My husband’s parents refuse to settle downthey keep trying to reconcile him with his ex-wife. Cant you see, they have a son together! my mother-in-law laments, her voice echoing through dream corridors lined with ticking grandfather clocks and framed, silent wedding photos.
I am the wife of a man whose parents have been stubbornly blind to the truth that their sons marriage ended long ago. It has been over four years since the papers were signed. Still, like clockwork, they seek to stitch the past together from faded, floating scraps. He and I married three years back, and our life is a tapestry of gentle joys.
My mother-in-law believes Adam was reckless, silly even, throwing away what she insists was precious. She urges him, in voices that merge with the creaking of old staircases, to mend the bridge to his ex-wifes familyafter all, the boy still dwells there, his laughter occasionally drifting in like birdsong through windows left ajar.
When I met Adam, he was already carrying the dust of divorce. It was all supposedly amicable; shed happily remarried, perhaps to the very man whod haunted their marriage with perfume and latenight sighs.
Sometimes, when the garden is shrouded in mist, I wonder if we made a mistake marrying. My own mother pressed us forwardAdams former wife was pregnant, and duty had a scent as sharp as cut grass. He was never truly in love, just courting her to fill an empty afternoon. If not for the child, Id never have done it, he once confessed, his words floating away like soap bubbles that never quite burst.
Fear of his former wife never troubled me. At first, I watched Adam carefully, as if he might sprout roots backwards. But he wore apathy like an old jumper, and she met him only with polite, chilly shrugsthey only spoke for the boy.
Only Adams mother raged against the calm, conjuring dramas from tea leaves and dust motes, her husband nodding mutely beside her. They viewed our relationship as an unwelcome mirror, showing them something irretrievable.
Youre both young, whole worlds ahead of you. Why be a chapter in another familys saga? she asked, eyes glassy, while slicing into an apparition of Victoria sponge.
I told her that Adam was unattached now, that I wouldnt have pursued him otherwise. She prepared to protest, but Adam entered, and the air fell heavy and thick, muffling words and cutting through tension like treacle. I realised then: wed never be close, she and Istill, the revelation barely rippled across my mind.
After our wedding, Adam and I set up house, our routines weaving through each other like smoke and sunlight. I barely saw my mother-in-law, except at holidays, where her complaints about Adams past life drifted around the turkey and twined through Christmas crackers. Adam hushed her, but the ritual returned like an ancient English ghost.
We didnt hurry toward children. I couldnt picture myself as a mother; Adam already had a son, and that seemed enough for now. His mother was delighted her bloodline ran forward through the boy.
After the divorce, my mother-in-law sprang into action like a character from a Shakespearean comedyinviting Adams ex for Sunday roasts, heaping praise upon her Yorkshire puddings, sighing over photos. The ex herself was stone still to all this, only attending as an automaton, present but already slipped away.
Desperate, she tried to spark jealousy in Adam with sly asides, and in me by calling at odd hoursDo you know where Adam is? shed ask, voice sharp as peppermint. If I didnt, she assumed he lingered in his exs shadow, or sent him there under an array of feeble excuses.
Jealousy eluded me. Instead, her antics pricked and needled, a pianos dull thud from behind a closed door. From outside this tableau, youd see nothing between Adam and his ex, nor would there ever betheir only link the boy, who sometimes came to ours with a skateboard and mismatched socks. Adam handed over money regularly, spoke with his son occasionally. His ex wasnt manipulative or greedy; their interactions remained entirely civilised, governed by the unsentimental logic of British politeness. They parted, thats alleach tending to their own garden, exchanging clipped updates with the old-fashioned courtesy of post office clerks.
Still, my mother-in-law plots in the shadows, orchestrating tiny dramas no one wishes to perform. When will it stop? When will she set down her grievances? Adam hopes her need for meddling will wither when theres a new grandchild to coo over. As for me, I doubt that even that will break the spell.
