The next few days were quieter than I expected.
Diane didn't call as often.
When she did, Jake spoke to her normally.
He didn't ignore her.
He didn't become cold.
He simply stopped treating every request as something he had to satisfy immediately.
I noticed the difference.
I also noticed that I was less tense when the phone rang.
I didn't automatically wonder whether she was calling to complain about me.
I didn't feel the need to listen carefully to every word Jake said.
I was learning to let their relationship belong to them.
That should have felt simple.
It didn't.
For a long time, I had believed that if I wasn't paying attention, something would happen without my knowing.
I had become watchful because I didn't feel secure.
Now that Jake was trying to change, I had to learn a different habit.
I had to trust him enough to stop watching every moment.
That took time.
One afternoon, I came home and found Jake sitting at the kitchen table.
He looked up when I entered.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I put my bag down.
“Everything okay?”
He nodded.
“Mom called.”
I felt the old reflex rise inside me.
I almost asked what she wanted.
Then I stopped.
Jake noticed.
“She wanted to know if we could visit this weekend.”
I took off my jacket.
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I'd check with you and see what we had planned.”
I nodded.
That seemed reasonable.
We had not made any plans yet.
There was no reason we couldn't visit if we wanted to.
But I didn't want our decision to come from fear of upsetting her.
“Let's talk about it tonight,” I said.
“Okay.”
He returned to what he had been doing.
I went upstairs to change.
The conversation stayed with me, but it didn't take over the afternoon.
That felt new.
Later, while we were preparing dinner, Jake brought it up again.
“I think we should go over on Sunday.”
I considered it.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes. I haven't seen her in a while.”
“Then let's go.”
He looked relieved.
I smiled.
“We can visit your mother without making it a problem.”
He nodded.
“That's what I want.”
“So do I.”
We agreed to have dinner with Diane on Sunday.
I didn't spend the rest of the evening rehearsing what I would say if she brought up the house.
I didn't imagine every possible argument.
I wanted to give myself a chance to enjoy the visit.
Sunday arrived.
Jake and I drove to her house in the afternoon.
The weather was pleasant, and the drive was uneventful.
We talked about a few things we wanted to do around our own house.
Jake mentioned that we needed to organize one of the cupboards.
I laughed.
“You've been saying that for weeks.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should actually do it.”
He smiled.
“Maybe we should.”
It was a small exchange.
Nothing important.
But I found myself enjoying it more than I expected.
We were talking about our life.
Our plans.
Our home.
When we arrived, Diane greeted us at the door.
She hugged Jake.
Then she looked at me.
“Hello, Rachel.”
“Hello.”
Her expression was reserved.
Mine was, too.
We went inside.
Dinner was pleasant enough.
Diane asked about work.
Jake told her a little about his week.
I answered a few questions.
Nobody mentioned the down payment.
Nobody discussed the night she had come into our bedroom.
I didn't mistake the absence of those subjects for an apology.
But I was grateful that we could sit together without reopening the same argument.
After dinner, Jake helped his mother carry a few dishes into the kitchen.
I followed with the remaining plates.
For a while, the three of us worked quietly.
Then Diane looked at me.
“Have you been keeping busy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Work has been keeping me occupied.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
I waited for the conversation to continue.
It didn't.
I could have tried to fill the silence.
I could have asked her whether she was feeling better or whether she needed help with anything else.
I could have done what I had done so many times before and tried to earn warmth through effort.
Instead, I dried the plate in my hands.
I placed it in the cupboard.
Then I returned to the dining room.
Diane didn't follow me immediately.
Jake came out a few minutes later.
“You ready to go?”
I nodded.
We thanked her for dinner.
Diane hugged Jake and said goodbye.
She gave me a brief nod.
Then we left.
The visit had been ordinary.
Not warm.
Not hostile.
Just ordinary.
On the drive home, Jake asked what I thought.
“I think it went fine.”
He nodded.
“Me too.”
I looked out the window.
For a moment, I felt disappointed.
I had hoped that the passage of time might make things easier between Diane and me.
I had hoped she might acknowledge what had happened.
I had hoped that the changes Jake was making would eventually lead her to see me differently.
None of that had happened.
But something else had.
I had gone to her house without spending the entire visit trying to earn her approval.
I had been polite.
I had participated in the evening.
I had left without feeling that I needed to review every sentence I had spoken.
That mattered.
I was beginning to understand that I could not control whether Diane liked me.
I could control whether I allowed her opinion to define my place in my own marriage.
Those were different things.
When we arrived home, I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
The house was quiet.
I put my bag on the counter.
Jake followed me.
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I'm glad we went,” he said.
“Me too.”
He rested his chin against my shoulder.
“I think things are getting better.”
I leaned back against him.
“I think some things are.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“Do you still feel like she doesn't want you around?”
I considered the question.
“Sometimes.”
He loosened his arms and turned me toward him.
“I wish I could fix that.”
I looked at him.
“You can help. But you can't decide how she feels.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“And I can't keep trying to change her mind by making myself smaller.”
He looked down.
“I don't want you to do that.”
I touched his arm.
“Then don't ask me to.”
He met my eyes.
“I won't.”
I believed that he meant it.
I also understood that we would need to keep working at it.
The house was still ours.
The bedroom was still ours.
The life we were building was still ours.
Diane might always have opinions about it.
She might never become the kind of mother-in-law I had once hoped she would be.
That was painful to accept.
But it was not the end of my marriage.
For the first time, I could imagine a future in which I didn't need her approval to feel secure.
I could appreciate her help without owing her my silence.
I could welcome her into our home without letting her take charge of it.
And I could love Jake without asking him to stop loving his mother.
We only had to stop treating those things as though they could not exist together.
That evening, I went upstairs and changed into my pajamas.
I hung my robe in the closet.
Then I turned off the overhead light and switched on the bedside lamp.
Jake came into the room a few minutes later.
He looked at the bed.
Then he looked at me.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
He climbed in beside me.
We turned off the lamp and settled beneath the blanket.
The room was quiet.
For once, I didn't feel the need to listen for someone coming through the door.
I closed my eyes.
I wasn't completely at peace.
But I was no longer waiting for Diane to give me permission to feel at home.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: The House Finally Felt Like Ours Again, but I Had to Accept That Some Wounds Would Not Disappear Just Because the Arguments Stopped
At Two in the Morning, My Husband’s Mother Decided I Had No Right to Be in My Own Bed
Part 18 of 20
