章 4: Torture
The days went by with a charged current in the air. Mark and I were civil to each other but nothing more. Work was hectic as usual, though having a relaxed lunch with George almost every day calmed me down. Surprisingly, having someone around during lunch wasn’t as unpleasant as I had imagined it would be.
What was most surprising was how much I began opening up to George. He proved to be a great listener. Talking to him was easy and seemed natural, like it was something I was supposed to do. My need for someone to unload on must have been greater than I realized. Without even thinking about it, my tense relationship with the in-laws became the topic of discussion during one of our lunches. Then it progressed to my mother, sister, aunt, the boys, and eventually, my marriage. How much did I open up to him? He knew about everything and everyone in my life. And I didn't mind one bit.
The situation with the in-laws only grew worse at one of the weekly dinners Mark and I had with his parents. This meal was at Nathan and Abigail’s house. There was a weekly rotation between our house, their house, and a restaurant picked by Abigail. It was his mother's opinion that my cooking needed help, and she seemed to have made it her goal to improve it. The nights at Abigail’s house were meant to show me firsthand how to cook specific dishes. This was always held the week after we went to a restaurant where that particular dish was served. I would be exposed to how well it was received at the restaurant, then shown how to prepare it at home the next week. The third week was the moment when my skill in cooking the dish was demonstrated. This was the week to learn the right way to cook a beef roast. Before I left work, I eyed the drugs the patients had and wondered if I could slip them into my pocket before the dinner. Sadly, I left empty-handed, still dreading the meal that evening.
Friday nights used to be fun, but when we moved to the same town as Abigail, they turned into nights of torture. I remember that first Friday night. Since I was the one who foolishly invited them over for the first time, the blame was all mine. My entire week was spent excitedly planning the meal: roast chicken, steamed vegetables, rice, and homemade apple pie. Even though my stomach was full of butterflies, the table looked spectacular and the food turned out great. Though I had been married to Mark seven years, we had always lived a good distance away. This would be the first time we were near my in-laws.
Abigail was always a character, but a person does not really get to know someone until they are around them a good deal. I quickly learned that getting to know Abigail beyond acquaintanceship was not going to be pleasant.
The first sign of just how difficult pleasing Abigail was going to be came when the front door was opened by Mark to let his parents in. Abigail sniffed the pleasantly scented air and glanced around the tidy living room as though she had walked into a cesspool. I had taken off work to scrub the tiny apartment and get it ready for the meal. To see Abigail’s face scrunched up in displeasure made my heart fall and tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
Throughout the dinner, comments were dropped about how displeasing the meal was to her—the chicken was too dry, the vegetables were not seasoned enough, the rice was undercooked, and from the taste of it, the apple pie must have been store-bought. It took all of my might to not break down into tears. As I cleaned up that night, tears finally flowed down my face. My chest tightened as I held back the sobs that were racking the inside of my body. Mark was watching the last of a ball game while I dealt with the pain alone in the galley kitchen. He didn’t see the big deal.
Later that night, I mentioned to Mark how hurtful his mother’s comments were.
He responded, “You know I agree with you, Leigh, but what can be done? She is who she is.”
“Why didn't you say something or come to my defense?” I asked, surprised at his calm response.
“I will if she does it again, but you know Mom. She lets you know what she thinks.”
I felt about two inches tall.
A few days later, Abigail called Mark and suggested that we go to her house next Friday night. “Leigh obviously needs a little guidance in cooking. How have you survived on it all these years? I am amazed. Why don’t you two come over and I’ll have her help me cook?” To my utter dismay, Mark agreed.
As soon as he hung up the phone, the question that I had been fighting back forced its way out of my mouth. “How could you agree to such a thing? You didn't even ask me!”
“Come on, Leigh. She just wants to help. This might be the opportunity you two need to bond,“ he replied.
Tears flowed quickly and heavily as I slammed the front door behind me and left for a long walk in the neighborhood. The last thing I wanted to do was bond with that impossible woman.
What Mark could not see was that this was to be the pattern for the next thirteen years. Week after week went by with me hearing how obvious it was that I barely knew how to boil water. Truth is, I actually was a very good cook. I might not have known every cooking term or how to prepare a wide variety of foods, but it was always tasty. That is, until I served it to Abigail.
Over the years, I succeeded in cooking two things that met Abigail’s approval. I managed to get the steamed vegetables right and learned to make, in her words, a passable chicken noodle soup. It didn't matter that Mark and I hated our vegetables steamed in that manner. Whenever Abigail came for dinner, I made steamed vegetables the way Abigail liked them. It was one less dish to hear her complain about.
On this particular Friday night, we all sat down to Abigail’s meal of beef loin in a red wine and shiitake mushroom sauce with garlic and dill mashed potatoes, cream of mushroom green beans, and bread pudding for dessert. As usual, I had been instructed how it should all be properly prepared. Abigail always made sure that my notebook was out and open so I could write down every step. That part had been so easy to learn how to play.
The food was excellent as always. I focused on savoring the food as Mark and his parents into another long discussion about the latest activity in politics. Suddenly the conversation changed course and was directed at me. Where had that come from?
“Leigh, did you finally get that school business out of your head?” Abigail asked pointedly as she delicately sliced her beef loin before eating it. “I hope you have realized how ridiculous that idea was. You already have a job that you need to focus on promoting and two teenage sons that you obviously have not spent enough time with.”
The red wine of the beef churned up the acid in my stomach and threatened to bless me with a repeat taste experience. It became difficult to breathe and my palms began to sweat. Confrontation loomed before me and all I wanted to do was crawl under the table.
Much to my delight and surprise, Mark stepped up and interceded. “What’s wrong with Leigh going back to school? I think it's great she wants to further her education.” He set his fork down and looked at his mother.
Abigail looked at him in disbelief. “Mark, can't you see that it would be utter foolishness for her to seek some other career when she already has one? She should be looking at getting promoted and moving up the ladder. After all, you did pay for her to get her nursing degree. She should not be ungrateful and throw all that away.”
Another arrow right at the heart. I just knew that all the wonderful food I had just consumed would end up on her stark white linen tablecloth. Hell had arrived again.
“Mom, I fully support Leigh in this decision. I see nothing wrong with her finding something she enjoys and doing it.” Mark might have thought he was standing up to his mother, but to me his words were received differently. He seemed to look at my desire to go back to school as a hobby and not anything that should be taken seriously.
In Abigail's eyes, she was being confronted and that was not acceptable. She turned the conversation back to politics where she could be more in control. I withdrew further and tried to pretend that I was somewhere else. Friday nights were such a delight.
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