Yet, I stayed up all night, scrolling through TikTok and YouTube, trying to learn how to make Mom’s second favorite dish. Dad had cooked her favorite, seared scallops with truffle butter so often that I knew it wouldn’t have the same impact. Besides, anyone could whip it up a bit, but beef Wellington? That was a whole other level. Way harder. And if I could pull it off, maybe it would get her attention in a way nothing else had.
When the morning sunlight finally bled into my room, I fought the urge to pull the blinds and hide under the covers and sleep all day. But I was a girl on a mission. I had to make this dinner and deep-clean the house for bonus points. It had to be perfect. The only thing standing in my way was Mom. Before starting anything, I’d have to wait for her and Dad to leave for work. I wasn’t ready for another round of her disappointed looks.
Dad knocked on my door around 8 AM. “Food’s in the microwave whenever you’re ready.”
I listened for the sound of the garage door closing, waited a few more minutes to be sure, and then slipped on a sundress. I tied my hair into a messy bun, threw a robe over my shoulders, and went to the kitchen. The house was quiet now—time to get started.
I gathered everything: beef tenderloin, puff pastry, mushrooms, Dijon mustard, prosciutto, thyme, and some other things I could barely pronounce. I could almost hear Mom’s voice in my head, asking why I didn’t just make something more straightforward. But I was determined.
After that, I heated the pan until it was practically smoking, then quickly seared all sides of the beef. I added salt and pepper, hoping I wasn’t already messing up.
Then, I chopped the mushrooms as finely as possible and sautéed them with garlic and thyme until they became a thick paste. It smelled good, so I was hopeful.
I also laid down slices of prosciutto, spread the mushroom mixture on top, placed the beef in the center, and rolled it up tightly. The hardest part was wrapping it all in the puff pastry without tearing it; after hours of delicate maneuvering, I finished—not perfect, but presentable.
I brushed it with egg wash before popping it in the oven.
While it cooked, I stared at the oven like my life depended on it. The smell of baking pastry and beef filled the kitchen, giving me hope. Sure, it was a little uneven, and the crust might have been slightly underdone in places, but I’d made it—a beef Wellington.
It was bland, though. That much was clear. But, like Dad always said, it was the effort that counted. Hopefully, she’d see it that way.
I grabbed a plate and stuck a scribbled note to the microwave: “This is only for you, Mom. I love you.”
I spent the day scrubbing, cleaning the kitchen, and then tackling the entire house. The goal? Perfection. From dusting the shelves to vacuuming every corner, the house gleamed by evening. Even Mom’s office was pristine, with papers neatly stacked just as she liked.
When the front door finally creaked open, and the familiar sound of footsteps filled the house, I blew out a deep breath to steady my nerves.
Mom didn’t say anything about the food I prepared for her after close to an hour, and there was no way I could ask. Not when I’d been avoiding her, knowing the first thing out of her mouth would be about the letter. Another lie wasn’t something I wanted to face just yet.
I stayed inside until the clock struck 7 PM, signaling dinner. Hopefully, I’d find out what Mom thought of the meal, and maybe I could shift the conversation away from college until I was ready to spill the truth.
As I made my way downstairs, the smell of the beef Wellington filled the air, and Dad was dishing out a plate for Mom.
“Someone’s becoming a responsible adult,” he teased.
“No way,” I countered, grabbing a chair and sitting down. “I’ve been responsible since before I turned eighteen.”
“Why’d you go to all this trouble?” Mom asked, eyeing me with that suspicious look she always gave when she thought something was up. I held my breath, hoping she might appreciate it.
“You shouldn’t have bothered, Charlotte.”
“I was home all morning, bored out of my mind, and just wanted to do something nice for you,” I said, scooping a plate of beef Wellington along with some sides—roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and a side of salad.
“I have to say, I’m hurt. So you didn’t want to do something nice for Dad, too?”
“I’ll cook your favorite next time.”
Dad blew me a kiss. “Aww. I’m proud of you, daughter.”
Dinner used to be like this—easy, light. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t last long. Not with Mom’s curiosity looming over the table.
“What about the letter?”
There it was.
“Nope,” I lied, the burn of it catching in my throat.
It would be the last time. After dinner, I’d tell her everything.
“Did you send the email?”
“Yeah.”
“And still no response?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong with them? I don’t want to bother her, but maybe we should ask your sister to check your status. See what’s delaying it.”
“Yeah.”
After that, we ate in silence, and Mom did not mention anything about the dinner I had made. She did not comment on whether she loved it or hated it.
