Chapter 1
I was allergic to chives, and badly enough that if one so much as brushes my lips, they swell up like sausages.
Before I got married, I told my husband's mother, Helen Carter, about it three times. Each time, she'd smile and nod, saying, "Alright, alright, I'll remember, dear."
When I was three months pregnant, she brought over a plate of ravioli, saying they were egg-filled and made just for me to help me stay healthy.
I took a bite, and the strong flavor of chives hit me right away.
She sat across from me, staring without blinking, a barely-there smile tugging at her lips.
I didn't say a word. I just kept eating until the plate was empty.
Helen slapped the table and burst out laughing. "See? I told you. Allergies? All fake! Young people are just so sensitive!"
Two hours later, when the ambulance came to take me away, she was still in the living room, knitting.
In the ER, the doctor read my results and said one sentence, and Helen went straight down as though her bones had gone out of her.
*****
Emily first realized she couldn't touch chives when she was ten.
The neighbors were making ravioli and gave her a small bowl.
She got through half a ravioli before her lips started tingling, as though dozens of tiny needles were pricking them.
Her mom thought she'd burned herself, so she switched on the light, and her face instantly drained of color.
Emily's upper lip was swollen and shiny, and her throat felt packed with wet cotton, so she could not even cry out.
Later, at the hospital, the doctor kept warning her to stay away from chives, never risk it, not even once.
Emily remembered that warning for years.
She wasn't picky, and she wasn't spoiled.
But if there were chives on the table, she'd move her bowl away without thinking.
Even a chive turnover set down in front of her made her nose itch and her stomach tighten.
Before they got married, David Carter brought her home for dinner.
There was a plate of scrambled eggs with chives on the table.
Helen picked up some with her fork and gently placed it into Emily's bowl, smiling warmly.
"Come on, dear, eat a little more. This is really delicious," Helen said.
Emily quickly shifted her bowl a little to the side.
"Mrs. Carter, I can't eat chives, I'm allergic to them," Emily said.
Helen's fork stopped in midair.
She glanced at the chives, then at Emily. Her smile lingered, but the warmth in her eyes faded.
"Allergic, huh?" Helen said.
David jumped in right away.
"Mom, seriously, she can't eat chives at all," David said.
Helen put the food back into her own bowl.
"Alright, I'll remember," Helen said.
She said it like it was no big deal, and even slid the plate over to her side.
Emily let out a sigh of relief.
But halfway through the meal, Helen chimed in casually, as if she was just making small talk.
"Kids these days have the strangest constitutions. Nobody talked about allergies when I was young. We ate whatever was on the table, straight out of the field," Helen remarked.
Everyone at the table fell silent for a second.
David glanced up and said, "Mom."
Helen waved her hand dismissively.
"I wasn't talking about you. I was just saying," Helen said.
Emily kept her head down, quietly sipping her soup without saying a word.
She just chalked it up to Helen's offhand comment.
The second time Emily had to remind Helen was on their engagement day.
Both families sat down for dinner, and Helen had ordered all the dishes.
Once the hot dishes came out, the server brought over a plate of three-cheese ravioli.
As soon as the white porcelain plate hit the table, Emily caught a whiff of that familiar pungent, grassy aroma.
Her fingers curled slightly under the table.
David spoke up before she could.
"Do these have chives in them?" David asked.
"We do. It's our specialty," the server replied.
Helen gave herself a little smack on the forehead.
"Oops, I totally forgot!" she said.
She smiled at Emily.
"My memory isn't what it was. Getting old makes a person scatterbrained," Helen said.
Emily smiled back.
"No worries, I just won't eat them," she said.
Helen slid the plate over to David.
"You eat them, don't let them go to waste," she said.
David didn't even reach for his fork.
He waved the waiter over, had the ravioli taken away, and ordered two new dishes.
Helen's smile slipped a bit.
On the way home, Emily sat in the passenger seat, her palms cold the whole time.
David glanced over at her.
"Still not feeling well?" he asked.
"No," Emily replied.
"My mom's got a sharp tongue, but she means well," David said.
Emily stared out the window at the streetlights sliding past, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I just don't want her to think I'm being difficult," she said.
David took her hand.
"You're my wife. If you're not feeling well, just say so. You don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks," he said.
At that moment, Emily really believed him.
She figured that as long as everyone was upfront, the family would eventually work things out together.
The third time happened not long after the wedding.
Helen came over to help tidy up the fridge.
She fished out a bunch of chives and dangled them in her hand.
"Who brought these home?" she asked.
David was in the kitchen, washing dishes.
"A coworker gave them to me. I totally forgot to toss them out," he said.
Helen immediately frowned.
"Why toss out good food? Such a waste," she said.
Emily was standing in the living room, calling out through the glass door.
"Helen, I really can't be around these. Even just keeping them in the fridge makes the whole place reek," she said.