Your figure’s so…robust…already, darling, and you know what they say about carbs.” Ah, home sweet home. I ignored my mother as she fretted with the strand of pearls around her neck, opting instead to ladle even more mashed potatoes onto my plate. Maybe it was a little childish, but something about everything my mother said made me want to do the exact opposite. Besides, if I chewed loud enough, I could almost drown out her constant stream of passive-aggression. “Actually, I was just reading an interesting article on the important role of carbohydrates,” my older sister Paige put in. “They’re really important! I’ll get you a copy, Mom, I’m sure you’ll have lots of really insightful things to say about it.” My mother sat back in her chair, preening slightly, my deficiencies temporarily forgotten. That was Paige, always the peacemaker. I shot her a grateful look, and she sent me an apologetic smile. It was always like this, going home for family dinner: Use the right fork, talk about inoffensive topics like the weather and diets and the resurgence of pastels in spring skirts, and always remember to duck before Mom hurls a cannonball of hurt you.
