Ahh, the joys of family relationships—those intricate webs of love, hate, and, it appears, rent. To kick things off, how about I tell you a little tale from the front lines of my own soap opera?
Consider this: Mom was left feeling depressed and alone when Dad suddenly died away and entered the great beyond. Naturally, partially out of guilt and partly out of sympathy, I suggest that she come in with us. You know, to mingle and enjoy the warmth of family among the grandkids.
Now let me introduce my husband, who has clearly been taking the course on “How to Be a Loving Family Man.” After some clever wrangling on my side, he eventually agreed—but only on one condition. His first reaction was a solid no. Prepare for the worst: my upset mother would have to cover the rent.
It’s true that you read accurately. In a house we now possess and don’t rent, pay the rent. Either start laughing or sobbing. His reasoning? He answered, “Your mother is a leech,” with a smile that I can only describe as malevolent. “She won’t leave after she moves in with us.”
His logic went on, like a runaway train headed toward a cliff. It is incomprehensible for her to take advantage of everything at no cost since she will be using our food and power. She needs to understand that this is not a hotel.
My blood was boiling, and I sensed that something was not right. This problem stems from the fact that I married a man who appeared to think he was the Ritz-Carlton’s administration. How audacious! Despite the fact that we both contributed to the purchase of the property, we now have equal rights to it, and he is imposing capitalist rules as though we were running a successful Airbnb.
The fact that my husband isn’t a terrible person is the worst aspect. Really, not at all. My mother and he have just never agreed from the start. He opened up to me about his true feelings that evening when he assumed the persona of Mr. Rent Collector. Your mother has hated me ever since I met her. She wouldn’t be comfortable living with me at this time.
I am consequently divided between my husband, whom I truly love despite his flaws, and my mother, who is in desperate need of her daughter’s assistance. The million-dollar question that I pose to you, my reader, is: What should I do? in a really spectacular way. Should I rent a room out of my mother’s or my husband’s compassion?
