Between a rock and a hard place (aka my bf and his mom)
For anyone who has been caught in the middle of a fight between their significant other and one of their parents, I completely sympathize for you. This is because I have recently became a third wheel of domestic disputing between my boyfriend and his mother. And let me tell you, it was probably one of the most uncomfortable, awkward positions I have had to be in with the potential in-laws. Think ‘Monster in law’ meets ‘Cops’.
It began well. My boyfriend and I sat down to a heavily-prepared, European lunch of roast beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and fresh bread. His very cute, but very hard to communicate with, Portuguese grandmother also joined for the afternoon indulgence. There was red wine, laughter, lots of things spoken in a language I can’t understand. When the meal was done, his mother poured us each a cup of coffee and served us a slice of lemon meringue pie. That was when the topic of my boyfriends roommate came up.
My boyfriend was sharing some of his horror stories of how he often finds his leftovers to be missing, his bags of cookies empty, and even his case of beer diminishing without him having touched any. It was a classic case of roommate theft, and what my boyfriend was venting about was how his roommate lent him money for a coffee, only to repeatedly remind him that he owes him $2 when they returned home.
“Like it was only a coffee,” stated my boyfriend. “Give me a break. What about all those times I found him eating my chorizo sausage, or I could hear him going into my cupboards at night and helping himself to my chips? I just couldn’t believe his nerve to emphasize how I owed him for a $1.35 double double. Oh, and how about that time I lent him my car to get groceries so he didn’t have to spend five bucks on a bus?”
And it was that last line that he immediately regretted letting escape his mouth. Before he even had time to cover up what he just said his mother (who also conveniently works for an insurance broker) let out a loud, bellowing yell.
“You let him use what?” she screamed. “Do you know that your car is covered under my name and if anything goes wrong with it, that I am the one that has to deal with it?”
The rest of the argument was a blur, but I do remember a cloudy idea of it. I remember loud screaming from his mom, defensiveness and excuses from my boyfriend, his grandmother saying something in Portuguese to try to calm them down, and the lovely decorative detail of the tablecloth that I stared at throughout the entire feuding fiasco. My attention to the intricate weaving of lace was quickly interrupted when my boyfriend pushed back his chair and told me to get up to leave. I, mid-pie and coffee, looked up at him with a bit of a shocked look on my face, feeling all eyes around the table on me. “Finish your pie,” his mom says to me.
I hear the closet door open, my boyfriend put on his coat, and then the garage door slam. I put a bite of pie into my mouth and tried to swallow it down with the coffee all the while, not having any clue what the best thing for me to do was. Do I follow my boyfriend and leave without finishing my dessert, or helping to clean, or at least thank them for their hospitality? Do I sit down and finish, while my boyfriend waits for me in his car, allowing his impatience and frustration to furrow? I decided to try to play mediator. “Excuse me just a minute,” I say. “I’m going to try to calm him down.”
Miraculously, for once in my life, my mediating skills worked. I was able to calm down my boyfriend enough to convince to come inside and let me finish my pie. And even though the rest of dessert was eaten in silence and with an exchange of dirty looks, we made it through the epic adventure of having lunch with his folks.
Similar posts you might enjoy:
No comments yet.
