My face burned. I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

"I make you dinner and you won't touch it, but you'll come over here and eat this?"

Nora stood right there, smiling. "Was Auntie's food yummy?"

John nodded so fast his head was a blur. "So yummy!"

"Mommy, I want more!"

"You want more, you eat at home!"

"Oh, Johnny just came over to play with Lily Whitfield," Nora said, her tone breezy and casual. "We'd just finished eating and I hadn't cleared the table yet. He looked hungry, so I fixed him a bowl. I didn't expect him to actually want our leftovers."

Then her smile sharpened, just a fraction.

"Judy Fox, don't take this the wrong way, but boys his age need to eat. You've got to let him eat his fill. How's he supposed to grow otherwise? Look how skinny he is."

The heat in my face spread to my ears.

"It's not that I won't let him eat. I practically shove the spoon into his mouth and he still refuses."

Nora gave me a look that said she didn't believe a single word.

Back home, I was seething.

John screamed right back at me.

"Your food tastes disgusting! Last time I ate it, my stomach hurt so bad! You're probably poisoning me!"

"Your stomach hurt because you ate too much ice cream, not because of my cooking. How is that my fault? You're my own flesh and blood. Why would I ever try to hurt you?"

"I don't care! From now on, I'd rather eat Aunt Nora's leftovers every single day than touch anything you make!"

I grabbed my son, hauled him over, and smacked his bottom hard. Once, twice, three times.

"Are you going to eat other people's leftovers again? Are you?!"

John wailed at the top of his lungs. At first he was stubborn, screaming yes through his tears. It wasn't until the sting really set in that he finally caved.

"No! I won't! I'll eat my food from now on, I promise!"

The very next day, he was at it again.

He picked up a bite of the moo shu pork I'd made, chewed once, and spat it right back out.

"Mom's food tastes gross. I don't want it."

Then he burst into tears.

I was exhausted. Body and soul.

"Fine. If my cooking is so terrible, your dad can cook for you from now on."

John slammed his little palm on the table and shot to his feet. "Why should Dad have to cook?! Dad works all day and he's already tired enough! You just sit around the house doing nothing, and now you want him to cook too? You're so lazy you might as well be dead!"

I stared at my son, stunned.