Chapter 2: Family Tactics

My own grandma was a master nitpicker, and my mom a real battle-axe. The two of them went at it their whole lives, bickering the second they shared a room. Thanksgiving dinners were legendary—nobody left unscathed, not even the turkey.

Growing up in that crossfire, I picked up all the tricks of mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law before I even hit puberty. I could read a sharp glance across a crowded kitchen like other kids read comic books.

People avoided me; dogs kept their distance. I had a reputation for calling out nonsense, even as a kid. I was the girl who always had a comeback—sometimes a little too fast for my own good.

But, as luck would have it, I married into a family of honest-to-a-fault people, so all my skills had nowhere to go. My in-laws were the type to leave a sticky note on the microwave if they borrowed a cup of sugar.

Life was easy, comfortable—I gained six pounds. Our house glowed with warmth: the hum of the fridge, NFL games on TV, Marcus grilling burgers on Sundays, and the scent of cinnamon rolls drifting through lazy mornings.

When I visited the local clinic in Maple Heights for weight loss advice, a checkup revealed I was pregnant. The kind of surprise that made my knees go wobbly, but in the best way.

The doctor said the first three months were critical. He handed me a folder thick with pamphlets and a long list of forbidden foods. Suddenly, everyone treated me like I was made of glass.

My in-laws hovered—terrified I’d stub a toe or sneeze too hard. I couldn’t even tie my shoes without Lillian at my side, hands out, just in case.

When I hit three months, the old lady showed up. Two battered suitcases, a glare that could wilt flowers. Even Max, our Malinois, tucked his tail and hid under the kitchen table.

The moment our eyes met, I knew—we were the same breed. It was like looking at my own reflection, fifty years down the road, mouth set in a line that didn’t budge for anyone.

The infamous bringer of trouble had arrived. If you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the Jaws theme in the background.

Her gaze was pure battle, just like my grandma’s when she looked at my mom—spoiling for a fight over every little thing. She surveyed the living room like a general mapping her next offensive.

Lillian, usually so cheerful, looked pale as she scrubbed the floor inch by inch with tissues. Her hands shook, and the faint scent of Lysol clung to the air after her cleaning spree.

Derek, my reasonable father-in-law, trembled like a quail, barely daring to breathe as he made coffee and poured water for her. He kept glancing at the clock, hoping time might somehow speed up and deliver him from this mess.

My husband called out, voice hollow:

"Grandma..." It was half dread, half resignation.

He pulled me into our bedroom, not even bothering to close the door.

"Rachel, pack your things, let’s go stay somewhere else for a few days. You’re pregnant, you can’t get upset." His hands shook as he jammed clothes into a duffel bag.

My phone buzzed with a Venmo transfer from my in-laws—five hundred dollars and a waving hand emoji from Lillian. The message was clear: go find shelter, and come back when the tornado’s moved on.

"Is she really that scary?" I asked, but the answer was already curling in my gut.

"Not just scary. She’s a nightmare," Marcus whispered, glancing back as if she might crash through the wall.

He quickly recounted the old lady’s legendary deeds, voice dropping to the hush of a campfire ghost story.

When he was six, she stewed the rabbit he’d raised for two years, tricked him into eating it, then dragged him out back to see the pile of bloody rabbit skins. He remembered the rabbit’s soft fur, the backyard’s patchy grass, and the way his sneakers squished in the dew as the truth hit him.

He bawled while the old lady cracked sunflower seeds, spitting the shells at his sneakers:

"It’s just an animal. Dead is dead. Why are you crying like that?"

"Not a shred of manliness. Don’t go telling people outside you’re my grandson, Edna May’s grandson."

"Remember this, brat: an animal is an animal. Two years or twenty, it never comes before family."

His mom tried to comfort him, but the old lady shoved her aside.

"You jinx! Always teaching my grandson useless nonsense with that sour face. It’s just a dead rabbit—want me, the old lady, dead too?"

That shove caused my mother-in-law to miscarry. The kind of story families whisper after dark—a shadow that never quite leaves.

It was a three-month-old girl. My mother-in-law wept in the hospital, clutching a tiny knitted hat meant for a baby who never got to wear it.

The old lady sat at home, smoking her pipe, declaring:

"Just another mouth to feed. Gone is gone. Why cry over it?" The smoke hung in the hallways for weeks, clinging to every curtain.

Father-in-law couldn’t take it. He tried to reason with her:

"That was your own granddaughter!" His voice cracked, the pain in his eyes raw and permanent.

The old lady curled her lip:

"What granddaughter? Not even grown, not even born, and you dare call her my granddaughter?"

"What’s so great about granddaughters? They’re just a burden. With that one shove, how much money did I save you? Instead of being grateful, you want answers from me? You’re really a thankless wretch—married a wife and forgot your mother."

He was so furious he wanted to move out. Called a realtor, started looking at apartments in the next county.

The whole mess ended up in front of the HOA at the Maple Heights rec center, where the air always smelled faintly of stale coffee. Mrs. Willoughby wore her oversized cat sweater and presided over the meeting, quoting Proverbs between sips of sweet tea.

Father-in-law stammered, hands twisting in his lap, while the old lady smiled sweetly, spinning the story. There was an awkward silence as she twisted the facts, and you could feel the neighbors’ eyes on us. Mrs. Greene stopped bringing her banana bread.

The old lady always favored the eldest uncle, taking father-in-law’s paycheck to support him, sending him to college, buying him a house in the city. It was the kind of drama that fueled gossip at the salon for weeks.

When eldest uncle married his boss’s daughter, the old lady went to enjoy life with them. Only then did she let father-in-law’s family off the hook. It felt like parole.