“Tomorrow! It was fine today!”
“Then you shouldn’t buy such expensive cheese.”
“It was my cheese.”
At first I thought I’d won the mother-in-law lottery.
“And I was saving you money.”
I told Evan that night.
“She means well, Sar.”
“So does a toddler with a Sharpie.”
He laughed. Then he fixed his face. “I’ll talk to her.”
He didn’t. Not that week.
“I’ll talk to her.”
Then she moved on to the mail.
***
The electric bill went first. It sat open on the counter, folded back into its envelope with the neatness of a cover-up.
ELECTRIC SERVICE STATEMENT
Amount Due: $184.62
Your home used 31% more energy than similar homes nearby.
Diane stood beside it, wiping a counter that was already clean.
Then she moved on to the mail.
“Thirty-one percent more than your neighbors, Sarah.”
“You opened my electric bill.”
“It was open when I got here.”
“It has a sticker. And a little window.”
“Windows are for looking through, dear.”
“You ran the dryer on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“You opened my electric bill.”
“I work from home. It’s called laundry.”
“Well. Think of the neighbors.”
Two weeks later, a card arrived from my massage therapist. A thank-you, plus a handwritten recipe for the balm she’d mentioned for my shoulders.
The card was open when I got it. A jar already sat on my counter.
“Windows are for looking through, dear.”
ARNICA & BEESWAX BALM
½ cup olive oil
2 tbsp beeswax
1 tbsp dried arnica flowers
Warm gently. Strain. Do not swallow.
“I made it for you,” Diane said. “Don’t thank me.”
Warm gently. Strain. Do not swallow.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’re welcome anyway.”
“Diane, she mailed that to me.”
“It was in an envelope?” She frowned. “I assumed it was a flyer.”
“It said ‘For Sarah’s shoulders’ at the top.”
“Shoulders are a family matter.”
“Don’t thank me.”
That night I showed Evan the jar.
“It’s kind of sweet,” he said. “She made you balm.”
“She made me balm out of my private mail.”
“I know. I’ll say something.”
He rubbed some on his neck. “Huh. It works.”
Traitor. It smelled like a candle store having a breakdown.
“You’re welcome anyway.”
A week later I walked in and found her holding our bank statement.
MONTHLY ACCOUNT STATEMENT
“Diane, that’s our bank statement.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why are you reading it?”
“It was lying right here!”
Traitor.
“Inside an envelope.”
“I’m checking for fraud.”
“Fraud has a phone number.”
“Honestly, Sarah, you make everything sound so sinister.”
Back then, she came across as an annoying, eccentric mother-in-law.
It’s a pity I didn’t know her true motives.
“Then why are you reading it?”
Evan came in behind me.
“Mom, I asked you to stop.”
“I know, honey. Old habits!”
“Mom.”
“Sit. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
He sat. He ate the sandwich.
It’s a pity I didn’t know her true motives.
I watched my husband get handled like a toddler, and I kept my mouth shut, which is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in that kitchen.
That evening I held up the gutted envelope like evidence.
“Your mother has started performing surgery on our mail.”
“What happened?”
“She cut the bottom off. Neatly. I’m surprised she didn’t leave a review.”
“What happened?”
Evan turned it over. He didn’t smile.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s a lot.”
“A lot? Evan. Scissors.”
“She’s just curious. She’s always been curious.”
“She decoded my medical visit.”
“I know.” He rubbed his jaw. “I just don’t think it’s what you think it is.”
“That’s a lot.”
“And what do I think?”
He looked at the table.
“Remember Tuesday?” I said.
“Don’t.”
“A man in a suit, Evan.”
“We don’t know anything. She has friends.”
“Remember Tuesday?”
He was quiet a second too long.
“Okay,” he said. “I have an idea.”
The next morning, a fat sealed envelope sat in the middle of our kitchen table.
No return address. Just Evan on the front.
“Is this what I think it is?”
He smiled the way he does when he’s proud of himself.
No return address. Just Evan on the front.
“Something Mom won’t be able to resist.”
Diane showed up that afternoon.
No call. No knock. She let herself in with the key she wasn’t supposed to need.
Evan and I waited in the next room, listening.
First, her purse hitting the counter.Then the unmistakable rrrrip of paper.
With that one slip, my mother-in-law risked losing her son forever.
Diane showed up that afternoon.
“Oh God…”
We strolled in like we’d just heard the news.
She stood by the table, pale, holding the pages.
“I knew something was going on,” she whispered. “But I never imagined this.”
