I looked him dead in the face and said, “Actually, the little job paid for the bar you’re standing in.”
Nobody laughed that time.
One of his golf friends glanced around like he suddenly realized he’d walked into the middle of something ugly. My father-in-law still had that smirk hanging on his face for a second too long before it started slipping. He waved his hand like I was being dramatic and said, “Oh come on, everybody knows I’m kidding.”
So I started listing things.
The kitchen remodel. The Cabo vacation he bragged about for two straight summers. The club membership he kept calling “retirement perks.” I even reminded him that the bourbon he was pouring for his buddies right then had been bought on my Costco card three days earlier because his son’s account was overdrawn again.
You could actually see his friends stop smiling piece by piece.
My husband finally muttered my name under his breath, but after ten years of sitting there swallowing those comments, I genuinely did not care anymore. I asked my father-in-law if he wanted to keep talking about hobbies and little jobs or if we should pull up bank statements on the TV over the fireplace.
That’s when his face changed.
Not angry at first. Embarrassed.
One of the men cleared his throat and quietly set his drink down on the bar. Another suddenly became very interested in the football game on the television. Meanwhile my mother-in-law stood frozen in the kitchen doorway still holding a tray of deviled eggs like she’d forgotten why she walked in there.
My father-in-law finally said, softer this time, “Well. I didn’t realize she handled all that.”
And before I could answer, my husband said, still staring into his glass, “That’s because you never asked.”