The morning my mother-in-law called me in a complete panic, asking where the entrance to our new house was, I had to press the mute button so she would not hear me laughing.
It was not a mean laugh. It was the kind that escapes you after years of tension finally find their release in a single, perfectly timed moment.
Her name was Diane, and for the three years I had been married to her son Marcus, she had treated every positive development in our lives as something that automatically extended to her. When Marcus received a significant promotion at work, she began hinting about a monthly contribution to help with her expenses. When we upgraded our car, she asked about inheriting the old one before we had even discussed it between ourselves. When we mentioned we were planning to move into a larger home, she did not offer congratulations.
She asked how many bedrooms it had, then said, with complete confidence, “Good. I’ll finally be comfortable.”
Marcus and I exchanged a look but said nothing to challenge her. That was actually unusual for me, because Diane had spent most of our marriage treating boundaries like suggestions and calling it family closeness. She had a remarkable ability to say outrageous things in a cheerful, casual tone, as though any objection you raised would make you the difficult one.
The truth was, she had been laying the groundwork for months.
