“Where’s… everything?” I turned to Jake.
“Call her.
Call my mother. Now,” he said, his face darkening.
And there was a note.
Just one sentence, written in loopy cursive that somehow felt smug even without a signature.
“I took your wedding gifts as payment for watering your plants.”
I stared at it for a long moment, almost expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something sensible. My chest tightened.
Surely, this had to be a joke. Just some tasteless attempt at humor that we’d laugh about over coffee later.
But when I looked at Jake, the muscle in his jaw was ticking, and I knew.
This wasn’t a joke.
Jake called Linda immediately.
She answered cheerfully, as if nothing was wrong.
“Oh, I unpacked everything for you and kept a few things… as thanks for raising Jake and for watering plants all week,” she chirped.
“I had a dumpster brought over for all the wedding junk. That’s my wedding present to you! A lovely dumpster.”
She’d taken the gifts to her place.
The dumpster was just for the trash, all the wrapping paper, ribbons, and packaging she couldn’t be bothered to keep.
“A few things?” Jake’s voice was steady, but I could hear the steel in his tone.
A “few things” meant:
The $800 espresso machine from my aunt and uncle.
The crystal wine glasses from my college friends.
The KitchenAid stand mixer Jake’s coworkers had pooled money to buy.
The envelope of cash from my parents.
And the handmade quilt from my late grandmother.
When Jake told her that she had no right to keep them, her tone sharpened like a knife.
“I deserve them more than you,” she said flatly.
“I put in decades of hard work raising you, Jake. You’ll get plenty more gifts in life.
Don’t be selfish. I deserve this and you both know it.”
I could feel the heat rising in my face, the disbelief morphing into something heavier.
“Linda,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Those weren’t just things.
They were given to us by people who love us! And that quilt was my grandmother’s—”
“You’re being dramatic,” she cut in.
“We’re coming over. Right now, Mom,” Jake said, grabbing his keys.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is ridiculous.”
The drive to her house was silent except for the hum of the tires on the road.
My mind kept circling the same thought: she didn’t just take our gifts, she took our joy, the excitement of unwrapping each one together.
Suddenly, a memory popped into my mind.
It was the Christmas before our wedding, and Jake and I were at his mother’s house, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with mugs of hot cocoa that steamed up my glasses.
The smell of gingerbread cookies hung in the air, clinging to the piney scent of the tree, which glittered with gold ribbon and ornaments collected over decades.
We’d spent the evening exchanging small gifts with his family. There were knitted scarves from an aunt, a bottle of whiskey from his cousin, before Jake reached under the tree for one last box.
It was wrapped in deep red paper with a ribbon tied just so, the kind of wrapping Jake always made an extra effort with for me.
“Merry Christmas, Mel,” he said, smiling as he handed it over. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while.”
I took my time with the paper, savoring the rustle, and when I lifted the lid, my breath caught.
Inside was a delicate gold necklace, the pendant shaped like a single rose, its petals detailed so finely they almost seemed soft.
It was simple but romantic, the kind of piece you could wear every day without it losing its meaning.
“Oh, Jake…
it’s beautiful,” I said, my fingers brushing the charm.
Before I could lift it from the box, Linda leaned forward, plucking it right out of my hands.
“Well, would you look at this,” she said with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Jake, you shouldn’t have! For me?”
I blinked, half-expecting her to hand it right back.
But she held it up to her neck, turning toward the reflection in the darkened window.
“It really is my style, you know.
And technically, since I raised him, the money he spends is…” she turned to me and smirked. “Well, it’s kind of mine, too.”
The room went still for a beat, save for the faint pop from the fireplace.
Jake’s jaw tightened just slightly.
Leave a Comment