"I just have a certain level of respect for the holiday, is all."
"I respect the holiday too," he said, "that's why I want to spend it celebrating with you."
"I'm not sure that's the kind of celebrating that anyone has in mind when they think of Easter."
"Seriously," he said, "when do you want to give it a try?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow my fiancée’s parents are coming over for dinner."
"Perfect, they can all distract each other while we get to it."
"Very funny."
"Okay then, if not tomorrow, then when?"
"I don't know," I said, my tone suddenly growing more somber, "maybe never."
"Come on."
"I'm serious," I said, and I was, "maybe we shouldn't be thinking of doing this at all?"
"You don't really want to miss out on this," he said, "we're crazy about each other."
"I know, I'm sorry."
His face-hardened then, "so is that the only reason you came over here? To tell me that you shouldn't anymore?"
"Please don't be upset."
"Samantha, you're being silly."
"I need to get back to my house."
"Where is this even coming from? One minute you're laughing and everything's fine, and the next -"
"I have to get back. I think we should stay in touch," I said this hurriedly as I began to turn back and walk away from him.
My fiancée’s parents were always relatively kind to me, more so than I had expected them to be, considering how much he complained about them. But as far as I could tell, they meant well, even if they did have an unfortunate habit of coming across as though they were always criticizing and critiquing you.
I sat at the dinner table with them and my fiancée, smiling and accepting their compliments for the meal I’d provided, and ignoring the subtle jabs at the areas in which I might have done better. It was my first year cooking this much for a holiday. In previous years it had been my mother who would do it. I was never very religious, and so there hadn’t been much of an Easter celebration even when it was my mother cooking for me. But my fiancée’s parents were much more traditional in that sense, and so he insisted that I play along and learn and try to cook as well as I could in order to please them. I didn’t really mind that much, to be honest. It just bothered me a bit.
You know, the more I describe them, the more I think that I really didn’t like my fiancée’s parents.
“David,” said my father-in-law, “how’s the new job going?”
“Fine dad,” he said, “it’s going just fine.”
“I got a friend that works down there saying he saw you walking around the yard pretty stressed out the other day.”
“It’s going fine, I said. Let’s not talk about it.”
“I think it’s fantastic that you finally got that promotion,” said my mother-in-law, “all that time in school ought to have paid off somehow.”
My fiancée sent me a glance that seemed to say, “Good lord, kill me now,” and we each just smiled and continued to put up with it. How much longer would either of these two really be staying, now that dinner was almost finished?
“David, where’s that scotch at?”
“What scotch?”
“The one I got you for Christmas.”
“It’s gone, Dad.”
“What? You drank it all?”
“It was months ago Dad, seriously.”
“Well, what the hell are we going to drink then?”
“There’s some vodka in the cupboard,” I said, though I immediately regretted it. I hated the thought of how much longer they might stay if they were drinking. I could see in the glance that I received from David that he felt the same way.
“Oh, by the way,” my Mother-in-Law began, “I hope you don’t mind, but we met one of your neighbours before we rang the doorbell.”
“Oh yeah,” said David, “which one?”
“A nice young man with a garden,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind, but we invited him over, in case he didn’t have anything better to do?”
“What?” David asked, “You shouldn’t have done that. This is my house,
"I respect the holiday too," he said, "that's why I want to spend it celebrating with you."
"I'm not sure that's the kind of celebrating that anyone has in mind when they think of Easter."
"Seriously," he said, "when do you want to give it a try?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow my fiancée’s parents are coming over for dinner."
"Perfect, they can all distract each other while we get to it."
"Very funny."
"Okay then, if not tomorrow, then when?"
"I don't know," I said, my tone suddenly growing more somber, "maybe never."
"Come on."
"I'm serious," I said, and I was, "maybe we shouldn't be thinking of doing this at all?"
"You don't really want to miss out on this," he said, "we're crazy about each other."
"I know, I'm sorry."
His face-hardened then, "so is that the only reason you came over here? To tell me that you shouldn't anymore?"
"Please don't be upset."
"Samantha, you're being silly."
"I need to get back to my house."
"Where is this even coming from? One minute you're laughing and everything's fine, and the next -"
"I have to get back. I think we should stay in touch," I said this hurriedly as I began to turn back and walk away from him.
My fiancée’s parents were always relatively kind to me, more so than I had expected them to be, considering how much he complained about them. But as far as I could tell, they meant well, even if they did have an unfortunate habit of coming across as though they were always criticizing and critiquing you.
I sat at the dinner table with them and my fiancée, smiling and accepting their compliments for the meal I’d provided, and ignoring the subtle jabs at the areas in which I might have done better. It was my first year cooking this much for a holiday. In previous years it had been my mother who would do it. I was never very religious, and so there hadn’t been much of an Easter celebration even when it was my mother cooking for me. But my fiancée’s parents were much more traditional in that sense, and so he insisted that I play along and learn and try to cook as well as I could in order to please them. I didn’t really mind that much, to be honest. It just bothered me a bit.
You know, the more I describe them, the more I think that I really didn’t like my fiancée’s parents.
“David,” said my father-in-law, “how’s the new job going?”
“Fine dad,” he said, “it’s going just fine.”
“I got a friend that works down there saying he saw you walking around the yard pretty stressed out the other day.”
“It’s going fine, I said. Let’s not talk about it.”
“I think it’s fantastic that you finally got that promotion,” said my mother-in-law, “all that time in school ought to have paid off somehow.”
My fiancée sent me a glance that seemed to say, “Good lord, kill me now,” and we each just smiled and continued to put up with it. How much longer would either of these two really be staying, now that dinner was almost finished?
“David, where’s that scotch at?”
“What scotch?”
“The one I got you for Christmas.”
“It’s gone, Dad.”
“What? You drank it all?”
“It was months ago Dad, seriously.”
“Well, what the hell are we going to drink then?”
“There’s some vodka in the cupboard,” I said, though I immediately regretted it. I hated the thought of how much longer they might stay if they were drinking. I could see in the glance that I received from David that he felt the same way.
“Oh, by the way,” my Mother-in-Law began, “I hope you don’t mind, but we met one of your neighbours before we rang the doorbell.”
“Oh yeah,” said David, “which one?”
“A nice young man with a garden,” she said, “I hope you don’t mind, but we invited him over, in case he didn’t have anything better to do?”
“What?” David asked, “You shouldn’t have done that. This is my house,
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