Chapter 2 - How Justin Likes Things
Virginia began with breakfast.
"Justin doesn't like his eggs that dry."
I looked down at the scrambled eggs I'd just put on my husband's plate.
Justin took a bite.
"They're fine."
Virginia smiled at him as though he were a child trying not to hurt someone's feelings.
"You always preferred them softer."
"Mom, I'm thirty-two."
"I know how old you are."
"Apparently you don't know I can eat different eggs now."
Walter coughed into his coffee to hide a laugh.
I almost smiled.
Virginia didn't.
The following evening, she commented on the shirts hanging in our laundry room.
"You don't iron these?"
"They're wrinkle-resistant."
"That's not the same thing."
"Justin irons something himself if he wants it ironed."
Virginia stared at me.
"You make him iron his own clothes?"
Justin closed his eyes.
I set down the dish towel.
"I don't make Justin do anything."
"He's always hated ironing."
"Then he can wear a slightly wrinkled shirt."
Walter disappeared into the living room.
Coward.
Smart coward, but coward nonetheless.
Virginia leaned against the counter.
"When Justin was living at home, I always made sure his shirts were ready."
"That was nice of you."
"A wife should want to do those things."
There it was.
Not a suggestion.
Not nostalgia.
A judgment.
I looked at her.
"A husband can also do those things."
Virginia's smile tightened.
"Of course."
But her tone said the opposite.
That evening she criticized dinner.
The next evening she commented that our bedroom should have heavier curtains because Justin had "always been a sensitive sleeper."
On Wednesday she moved the armchair because Justin "preferred facing the television directly."
Thursday morning, she moved one of my plants.
I moved it back.
By lunchtime, she'd moved it again.
That afternoon, I found her shifting it for the third time.
"Virginia."
She didn't turn around.
"The poor thing isn't getting enough light."
"It was doing fine."
"Well, I'm helping."
"Please leave it where it was."
She straightened.
Something hardened behind her eyes.
"I'm not going to ask permission every time I move a flowerpot, Chloe. Justin is my son. I know exactly how he likes things."
I stared at her.
The sentence was so absurd I almost laughed.
"What does Justin being your son have to do with my plant?"
Virginia opened her mouth.
Justin walked into the room.
Perfect timing.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing," Virginia said immediately.
I looked at him.
"Your mother says she doesn't need permission to move things in our home because you're her son."
Justin froze.
Virginia folded her arms.
"I didn't say it like that."
"You said exactly that."
Justin rubbed the back of his neck.
"Can we not make this a whole thing?"
That was his solution.
Not: Mom, don't rearrange our apartment.
Not: Chloe asked you to leave her things alone.
Can we not make this a whole thing?
I picked up the plant and returned it to its original place.
"Sure."
Virginia smiled faintly.
She thought she'd won.
But that night, after his parents went to bed, I closed our bedroom door.
Justin was already preparing his defense.
"She's under a lot of stress."
"So am I."
"Chloe—"
"No. I need you to hear me."
He sat on the edge of the bed.
I remained standing.
"Your mother has criticized my curtains, cooking, laundry, kitchen, furniture and the way I supposedly take care of you."
"I know."
"Then why haven't you said anything?"
"Because she'll be gone in a few weeks."
"So I should tolerate disrespect because there's an expiration date?"
He sighed.
"Can you please let some of this go?"
"Why should I?"
"She's my mother. She's always been this way."
"And this has always been my home."
Silence.
"I don't want everyone fighting," he said.
"Neither do I."
"Then—"
"But avoiding conflict isn't the same thing as solving it."
His expression changed.
I sat beside him.
"I'm not asking you to fight your mother. I'm asking you to act like we're partners."
"We are."
"Then when she disrespects me in our home, don't stare at your coffee."
That landed.
Justin looked away.
"I just want peace."
"So do I. That's why I'm setting boundaries before this gets worse."
For the next two days, something remarkable happened.
Virginia stopped criticizing me.
Dinner came and went without commentary.
The plant remained untouched.
My spices stayed where I put them.
I began to think Justin had spoken to her privately.
Then Thursday afternoon, I passed the guest room.
Virginia was on the phone.
"You absolutely have to come Saturday, Brenda."
I slowed.
"You can see how I'm doing, and you'll get to see how these young people live."
A pause.
Then she laughed.
"No, don't bring anything to eat."
Another pause.
Her next sentence stopped me cold.
"I want you to taste what they serve here."
I stood motionless in the hallway.
Suddenly, the previous two peaceful days made sense.
Virginia hadn't stopped judging me.
She'd simply stopped doing it where I could hear.
And now she was inviting an audience.
Saturday wasn't going to be dinner.
It was going to be a performance.
May you like
And I was apparently the entertainment.
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