The invitation came as a surprise. My mother-in-law, the woman who had perfected the art of backhanded compliments and subtle jabs, wanted to meet me for brunch. At a famous café, no less. She said it was to thank me for helping Rami plan her birthday party surprise. I stared at the text, my fingers hovering over the screen. Thank me? Since when did she ever thank me for anything? My gut twisted. This had to be a setup.
Still, I couldn’t refuse. Not without looking ungrateful or, worse, giving her more ammunition to use against me. So, I typed out a polite reply, thanking her for the invitation and agreeing to meet. But as I hit send, I braced myself. I knew her too well. This wasn’t going to be a simple thank-you brunch. It was going to be another one of her performances, where she’d smi
