Lisa and Marcus have just returned from their honeymoon when they find themselves in a nightmare: all of their wedding gifts have been stolen, and in their place is a poisonous note from Marcus’s mother.
What transpires is a vicious conflict between pride and betrayal, in which vengeance is exacted in the most unanticipated location: a solitary dumpster that serves as the stage for poetic justice.
I was still carrying the flush of newlywed delight when Marcus and I pulled into our driveway after a fantastic week in Mexico.
We had been celebrating our wedding anniversary. My skin was freckled with the sun’s rays, my hair was drenched in salt from the water, and my heart was filled with excitement at the prospect of starting our life together.
However, the sight that greeted us that afternoon was the one that jolted me out of my dreamlike condition in an instant: a bright red dumpster squatting in our backyard like a crimson accusation.
It was stuffed to the brim with ripped wrapping paper, shredded ribbons, flattened cardboard boxes, and crumpled present bags; these were the remnants of each and every wedding gift that we had opened just one week prior.
Inside the house, the reality struck with greater force. The mound of gifts that had been painstakingly arranged and tenderly wrapped by acquaintances and family members had vanished. Every single thing.
Who is the one who is responsible? Denise, and she is my mother-in-law.
Just a week earlier, Marcus and I had agreed to spend the rest of our lives together in front of fifty of the people we loved the most while we were standing in our garden beneath string lights.
Despite the fact that we were unable to afford a beautiful wedding hall, it had not been a problem for us. Whether it was the mismatched chairs, the twinkle lights, or the aroma of barbecue that was carried on the breeze, everything was just right.
Due to the fact that we did not have a lot of money, the presents that we were given meant the world to us. It was not only a matter of stuff. We were unable to afford them on our own at the time, but they were heirlooms, treasures that were handcrafted, and useful objects.
The blanket that my late grandmother had stitched together stitch by stitch, a brand-new stand mixer that Marcus’s coworkers had pooled together for, crystal wine glasses from my friends from college, and even an envelope complete with cash from my parents were among the items that had been given to me. Not only did each box symbolize giving, but it also symbolized love.
While we were in the process of packing our luggage for our honeymoon the morning after the wedding, Marcus gave his mother a spare key by hand.
His response was, “Just in case.” It would be wonderful if you could water the plants, Mom. Thank you for your help.
“Oh, of course, darling,” Denise had said with the most endearing smile she could muster. “Don’t be concerned about anything at all. “Go have fun with yourselves.”
I distinctly recall smiling back to her and thinking to myself what a thoughtful act that was. Nevertheless, as I stood there in my ruined living room, I became aware of the fact that that smile had concealed something else—a glimmer of entitlement that I had failed to detect at the precise moment.
While we were looking around the empty space, Marcus’s jaw became more tense. There were only a few items that were left behind, including two inexpensive “Mr. & Mrs.” mugs, a candle from our wedding cake that was only halfway burned, and a small basket of dried rose petals that my niece had thrown down the aisle.
After that, we came upon the note.
While I was watering your plants, I took your wedding gifts as payment for my services.
The handwriting was that of Denise, which was haughty and loopy.
At first, I was under the impression that it was some kind of terrible attempt at humor. Nevertheless, when I turned to Marcus, I noticed that the vein in his forehead was throbbing, and I knew. That was not a joke at all.
Immediately, he placed a call to her.
She responded on the second ring, continuing to be as upbeat as ever. Oh, hello there, my darling lady! Could you see it? A little bit of cleaning was done for you. If you want to thank me for getting rid of all the packing, you should thank me.
“Mom, where all of the presents are?” Marcus inquired with a tone that was eerily calm.
You mean those? She remarked in a casual manner, “I brought a few things back to my place.” There are many more presents waiting for you in life, Marcus. Have some self-control. Considering everything that I have done for you, I believe that I am deserving of a little something.
Just a little bit of there.
What she meant by that was:
The espresso machine that we received from my aunt and uncle for $800.
Crystal wine glasses that were given to me by my pals.
The mixer that Marcus’s coworkers had purchased for themselves.
The cash envelope that was given to me by my parents.
In addition, the quilt that my grandma had created before she passed away was the worst of all.
Marcus gripped the phone more tightly in his grasp. You had no right to do that, Mom—”
In a snarl, she declared, “I have every right.” “I was your mother. What gratitude do I receive for the decades of labor that I have put in? To put it another way, at least I have something to show for it right now.”
My stomach was in a spin. The level of audacity was breathtaking.
“Denise,” I continued, speaking with a trembling voice. These were gifts that were offered to us by those who care about us. One of my grandmother’s quilts was that one. It is not worth replacing.”
In a charming manner, she said, “You’re being dramatic.”
Marcus’s tone became more intense. “We’re coming over. At this very moment.”
With the exception of the buzz of the tires, the journey to her house was completely silent. My thoughts kept going back to the image of the dumpster that was located in our backyard. The delight of unwrapping the gifts together and cherishing them as symbols of our new beginning was something that she had taken, and she had not just stolen the gifts themselves.
I was struck by a memory as we were pulling up.
Marcus had presented me with a tiny gold necklace in the shape of a rose from the previous year’s Christmas. Denise had already taken it from me before I could even begin to put it on. She then giggled as she held it on her own neck instead of putting it on.