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE
“I knew something was going on.”
In re: The Marriage of Evan and Sarah
“Divorce papers?”
“What about them?”
“Evan, honey. Is this really happening?”
“How would you feel if it were?”
She hesitated. A tiny smile slipped out before she could stop it.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE
“Well, sometimes people realize they’ve made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I said.
“In life, sweetheart. We all make them.”
“Are you calling our marriage a mistake?”
“Sarah, don’t put words in my mouth.”
She turned to her son.
“Are you calling our marriage a mistake?”
“I just want you to be happy. If this is what you’ve decided, I’ll support you completely.”
“You sound relieved, Mom.”
“Relieved? Of course not!”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m staying positive!”
Positive. Her son’s marriage lay on the table, and she looked like she’d won a raffle.
In re: The Marriage of Evan and Sarah
She patted my hand. Gently. Like I was a pet she’d already given away.
“Sarah, dear. Maybe you didn’t know yet.”
“Know what?”
“I hate that you had to find out this way.”
“Diane, I’m standing right here.”
Evan crossed his arms. “So you think our marriage is that bad?”
“I hate that you had to find out this way.”
She backpedaled so fast I almost heard tires.
“I never said that!”
“You said we made a mistake.”
“I said people make mistakes. There’s a difference.”
Then she sighed, trying very hard not to look hopeful.
“But if you need someone good, I know an excellent lawyer.”
Positive.
I kept my face still.
“You do?”
“Well, I’ve heard of one.”
“What’s his name?”
“Martin. But that’s hardly important right now.”
“No?”
Gently.
“A good lawyer keeps things civilized. That’s all I’m saying.”
I looked at Evan. Evan looked at his mother like he was seeing a stranger’s face on her.
Then I took the papers out of her hand.
“Diane, I have some bad news.”
“What?”
“These aren’t real.”
“A good lawyer keeps things civilized.”
“Excuse me?”
“The divorce papers. They’re fake.”
“Fake?”
“Evan put them here to see if you’d open his mail again.”
She turned on him.
“You set me up?”
“The divorce papers. They’re fake.”
“You opened yet another envelope!”
“It was lying there looking lonely!”
“And then you congratulated me.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You said people make mistakes.”
“I meant marriage is complicated! Of course I love Sarah!”
“You set me up?”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Then came the tears, right on cue. Supportive mother became victim of a cruel prank without a blink.
“I raised you, Evan. And this is how you treat me?”
“Mom, all you had to do was leave it alone.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”
“Actually, Diane, there’s a reason we picked divorce papers.”
“You opened yet another envelope!”
She dabbed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Evan didn’t come up with that on his own.”
“Sarah…”
“Someone told me something interesting about you.”
The tears stopped. Instantly. I’ve never seen a faucet shut off so fast.
***
Last Tuesday, my phone rang while I was working at the kitchen table.
“Evan didn’t come up with that on his own.”
It was my friend Megan.
“Hey. Can I ask you something weird?”
“That’s how all my favorite conversations start.”
“Is everything okay between you and Evan?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I saw Diane yesterday.”
“Is everything okay between you and Evan?”
“My mother-in-law? Congratulations on surviving.”
“Sarah. I’m serious.”
I put down my pen.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“She was outside an office building downtown. With a man in a suit. They talked for a while.”
“She has friends, Megan.”
“That’s how all my favorite conversations start.”
“I know. That’s what I thought. But he looked familiar.”
“Why?”
“His name’s Martin. My coworker used him for her divorce last year.”
“A divorce lawyer?”
“I hope I’m wrong.”
“Thank you for calling me, Megan. I have a very high tolerance for nosy people.”
“A divorce lawyer?”
I hung up and called through the house.
“Evan! Come here a second.”
He walked in holding a sandwich.
“Your mother was seen with a divorce lawyer.”
He stopped chewing.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
“Your mother was seen with a divorce lawyer.”
“Maybe.”
“She wouldn’t try to break us up.”
“Evan. She read our electric bill.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
He put the sandwich down. He didn’t want to believe it. I watched him not want to.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence.”
***
Back in the kitchen, Diane stared at me like I’d slapped her.
“So you’ve been spying on me?”
“A friend saw you in public.”
“I can meet anyone I want!”
“Of course. Including Martin.”
At the time, I had no idea how Martin was connected to our mysteriously opened mail.
“I can meet anyone I want!”
“Who?”
“The excellent lawyer you recommended five minutes ago.”
