Five days after my wedding, my sister-in-law smacked a seafood fork across my hand because I reached for the wrong crab leg.
My husband saw it.
Instead of defending me, he leaned close and whispered, “Please don’t make this a thing.”
That was the moment my marriage started coming apart.
Not because of a crab leg.
Because everyone at that table already knew exactly what they expected from me.
And apparently, no one had bothered to tell me until after the marriage certificate was signed.
Vance and I had driven from downtown Chicago to his parents’ house in Oak Brook for our first official Sunday dinner as newlyweds.
Five days earlier, we had exchanged vows in front of nearly two hundred people.
My white floral arrangements were still hanging around our River North condo. Wedding gifts were still stacked unopened near the dining room.
I was still getting Facebook notifications from relatives posting photos with captions about “forever.”
Then Tatum introduced me to forever, Vance-family style.
Loretta, my mother-in-law, had ordered an absurd seafood spread.
King crab legs. Jumbo shrimp. Pot roast. Lobster tails. Bottles of Napa Cabernet lined up beside Harlan’s bourbon.
I reached toward the crab platter.
Crack.
Tatum’s fork hit the back of my hand.
Hard.
“New girl,” she said, loud enough for the entire table, “you just married into this family. You clearly don’t know the rules.”
I stared at the red mark forming across my skin.
Tatum pointed toward the platter.
“Elders choose first.”
Loretta lifted her wine.
“Tatum’s right. You’re our new daughter-in-law. You’ll learn how things work.”
I turned toward my husband.
Vance had watched the entire thing.
He tugged lightly on my sleeve.
“There’s a lot of family here,” he murmured. “Can we not make a scene?”
I looked at him.
Then at my hand.
Then back at him.
“Interesting definition of scene.”
Across the table, Harlan suddenly became fascinated by his bourbon.
Aunt Marilyn sliced her pot roast with the concentration of a neurosurgeon.
Aunt Jolene almost smiled.
Tatum, meanwhile, grabbed the two largest crab legs on the platter.
One went on her plate.
The other went to Loretta.
“Here, Mom. King crab is ridiculous right now.”
Loretta beamed.
“My daughter always takes care of me.”
That made the rule very clear.
The expensive food wasn’t reserved for elders.
It was reserved for everyone except the new wife.
I placed my fork beside my plate.
“What exactly did you just say to me?”
Tatum straightened.
“I said you need to understand your place.”
“My place.”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
She blinked.
“Twenty-seven.”
I looked down the table.
“Is twenty-seven considered a toddler in Oak Brook?”
Someone near the other end coughed into his napkin.
Tatum’s face changed.
“I’m still my brother’s little sister.”
“Then maybe your brother should buy you a booster seat.”
Vance whispered my name.
Loretta slapped her napkin against the table.
“Sloane, why are you attacking her? We’ve spoiled Tatum since she was little. She’s blunt.”
I nodded.
“Right. When someone else’s kid has no manners, they’re rude. When it’s your kid, they’re ‘blunt.’ Convenient.”
Loretta’s mouth tightened.
I leaned back.
“Actually, since I apparently joined an organization with bylaws, let’s hear them.”
Vance looked alarmed.
“Sloane.”
“No, really. I don’t want to accidentally use the wrong spoon and trigger a constitutional crisis.”
Tatum took the invitation.
“Fine.”
She put down her wine.
“Thanksgiving and Christmas? The women cook. Mom has done enough.”
“Of course.”
“You also wait until the older family members start eating.”
“Anything else?”
Tatum glanced at Loretta.
Loretta did not stop her.
That should have warned me.
“Mom should probably help manage your household finances too.”
I actually laughed.
Tatum frowned.
“I’m serious.”
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
She kept going.
Loretta was older. Loretta understood money. Loretta should oversee the household budget Vance and I used.
Then came future elder care.
I was apparently expected to spend weekends driving from Chicago to Oak Brook to help clean the house once Loretta and Harlan got older.
My consulting job, according to Tatum, “wasn’t exactly physical labor.”
Then she explained that whenever she visited Chicago, I wasn’t supposed to treat her like a guest.
“Vance lives there,” she said. “So it’s family property.”
That was especially impressive considering Vance had contributed exactly zero dollars toward buying my condo.
Aunt Marilyn raised her glass.
“Tatum may be saying it harshly, but marriage means becoming one family.”
Aunt Jolene nodded.
“Your generation is obsessed with boundaries. We didn’t have all this personal-space nonsense.”
I smiled at her.
“Does your daughter-in-law send you her paycheck?”
Jolene nearly inhaled her wine.
“That’s completely different.”
“Obviously.”
Tradition always seemed to become negotiable the second it landed on the person preaching it.
I turned back to Tatum.
“Finished?”
