being absent so often, for sometimes being too hard, in short, things that cross my mind from time to time. 

Finally, I take a quick shower and put on the clothes I had prepared since yesterday. I leave the house pulling on George, who is trying at all means to stop me from staying at home. I get in the car, go to the supermarket, get the most homemade looking cake and leave for dinner. It would be much better to prepare a long bath and relax for a couple of hours, but I do it for Martha. 

Suddenly the phone rings: it’s Michael. 

- Hello, darling, I was just thinking about you," I lie with a smile on my lips. 

- My love, I’m so sorry I can’t go with you," he complains. 

- We’ve talked about it, I’m sorry, sweetheart," I say in a thin voice, "next time you’ll come, I promise. 

Yes, next time it will be different, I will have a year to get my sisters used to the idea of him. 

- Okay, sweetheart," he says. 

He is always so understanding and kind, I am so lucky to have him. He is so much more that I deserve. 

- When I get home, I’ll call you  - I promise. 

I get back in the car, leave the supermarket parking lot, and in less time than I thought I would, arrive at the condominium where Martha lives. I don’t feel like it at all, but I end up entering the building and as I go up the stairs I see my dear older sister waiting. I hand her the cake, along with a hug. She is happy to see me. I pull George in and make him greet his aunt, something he does at great cost. 

Martha pushes me into the living room and takes George to her cousins. I’m left alone with David, not knowing what to say. 

- So how is everything at work, my dear brother-in-law? - I ask amicably. No, I don’t want to know, but he is my sister’s lifelong companion, I have a duty to respect him. 

I notice that Joan hasn’t arrived yet, so I breathe a sigh of relief. But I prepare myself for the occasion by ordering a well taken appetizer. 

- What beautiful hors d’oeuvres, you are getting better and better - I compliment Martha, when she re-enters the room. Actually, they’re nothing special, a mess of fried food, but I know she’s gone to a lot of trouble and I recognize not everything always goes well. 

One by one, my nephews and nieces enter the room to greet me. The only one who doesn’t seem upset is the youngest, John, still a baby. I hold him in my arms and miss the time when George was so small. 

Just then, the doorbell rings. No doubt it’s Joan, with her usual haughtiness and nonsense. Martha goes to open the door and I hear her shrill voice in the distance. She bursts in, dressed like a prostitute. 

- My dear, you are getting younger and younger," I say, trying to dispel my negative thoughts. After all, it is a festive occasion.

- And you are getting thinner and thinner," Joan says. Of course she noticed that I’m about five kilos fatter, but she didn’t have to make fun of me. I had forgotten how mean she is and I don’t know what to say to her. 

Suddenly, Martha comes over and gives us both a hug. I understand her intention, yet I can’t help but feel a little ridiculous. After some time like this, she drops us. I offer to go with her, but am forced into the discomfort of putting up with Joan’s chatter, who won’t shut up about her so-called professional achievements. 

Time passes slowly until Martha thinks it’s time to start serving dinner. I’m so hungry I could eat anything. To speed things up, I help Martha lift the plates of starters, all of which are still practically full. 

Dinner is not brilliant, but edible enough to kill hunger. There is an uneasy silence in the air. Everyone eats quickly, as if to justify there being nothing to say. For a good three quarters of an hour everyone stays like this, in this rotten peace, until the last course is finished. At the kids’ table everyone is fighting, but I ignore it because I think I deserve a night of peace and George might as well survive a night with his cousins. 

Martha seems to have had a little too much to drink as she starts to get lamer, to which Joan responds with another attack, this time accusing my life of being monotonous. 

- Not everyone has a monotonous life," I say, but soon regret it. Shouldn’t I give hints about what’s going on in my life, because I talk too much? 

- Our Helen has something new, what is it? - She attacks Joana again, with viciousness. 

- I don’t really have anything new to tell you," I reply angrily. 

- Come on, did you get a new boyfriend? - she insists, to which I reply, staring at her. I remember my poor boyfriend and what a disaster it would have been if he had come to dinner with this snake. 

- Helen is not interested in meeting new men, she’s had enough - Martha defends me, yet I wonder what her reaction would be if she knew about Michael. 

- And why not, she is a beautiful woman? - David tries to get into the conversation, I suppose he’s trying to be gallant, but he’s just a jerk. 

- Tell your sisters who she is," continues Joan, already overstepping all boundaries. 

- Helen doesn’t have anyone, let’s leave her alone," says Martha, with the authority of an older sister. 

Joan sulks and keeps quiet, while I change the subject. 

- Have you noticed how cold it’s been? - I know that no one is interested in the weather and not really in my more subtle tirades, but I was already desperate. 

Martha tries to talk non-stop so as not to let Joan interrupt with nastiness, which makes her even more upset. The next hour is taken up with trivia from my dear sis, while I nod my head from time to time. Tired of being left behind, Joan decides to finish the night - always looking at her watch, there’s probably someone waiting for her. 

After half an hour it’s my turn to leave, but it’s all George’s fault, as he has managed to break the cousins’ patience. It’s also true that it’s already time for a kid to be in bed, so I take it easy. 

I kiss Martha at length and say in her ear: 

- Thank you. 

- Don’t you want to take your cake? - she asks, because we ended up not eating it. 

I just smile. I hurriedly say goodbye to David, before giving them both one last wave. 

On the way home, I think that the night was not so painful after all, and I feel happy for Martha, she was clearly satisfied. Next year, everything will be very different. 

Note: this is a sample from the book "Trey de queens" by Diogo Dantas. 

All copyrights belong to Diogo Dantas. Plagiarism is a crime.