Phillip made me ride with him to work today because we were supposed to have a blizzard.
We didn’t.
And his parents are still here.
We have lots of food at home, but I’m thinking about a cheeseburger and fries from our local sports bar.
“Phillip, what do you think about going to The Lake Bar for dinner tonight?”
“Um, that sounds really good, but I think my mom is cooking something.”
“We could eat it tomorrow. I’m dying for one of their bacon burgers and cheese fries dipped in ranch dressing. Doesn’t that sound so good?”
“But she cooked.”
“What is she making?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Danny and Lori will eat it. She and your dad can eat it. Like, we don’t have to eat with them every night just because they’re staying with us, do we?”
“No, I guess not. You’re right.”
But Phillip’s face lights up when he walks into our house. “Oh, I’m in heaven,” he says. “Doesn’t that freshly baked bread smell amazing?”
I don’t say anything because all I smell is the overwhelming stench of cooked broccoli.
I make a beeline for our bathroom, hoping if I smell the gingerbread candle in there, it will keep me from getting sick.
Phillip strolls into the bathroom a few minutes later, where he finds me with my nose inside the candle jar.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying not to puke,” I reply, the glass causing my voice to have a deeper, echoing tone.
“I’ll be glad when this morning-sickness stuff is over,” he says.
“You’re not the only one.”
“And I know you wanted a burger, but Mom made my favorite dinner. Her homemade garlic rolls, white chicken pasta, and broccoli. You know how I love that.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Tell you what,” he says. “We’ll go there tomorrow for lunch.”
“Okay.” I pout. Well, pout as much as possible when your face is stuck in a candle.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says sweetly, sliding his arms around my waist. “I love you, and I want to make you happy.”
I suck in one more deep breath and set the candle down. “I know you do, Phillip.”
“And you love garlic rolls.”
“Yeah, I’m sure dinner will be great,” I lie. “Phillip, um, does it bother you that your mom is sort of taking over our kitchen? Shouldn’t she have to ask first? See if we have plans?”
“She’s just doing something nice for us.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just … never mind. Let’s go eat.”
We’re in our dining room, eating. Not only has she cooked Phillip’s favorite meal, but also, somehow, all of our wedding gifts have disappeared.
When I mentioned it to Phillip’s mom, she said, “Oh, I thought I’d help you out by putting them away.”
And, while that’s a nice thing to do—help someone—the truth is, I didn’t ask for her help. I didn’t want her to put them away. I wanted to do it myself, so I could put things where I wanted them to go.
But I can’t say that because I’d sound like an ungrateful brat.
She continues, “And, since you don’t have a kitchen table, we had to have somewhere to eat.”
That sounds like a slam, directed at me. Like my house isn’t good enough. I almost suggest that we go eat at the sports bar like I wanted, but that would probably come off as bitchy.
Danny and Phillip are going on and on about how amazing her dinner is. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
Or throw up.
The sauce that I usually love seems too rich, the bread too garlicky, and the broccoli is just gross.
Mrs. Mac is beaming with pride because the boys have eaten about forty rolls apiece.
Danny pats his stomach and says to Phillip, “I wish our wives could cook like this. Although I’m gonna have to work out longer tomorrow to burn these calories off.”
Lori and I share a glance.
Later, she discreetly asks me to come see her kitchen progress and sneaks me out the front door.
The kitchen is still a disaster.
“It’s coming together,” I say but then sigh. “I can’t compete with homemade rolls.”
“Me either,” she says. “I don’t have a kitchen.”
“Would you make homemade rolls if you did?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe if I had time. Maybe I should. But I’m different. I’m mostly home all day. You work.”
“Yeah, but you’re busy. Your house has been in some form of remodeling since you moved in. I’m sure you don’t feel settled yet.”
“No, not yet. It’s been chaotic. Thankfully, our master bedroom is done. And, in a few more days, we’ll have the home gym to beat all gyms. The sauna is going to be nice, although I can’t use it while I’m pregnant, but I’m super excited for the area where I can do yoga.”
“You’re going to do yoga? But you’re so—”
“Were you going to say huge?” she screeches, holding her large bump, which is really too large now to be classified as such.
“Uh, no. I was going to say high strung.” Really, I was.
“That’s why I want to do yoga—to center myself. I’m taking a prenatal yoga class, and I really like it. And inner calmness is good for the baby and me. Did you notice how I was breathing calmly while Danny was going on and on about how good dinner was? What I really wanted to do was take those garlic rolls and shove them up his ass.”
“Hmm, maybe I do need yoga.”
“You should come to class with me. It’s at six a.m., just down the street.”
“Six a.m.? Are you freaking kidding me? If you can go around eight, maybe. But back to my problem. What am I going to do about Phillip’s mom?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “There’s not much you can do, is there?”
“I don’t know either, but I do know I still want a freaking cheeseburger. Wanna go get one?”
“Ooh,” she says. “I’d love to. The meal was too garlicky for me. I would have been burping it up all night. Should we take the boys?”
“They might never leave the dining room,” I joke.