“This food is the sweetest, blandest thing I’ve ever eaten,” Dad said, closing his eyes like he was savoring the bite.
“Is that a compliment or a criticism?” I rolled my eyes.
“A constructive criticism filled with love, sweetie. How’d you even learn to make this?”
“YouTube and a bunch of cookbooks, duh.”
“You should practice more, Char. A bunch of edited videos won’t teach you the art of it.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Mom cut in. “Your focus should be on your studies and getting accepted at Harvard. Not cooking.”
That was it. I wasn’t going to get any reaction from her. My chest pinched with anger, even though I knew I had no right to feel it.
If Jessica had made this, things would’ve been different. Mom would’ve smiled—one of those bright smiles that lit up her face, showing her perfect teeth.
But I wasn’t Jessica.
And it hurts.
Indifference—that was the worst reaction anyone could give.
The only thing I could do was eat my food faster—my tiny act of rebellion. I couldn’t lash out; I didn’t know how to with Mom.
The air around us shifted, and the tension thickened. I kept my eyes on my plate, chewing quietly like Mom. Dad, as always, carried the conversation. He talked about work, random stuff, and even how he danced in the rain like in those old 2000 Bollywood movies.
That was the kind of person Dad was. Free-spirited to the core. Mom had tried to change him at one point, but eventually gave up. He was a lost cause.
“You should eat slower so you don’t get indigestion,” he said, pressing his hand gently against my back.
“It’s fine.” I smiled at him, but Dad saw right through me. He always did.
“I love you. Never forget that,” he whispered.
“And I love you too,” I whispered back.
“And I love both of you.”
Mom’s words took me by surprise. I turned to her, my heart skipping a beat. She meant it.
She rarely said things like that. The “L” word wasn’t something Mom threw around casually, but hearing it now meant something—my little gesture must have reached her.
She liked it.
There was hope.
Sure, she wouldn’t like what I had to tell her in an hour, but maybe we’d get through it.
“I love you so much more, Mom. You have no idea.” I beamed at her, my eyes crinkling from the broad grin.
“More than you love me?” Dad chimed in.
“Nope. I’m not falling for that.”
And just like that, the mood lightened. I joined Dad in the conversation, the words tumbling out of me faster than I could control. I talked more when I was happy.
Before I knew it, it was 8 PM.
Mom stood up first, giving me a pointed look—a silent reminder to send another email. Dad followed soon after, giving me his usual reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Once they were both upstairs, I gathered and washed the dishes to clear my mind. By the time I finished, half an hour had passed.
I didn’t have much time.
I headed to my room, grabbing a pen and a notebook. Now, all I needed was to find the right words, like the sweetest, most careful way to tell them the truth.
Before I could even write down a word, Mom’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unexpected.
“Charlotte Juliet Brown, come to my room this instant.”
I froze. Something was off. Mom never yelled. And when she used my full name, it usually meant I was in trouble. My mind raced, trying to figure out what could’ve gone wrong. She could not have found out about the rejection, right?
I hurried to their room, my steps echoing down the hallway. As I reached the door, she stood there, leaning against the frame, her hands fidgeting in a way that screamed unease. Dad was nearby, leaning on the wall beside her, his arms crossed, looking as confused as I felt.
“What’s this?” Mom asked, holding up my iPad, her expression unreadable.
Oh no. My heart sank. The email—the rejection letter—was open on the screen. How did Mom get my iPad’s code? My mouth went dry.
“I asked you a question.”
“I was planning to tell you,” I blurted out, the words tumbling too quickly like they might stop whatever was about to happen.
“What’s going on here?” Dad asked, his voice softer but equally confused as Mom handed him the tablet.
After a while, he said, “Oh, honey, you should have told us the truth.”
“I know. I’m sorry for that. I was scared.”
“There’s no need for you to be. I should be used to you by now, so it’s a hundred percent fine.” Mom’s voice was eerily calm. She turned and disappeared into her room. No outburst, no sign of anger. She didn’t even slam the door. Just that calm, detached response that hit harder than any yelling could. The quiet disappointment sank into my chest like she’d expected this from me like I was bound to fail.
It was the worst feeling in the world, like a train running through me.
“It hurts,” I wanted to say. But I didn’t.
“She’ll come around,” Dad said, trying to reassure me.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, but all the hope I’d clung to was gone, deflating inside me like a balloon slowly losing air.
“You should go to your room and sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about other colleges you can look into.”
But that conversation wouldn’t happen. I already knew that. It was Harvard or nothing. Not for me but for her. For that smile. The bright, proud smile I was determined to pull out from her.
So yeah, I’d wait it out.