My brother, Henry, having finished university, moved away to a far-off city for work. He meant to stay just one year, save up, and then come back home to our own city, where hed buy a flat. But fate, as it sometimes does in dreams, spun a different tale. He met a girl there, and together they decided to marry. So Henry stayed.
We never met his wife. By curious chance, at the time of their wedding, I was nine months pregnant, full as a moon and about to give birth, so we agreed I wouldnt go anywhere. My father couldnt take leave from work, which left only my mother to attend their wedding. Mum only had the briefest acquaintance with my sister-in-law, just an exchange of polite words, nothing more. Off they went on their honeymoon, while Mum came back a few days later. She told us the young woman was pretty, always smiling, pleasant enough.
The years flitted by, and the rest of us had still never met my brothers wife.
This year, though, Henry announced wonderful plans. Hed mapped out a peculiar, oddly intricate journey: first, he and his wife would visit us. Afterwards, theyd head to his work friends wedding, then take part in a school reunion, and later meet up with their parents by the seaside, then finally drift back home. They were to stay at ours for two nights.
I saw no trouble with this plan. Our flat was cramped, but we could use my in-laws summer bungalow. My mother-in-law gladly offered it for the weekend. It hadnt seen paint or repairs in ages, but the living conditions were fair enough for a short stay. That day, I was in a cheery mood and keen to welcome our visitors.
They arrived. And from that moment, nothing followed ordinary logic.
Henry introduced us, and straight away, my new sister-in-law began grumbling, as if the air itself weighed on her. It had been too hot, far too noisy, much too uncomfortable, she said, casting her words around like rain.
When we arrived at the summer bungalow, I led them inside. My sister-in-law glanced at the shower and loo with such a look as if a stray dog had licked her face. She took Henry aside for a secretive chat, then Henry gently asked my husband if he could take them back into the city.
My sister-in-law announced she would not, could not, use the bungalow shower. They left for our flat, where she washed, did her make-up, and only then returned. Next, we discovered she refused to eat a single thing wed prepared, despite us going to some effort. Apparently, there was gluten here, fat there, and who knows what else. In the end, she stuck to a few vegetables, inspecting even those with cool suspicion.
She didnt want to sleep in the room wed set up for them either, so once more, we packed everyone off to the flat in town. The following morning, when we went for a wander around the city, she was fussier than my three-year-old too hot, legs aching, sighing with boredom.
I saw them off with the greatest relief, feeling like I had woken up from a strange, restless dream. I found myself wondering how Henry tolerated her all these years. It took her less than two days to unravel us completely.
