My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
“Then you have had twenty-eight years to learn how to stand,” she said, nodding toward the carving knife. “Slice the breast. Thinly, if you please.”
I picked up the knife, my fingers twisting the plain silver band on my right hand.
“Poise is not an ornament,” Margaret said, her small eyes tracking the movement of my hands. “It is a necessity, though clearly your education did not cover the basics of presentation.”
“I have a degree in history,” I said, keeping my voice level as I placed a slice of white meat on her gold-rimmed plate. “I graduated with honors.”
“A credential that has apparently prepared you to serve poultry in a house that is not yours,” she said.
She did not touch her fork.
“Is there something wrong with the chicken?” I asked.
“The preparation is adequate,” she said, looking past my shoulder toward the dark hallway. “The presentation is lacking.”
“I am doing the best I can with the schedule you set,” I said.
“Your best is a low bar, Emily.”
