Am I Wrong for Testing My Mother in Law on Christmas
I stepped into Diane’s immaculate mansion carrying two Christmas gifts and a singular mission: to uncover her true nature. Which would she value more—the extravagant luxury gift or the simple, sentimental one?
I met Richard on a Tuesday, balancing two coffees in one hand and scrolling through my phone with the other as I tried to elbow my way into a crowded elevator. He was already inside, grinning as though the chaos was the highlight of his day.
“Need help?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.
“Nope,” I replied stubbornly, juggling everything to prove I didn’t. Naturally, I spilled half a latte down my blouse.
“Impressive,” he said, handing me a napkin like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
I glared at him, muttering, “Don’t start.”
Somewhere between spilled coffee and lunch breaks, he became my person. Within a year, we exchanged vows by the edge of Lake Crescent, just the two of us. No guests. No extravagance. Just love, promises, and the wind whipping through our hair as two fishermen looked on from their boat.
But the world we vowed to face together included his mother, Diane.
Richard’s family came from old money, the kind that expected grandiose displays and perfectly curated appearances. I, on the other hand, had built my life brick by brick, starting on the wrong side of town. Our different upbringings never mattered to Richard or me, but Diane’s disapproval of our quiet elopement spoke volumes. “Richard deserved a wedding people would remember,” she’d said. “Not some cheap elopement.”
When Richard told me it was time to meet his mother during a Christmas visit, I decided to approach it with an open mind—and a plan to truly understand who she was.
“Are you sure about this?” Richard asked, watching me put the final coat of varnish on a hand-painted stone featuring her beloved cat, Mittens.
“Positive,” I replied. “This gift is heartfelt and personal. The Gucci bag I’ve also wrapped? Just expensive flash. Let’s see which one she treasures more.”
Soon, Christmas arrived, and we found ourselves pulling into Diane’s snow-dusted estate. The house sat atop a hill like a queen surveying her domain.
Richard squeezed my hand as we approached the grand double doors. “You good?”
“Don’t ask me that,” I said with a tight smile. “You know I have to be.”
Inside, the house was pristine, its every corner an ode to opulence. Fresh flowers, gleaming porcelain vases, and perfectly framed family portraits lined the halls. It felt like a museum where nothing belonged to anyone, not even the memories.
“Richard!” Diane appeared, arms wide, her carefully styled hair and designer outfit a subtle declaration of power. She hugged him tightly, swaying slightly like she was holding onto a piece of her little boy. Then her eyes landed on me.
“Oh, Suzy,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re taller than I expected.”
“It’s Sue,” I corrected, my smile unwavering.
“Of course, Suzy. Shall we?” She turned on her heel, leading us deeper into her world.
The sitting room was all polished surfaces and pristine white furniture. As Diane poured eggnog into crystal-cut glasses, she began her assessment.
“So,” she said, handing me a glass, “you met at work before… impulsively eloping, didn’t you? What is it you do again, Sue? Secretarial work?”
“I’m VP of Marketing,” I replied, my voice steady. Her eyebrow twitched slightly, but she recovered quickly, murmuring, “How nice.”
When the conversation reached its natural lull, I leaned forward and placed the first gift—a small, carefully wrapped box—on the table.
“This is for you, Diane,” I said, meeting her gaze.
Her manicured fingers delicately untied the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. When she uncovered the hand-painted stone, featuring Mittens’ face in intricate detail, she tilted it in the light with a detached air.
“Oh,” she said after a moment. “This is… cute. Folksy. I suppose it might look nice near Mittens’ water fountain.”
Richard’s jaw tightened beside me. “Sue painted it herself,” he said firmly.
Diane hummed noncommittally, setting the stone aside as though it were an afterthought. I bit back my disappointment, but I wasn’t finished.
“Your turn,” Diane said, handing me a small package wrapped in wrinkled tissue paper.
I unwrapped it to reveal a $20 movie theater gift card.
“Movies,” Diane said brightly, lifting her glass. “Everyone likes movies.”
Richard stiffened beside me, his irritation barely contained. “Mom,” he muttered, his voice sharp with disapproval.
“It’s practical,” she said, her tone defensive.
I reached under the couch and retrieved the second gift, a sleek Gucci bag wrapped in its signature logoed box.
“Merry Christmas, Diane,” I said, placing it on her lap.
Her eyes widened as her fingers brushed the logo. Slowly, she unwrapped the bag, inspecting every seam and tag as though she suspected it might be counterfeit.
“You think it’s fake,” I said lightly.
“Of course not,” she replied, though her hesitation betrayed her. “Richard, you shouldn’t have let her spend so much on this. Probably with your money, too.”
“No,” Richard said, his voice slicing through the air. “She bought it herself.”
Diane’s expression faltered. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” Richard interrupted, his tone unrelenting. “Sue is my wife, Mom, and she deserves respect. She carefully chose both gifts for you. It’s disappointing that you seem to value the expensive one more than the one from the heart.”
Silence hung heavy in the room. Diane clutched the Gucci bag, her smile brittle. “Of course, Richard. I meant no offense.”
“Of course,” I echoed, my voice smooth but cutting.
My eyes drifted to the hand-painted stone at the far edge of the table, forgotten and unloved. But the Gucci bag? That, she held tightly, her fingers digging into the leather as though it might vanish if she let go.
She failed the test, but at least now I knew. Every time she admired that bag, she’d think of me. And maybe—just maybe—she’d feel the sting of what truly mattered slipping through her fingers.