“You really shouldn’t have done that, Marcus! Is it for me?
It was necessary for him to gently remind her that it was my present, and he had to pry it back. After another round of laughter, she asserted that she was “just teasing.”
At the moment, I hadn’t given it any thought. However, I came to the realization that it had never been a joke. It was foreshadowing.
At her front door, Denise greeted us with her arms crossed, as if she were a queen about to receive her subjects.
When I spoke, my voice was more steady than I felt it was, and I said, “You need to return everything you took.”
She responded, “They were gifts for the family,” and she was right. “Therefore, I am the head of this family,” she said. What happens is entirely up to me. If it was not something you wanted me to do, you should not have given me a key.
Marcus ground out, “We trusted you enough to give you a key,” and he said those words.
“Life isn’t fair, Jakey. There is hope for you.”
Although her arrogance caused my wrath to boil, Marcus reached out and laid his hand on my arm. He mumbled, “Let’s hit the road.”
Her remarks lingered in my mind like burrs even after we had left. The matriarch. It was as if she had made a crown for herself and placed it on her head.
Marcus and I discussed our next step that evening while we were seated in our living room, which had been stripped down.
Putting his fingers on the armrest, he continued, “We could take her to small claims court.” He was demonstrating his point. “However, it will be a mess.”
As I looked out the window, I was fixated on the garbage can. “She appeared to be pleased with herself. As if she had actually achieved something worth mentioning.”
And at that moment, an idea emerged.
“Doesn’t she take great pleasure in boasting? All of the new purses, each and every meal, and every single item. It is vital that she flaunts it. You agree?
Marcus wore a frown. ‘Yeah… what are you thinking about that?’
“If she wants to boast, perhaps we should let her do so. “On our own terms.”
On the next week, Marcus gave her a call.
In a friendly tone, he informed her, “We want to make amends.” “Only our immediate family and a few close friends will be attending the backyard barbecue that we are hosting.”
She let out a squeal. How incredibly lovely! I am able to bring the brand new espresso machine so that they can all test it out. In addition, I might bring a few of my pals with me because I know they will be blown away!
“It’s perfect,” Marcus remarked.
We brought my phone into the kitchen on the day of the BBQ and positioned the camera so that it was at the ideal angle.
Sure enough, Denise strutted in with the espresso machine under her arm like it was a trophy. The stand mixer that she used to make “the fluffiest cake ever,” the crystal glasses that she now had, and the quilt that kept her “so cozy” at night were all of the things that she boasted about the most.
We were able to record every single phrase.
At the dining table the following morning, Marcus and I sat next to each other with our laptops open and our coffee that had not yet been consumed cooling. Right before I started composing the caption, my fingers were hovering above the keyboard.
“We would like to extend our gratitude to everyone once more for the kind wedding gifts they gave us. Sadly, Marcus’s mother made the decision to keep a significant number of them for herself as a form of “payment” for watering our plants while we were away on our honeymoon at the time.
In her own words, this is her explanation of the situation. Please do not hesitate to get in touch with Denise if you would need your gift returned.
I pressed the “Post” button.
Instantaneously, the explosion occurred. Comments, tags, and private messages came pouring in nonstop. The indignation of the friends was palpable. The members of the family sought the return of their gifts. Not even Denise’s pals were able to contain their shock.
“This is definitely theft, to put it plainly!”
Were you able to do it, Denise?
“If you do not return the quilt that belonged to my daughter, I will call the police.”
Denise was the one who blew up Marcus’s phone by the time Saturday evening rolled around.
Marcos, if you please! Put an end to it! I can’t seem to get people to quit phoning me; I’m truly ashamed!
Marcus remarked in a chilly tone, “You’ll get the video taken down when everything is back in our house,” and he meant it. “Not in the past. Not only that, but you will never again be given a key.
There is no sound. And then, at long last, “Fine.”
Everything was brought back by the time the week came to a close. A machine that makes espresso. The mixer of the stand. It is the spectacles. It is the quilt. Even the packet of cash.
In order to observe us reopen them, we did not ask her over to help us. On the other hand, Marcus and I decided to order Chinese takeout on a peaceful evening, spread a blanket out on the floor, and slowly unwrap each gift once more.
Marcus stated to me, “It’s almost like Christmas,” when he handed me a box.
My response was, “Christmas without the family politics,” and I smiled despite the pressure I was under.
We individually thanked each and every person who gave us a gift through FaceTime. Just about every single one of them chuckled and said something along the lines of, “I’m just glad you got it back.”
What about Denise, then? Indefinitely removed from our life, she is currently on a time-out. Before hanging up that last call, Marcus spoke to her in a straightforward manner.
You are my mother, but it does not give you the right to abuse Melissa or our marriage in such a manner. Until you have a better understanding of that, you are not welcome in our home.
There is a possibility that we have lost the illusion of Denise’s goodwill; nevertheless, we have gained something that is significantly more significant: evidence that Marcus would always pick me and us over his mother’s destructive relationships.
Furthermore, in the end, justice was not achieved by the use of a court or through a confrontation. Denise’s own vanity, or her need to boast, as well as the bright red dumpster that she left in our backyard, which served as a sign of how far she was ready to go in order to claim something that was never hers, were the sources of this.
