My mother once accused my wife of spoiling every family celebration.
Your wife is ruining all our holidays, she declared to me one crisp autumn afternoon.
I smiled at the video call, eager to share my plans. Ethel wants to meet tomorrow at a restaurant or a café, I told my mother, my voice bright with anticipation.
That sounds fine, my mother, Nora Whitaker, replied calmly, but let Ethel choose the place herself beforehand, so we dont have to keep changing venues while ordering.
Ive already picked a spot, I replied breezily. Theres a new eatery that opened in our district; well try it tomorrow.
New, you say Very well, send me the address and the time we should arrive with you and Father, she said, resigning herself to the plan.
Consider it done, I answered, ending the call.
A short while later Nora received a message with the address and the hour. She had two daughtersinlaw and a soninlaw; relations were generally smooth, except for Ethel.
Nora kept her distance from her daughterinlaw, preferring not to intrude into Ethels affairs. The trouble, she thought, lay in Ethels lack of table manners and her utter inability to sense propriety.
A few months earlier the family had dined out, and instead of a pleasant evening they endured Ethels whims. She complained when a dish was not to her taste, scolded the waiter for not smiling enough, and derided the menu for being too modest. The last gripe even forced us to change restaurants several times that night.
Even then she found something to nag about. Ethel ordered a salad and asked that no onion be added.
The salad, just as you requested, without onion, the waiter announced, setting the plate before her.
What is that on my salad? Ethel asked, her tone sharp, pointing with a manicured nail at a sprig of dill.
Its a garnish of dill, the waiter replied, puzzled.
Did I ask you to put dill in my salad? she retorted, pursing her lips.
If youd like, I can take it away; theres no dill in the salad itself, he offered, thinking he was being reasonable.
Take the whole salad away; youve ruined my appetite. Bring me a milkshake instead, Ethel declared haughtily, turning dramatically toward the window.
All her demands were met, and no staff member objected. Naturally, the evenings atmosphere was crushed. Ethel sat with puffed lips and an offended expression while the rest of us ate and chatted. Outings with her became a torment, and even family gatherings were never free of her caprices. Her petulance poisoned every feast.
At my aunts memorial, Ethel managed to cause a scene as well.
Who cooked these pancakes? Theyre rubbery! she shouted loudly during the remembrance.
Sweetheart, theres no need to raise your voice. Just dont eat them, Nora tried to calm her, noticing the disapproving glances of the relatives.
I could feed my dog better than this. The alcohol and juice are cheap, too. Ugh, Ethel sneered.
Were here to remember a person, not to critique food. Please show some respect, the motherinlaw whispered.
Exactly! Were supposed to commemorate, yet theres nothing to commemorate, Ethel muttered gloomily.
The awkward moment seemed to fade, but it did not truly vanish.
Later, a few relatives called Nora, indignant about how my wife had approached them, complaining about the food. Shame washed over Ethel, and she swore never to bring her daughterinlaw to such events again.
My mothers birthday approached, and Ethel and I were expected at the family dinner. Knowing this, Nora announced that she was ill and postponed the celebration indefinitely. She knew I was due to leave on a workrelated trip at the months endexactly the interval she had been waiting for.
She devised a clever plan to celebrate her birthday without Ethel. As soon as I phoned my mother from another city, she began sending invitations to the other children, deliberately leaving the troublesome daughterinlaw out of the notice.
The birthday passed in a cheerful setting, free of disgruntled guests. No one had to endure remarks about food or drink, and for the first time in two years I truly relaxed with my children.
Joy, however, was shortlived. The next day a guest uploaded photographs of the party to social media, and Ethel saw them.
Hello, Nora, she called, her voice tinged with hurt. Did you have a birthday celebration?
Yes, what of it? It was delayed for weeks, Nora replied, trying not to sound defensive.
Why wasnt I invited?
Well, Ian was away on business, and we thought youd be bored alone
Im never bored with you, so why wait for Ians return? Ethel asked suspiciously.
Nora, why because his wife spoils every celebration with that sour face of hers! Nora blurted, immediately regretting the remark.
What? Im the one ruining it? I thought you were a good woman, and youre a snake, Ethel sobbed, hanging up the phone.
A few hours later Ian called his mother, his voice sharp.
Why do you treat my wife like this? What have we done to you? he demanded.
You havent done anything, but Ethel constantly spoils our gatherings, and you never set her straight, Nora answered, laying out the grievance.
How does she ruin them? Ian asked, bewildered.
With her whims and nitpicking. You cant even go to a restaurant with her without disaster, and sitting at home together is impossible. She complains about everything and is never satisfied, Nora finally confessed.
Shes simply outspoken and honest, unlike you, and she treated you like a mother, Ian retorted.
Outspokenness and rudeness are not the same. If she wants to be like a daughter to you, she should behave accordingly, not like a petulant child, Nora replied.
Fine, Ill keep an eye on her and teach her proper conduct. In return, promise youll always invite Ethel to our celebrations, Ian said, his tone softening.
Agreed, but only if you take responsibility. Well see how it goes at the next gathering, Nora conceded, though her heart sank.
Ethel never truly changed; she tried to be restrained, yet the effort fell short. Nora could only shake her head and ignore the daughterinlaws outbursts. She no longer wished to quarrel with Ian, so she chose the lesser of two evils
