Wendy made it plain that my grandson was not welcome in her home, at her wedding, or in her life. I didn’t agree with it, but my son did. I continued to smile, acted as the devoted mother-in-law, and bided my time until I could demonstrate to everyone just what a wonderful wife he had married.
I recall my initial encounter with Wendy.
The brunch was at a posh café with noisy silverware, concrete walls, and food that looked better than it tasted. She didn’t apologize when she showed up 10 minutes late wearing a crisp cream blazer. She didn’t inquire how I was at all and instead shook my hand when she greeted me.
Matthew, my son, couldn’t stop grinning. Like he was trying to learn every word she spoke, he leaned very close to her. I observed him examining her face while she spoke “intentional design,” houseplants, and art openings.