Evan stepped forward.
“Mom. Were you meeting a divorce lawyer?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“You were talking about my marriage. That makes it my business.”
“Who?”
“He’s an acquaintance.”
“Mom.”
“Fine! I asked him a few questions.”
“About what?”
“About protecting you!”
“From what?”
“About protecting you!”
“From a terrible mistake!”
“Say it.”
“I wanted to understand how it works. The house. The accounts. The savings.”
“Why?”
“Because if she leaves, she could take half of everything!”
Something clicked.
“The house. The accounts. The savings.”
“Wait,” I said.
She kept going. I talked over her.
“Diane. How did Martin know about our finances?”
“What?”
“Our mortgage. Our accounts. How did you know what to ask him?”
“I’m Evan’s mother!”
Something clicked.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I gave him the basics!”
“What basics?”
“Just a few things!”
I looked at the torn envelope in my hand. Then at the gutted one on the counter.
“Oh my God.”
“I gave him the basics!”
“Sarah, don’t.”
“That’s why you opened our mail. It was never about families having no secrets.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“You were collecting information for your lawyer.”
Evan turned slowly.
“Mom. Did you give him our bank statements?”
“Oh my God.”
She said nothing.
“Answer me.”
“I made a few copies! That’s all!”
“Of our private mail?”
“I was protecting you!”
“From my wife?”
“From my wife?”
“From what might happen!”
Evan stepped back, like she’d pushed him.
“The electric bill. The balm card. The medical form. You photocopied all of it?”
“They were useful!”
“Useful for what?”
My husband had already decided to do something that would break both their hearts.
“From what might happen!”
“For a divorce I didn’t want,” he said. “That you planned.”
“I was preparing you for the possibility!”
“You were preparing yourself.”
“She’ll take everything from you someday!”
“Diane,” I said, “the only person taking things from this house is you. Starting with our mail.”
***
She went quiet. For about four seconds.
“She’ll take everything from you someday!”
She looked at her son, hurt and furious.
“Three years ago, you would have trusted me!”
“Three years ago I didn’t know you were shopping for my divorce lawyer.”
“I only asked questions!”
“You hired a lawyer.”
“I paid for a consultation!”
“Three years ago, you would have trusted me!”
“About a marriage that isn’t yours.”
The tears came back. Round two.
“I was afraid of losing my son.”
I couldn’t help it.
“So you tried to make sure he lost his wife instead?”
Silence. It was the first time I’d ever heard that kitchen without her commentary.
The tears came back. Round two.
Evan held out his hand.
“Give me your key.”
“Evan…”
“The house key, Mom.”
“You’re throwing me out?”
“I’m asking you to leave.”
“Give me your key.”
“Because of her?”
“Because of what you did.”
Her hand shook as she dug through her purse. She dropped the key into his palm.
At the door she turned and tried a hug. Evan stepped back. Just one step.
I’d never seen him do that.
“One day you’ll thank me,” she said.
“Because of her?”
“I doubt it.”
He just looked at her. He didn’t even sigh.
“Will you at least call me?” she asked.
“When I’m ready.”
She left. The door clicked shut.
“Will you at least call me?”
“I knew she didn’t like you,” Evan said quietly. “I just kept telling myself that was all it was.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.” He looked at the key in his hand. “Every time, I said she means well.”
“You were allowed to.”
She left.
“I shouldn’t have been.”
***
We changed the locks that weekend. We replaced the mailbox with one that actually locks.
Then we made one rule: nobody gets a spare key unless we both say yes.
Every copy Diane made would be returned or shredded.
“I’ll tell her.”
“Not a suggestion?”
“Not a suggestion.”
We changed the locks that weekend.
She didn’t get her key back. She didn’t get a quick apology.
Evan told her she could call when she was ready to talk like an adult.
I didn’t apologize at all. For protecting our home? Never.
That evening Evan stood in the hallway, staring at the empty hook where her key used to hang.
“Think she’ll ever forgive us?”
I shrugged.
She didn’t get a quick apology.
“For what? Not getting divorced?”
He laughed. A real one. The first in days.
“Fair point.”
“Besides,” I said, “if she wants to know what’s going on in our marriage, she can try something revolutionary.”
“What’s that?”
“Asking us.”
“For what? Not getting divorced?”
The next morning, a new letter came from the insurance company.
Same envelope.
This time, the bottom stayed on.
I opened it myself.
This time, the bottom stayed on.
Nobody had read it first. Best piece of mail I’ve ever received.
