Is dinner ready? Yes, Dad. We can sit down whenever you’re ready, Lucía replied in an even more submissive voice. Mrs. Sánchez’s gaze fell upon me, openly analyzing me. She’s a friend of Lucía’s from China. Sofía introduced her, Marcos, in a neutral tone. “Ah, a guest,” Mrs. Sánchez nodded in greeting. Her gaze immediately shifted to the children, and only then did her face show a hint of warmth. She said something to them in Spanish, and the children approached to greet her politely.
In return, they received a distant pat and a couple of brief compliments. Dinner began. At the long table, Mr. Sánchez sat at the head with Marcos to his right and his wife to his left. Lucía and I sat opposite, and the children at the other end. The atmosphere was even more tense than when only Marcos was present. During dinner, the conversation was mainly between Mr. Sánchez and Marcos in rapid Spanish about company matters, the economic situation, and names I didn’t recognize.
Mrs. Sánchez occasionally chimed in, mostly to comment on a relative or acquaintance. Lucía barely spoke. She ate in silence, attentive to everyone’s needs, pouring wine or passing around bread. In this atmosphere, the meal became a chore. The lamb was crispy, but it tasted dry to me. “Miss Joe, what do you do in China?” Suddenly, Mr. Sánchez switched to English, addressing me and breaking the monotony of his conversation.
“I work in the marketing department of an import-export company,” I replied politely, leaving them covered. International trade. A good number of them nodded, though their expressions didn’t change. “The Chinese market has huge demand, but the competition must be fierce, right? Especially for women in management positions.” Their words seemed like casual conversation, but I still sensed that scrutinizing tone. “Yes, it’s challenging,” I replied cautiously. Lucía also worked, but for a short time, Mrs. Sánchez suddenly intervened in a neutral tone, as if she were stating an unimportant fact.
Then came the children, and family became more important. Marcos needs a wife who can provide stability at home. That’s fundamental. Miss Joe, you, who are so independent, do you plan to keep working forever? The question was directed at me, but her glance fell on Lucía, who paused for a moment while cutting the meat. I suppose it depends. Work gives you personal satisfaction and financial independence, which I think are very important for women today.
I smiled, my tone friendly but firm. “Financial independence,” Mr. Sánchez muttered with a hint of disdain. Barely audible. True independence lies in having irreplaceable value and a clear position within the family. “He who grasps at too much, holds nothing.” Marcos said nothing, simply continuing to cut the food on his plate as if he agreed with his father. “By the way, Miss Joe, are you in Spain for tourism or work?” Mrs. Sánchez changed the subject, but her gaze remained inquisitive.
Mainly tourism, and I’m taking the opportunity to see Lucia. Ah, tourism. How nice. To relax, she nodded, and then, as if it were out of the blue, she added, “Last year we were in Asia. In Japan, the service is excellent. We also spent a few days in China, and it was very lively, with very rapid growth, although in some places the tidiness could be improved a bit.” Her words were meant to be an objective observation, but her expression and tone hinted at something more. Lucia’s head bowed even further.
I started to feel my blood boil, but I kept my composure. They were Lucía’s in-laws, her family. I couldn’t put her in an awkward position. Every country has its own culture and its own rhythm. I suppose it’s a matter of getting used to it. I kept smiling and my tone calm. Getting used to something is one thing, but choosing it is another. Mr. Sánchez chimed in, looking at Marcos, but as if he were addressing everyone. Marcos had great vision in deciding to expand the business in Asia. But the most important choice is always the people and the environment around you.
A stable, harmonious family environment that meets expectations is the foundation of success. His words were a direct pressure on Lucía and an indirect one on my presence, which might be disrupting that stability. Finally, Marcos spoke with a surprisingly normal tone. “Dad’s right. Lucía has always tried hard to adapt, and she’s doing well.” “She’s doing well,” like the final assessment of all of Lucía’s effort and attention throughout the day.
Light words, yet they weighed like a ton of bricks. Lucía lifted her head and gave Marcos a forced smile that broke my heart. For the rest of the dinner, the conversation returned to their family matters. I didn’t intervene; I simply observed. I watched as Mr. Sánchez was privy to every detail of Marcos’s company, even specific figures. Their conversation seemed more like that of a boss with his subordinate. I observed Mrs. Sánchez’s subtle criticisms of the placement of the silverware, the taste of the food, or the children’s posture.
And above all, I observed how, throughout that time, she appeared as a pretty decorative object, a backdrop, or a well-trained waitress. Her opinion, her feelings, mattered to no one. Only when one of the children made a noise a little louder than usual did all eyes turn to her with silent reproach, and she was always the first to calm or correct the child. This family seemed to revolve around Marcos, but the real puppeteers were his parents, and Lucía and the children were simply part of the perfect family display, expected to remain silent, clean, and follow the rules.
Dinner finally ended. Lucía got up to clear the table. I naturally got up to help her. Mrs. Sánchez glanced at me sideways, but didn’t say anything. We took the plates to the kitchen. Lucía turned on the tap, and the sound of the water drowned out the conversation outside. With her back to me, her shoulders slumped. All the tension she had built up vanished at once. “Sofía, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice heavy with weariness and embarrassment. “They talk like that, they don’t mean any harm.”
Don’t take it personally. Don’t worry about me, I left the dishes in the sink. Lucia, do you always live like this? She continued washing up in silence. After a while, she replied, “They don’t come often, only a couple of times a year. It’s just a matter of putting up with it.” I clung to that word. I’ve gotten used to it. She used that word again as if it were her answer to everything bad. In the living room, Mr. Sanchez’s voice could be heard asking Marcos about the progress of some project, mentioning risk management and funding.
Well, Marcos’s answer was a bit vague, but his tone was confident. As I dried the dishes, my mind wandered. Suddenly, a detail popped into my head. The day before at the supermarket, Lucía’s card had no balance. Marcos, being an executive, must have a good salary. Even if he kept an eye on expenses, it wasn’t normal for his wife not to have enough money even for the daily groceries, especially with guests at home. And then there was her nervousness about the folder at the office.
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