“Linda, I need you to move your things out of the downstairs bedroom before eleven.”
I thought I had misunderstood.
“Move them where?”
“The upstairs bedroom will be perfectly fine for you and Mark.”
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why?”
There was a brief pause.
Then she answered as though it were obvious.
“Because I’m moving in today.”
At that exact moment, Mark entered carrying two cups of coffee.
I put his mother on speaker. Mother-in-lawgifts
Carol explained that her knee had been bothering her, stairs were becoming inconvenient, and the downstairs primary bedroom had the largest bathroom.
Therefore, she had decided that room would be hers.
I looked at Mark.
He looked at the floor.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
“Did you know about this?”
Before he could answer, Carol did.
“Of course he knew.”
I stared at my husband.
Finally, Mark sighed.
“Linda, she’s my mother. Show some respect.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I am showing respect. I’m asking why your mother believes she can move into our new house and take our bedroom without discussing it with me.” Mother-in-lawgifts
Carol sounded irritated.
“Make sure it’s ready by eleven.”
“What happens at eleven?”
“The movers arrive.”
I stood immediately.
“Movers?”
Apparently, Carol had already packed.
She had scheduled a truck.
As far as she was concerned, the decision had been made.
When I reminded her that she already owned a condo, she said she was tired of living alone.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“Mark said it was handled.”
I slowly turned toward my husband.
For eighteen years, Mark had been “handling” things exactly like this.
His mother changed Thanksgiving plans at the last minute?
“Just go with it.”
She invited relatives to stay at our house without asking?
“It’s only a few nights.”
She rearranged my kitchen?
“She was trying to help.”
She criticized my choices?
“She means well.”
