Yesterday after I wrote the post about accepting my fate of living here, I got in a huge fight with Bruce's dad.
Well, it probably wasn't a huge fight. Bruce doesn't think it was, though he wasn't there to see it.
It was about the cats and really not worth going into detail. Basically, we have been letting Minnie out more and more, and she has behaved well, using the litter box like she should. As a matter of fact the grumpy cat, Sasha, peed on the couch the other day. When I heard, I couldn't help feeling relief that it wasn't our cat.
I keep asking Bruce, "Is it okay that Minnie's out of the basement right now?" He assures me that it's fine, that his mother approves. So yesterday, I let the cat out when I heard her meowing.
Bruce's dad came home from work and went upstairs, while Emmie and I were eating breakfast. "Oh, Minnie!" He proclaimed. "What are you doing out?!" His remarks felt very pointed.
When Bruce's mom came home for lunch, he said to her in front of me, "Did you happen to let the cats out today?" And I lost it. I just knew that he was asking his wife what he really meant for me to hear.
"I let the cats out," I said, each word leaving me heavily. "I was under the impression that it was okay to."
"Since when?!" He grunted.
"I don't know. It's been months since Minnie's had an accident," I sputtered. "Bruce said it was okay."
That's when Bruce's mom chimed in, thank goodness: "I did tell Bruce that I want the cats to be let out during the day."
Bruce's dad looked wildly from me to his wife. "Well, I just don't want to be cleaning up another accident!" Which is pretty funny considering I don't think he's ever cleaned up after the cats once.
And so, a garbled mess continued where I tried my best to defend my actions and my cat. I have to blame this on Bruce, really, for always saying he wishes I'd speak up for myself. My normal routine is to keep my mouth shut, get really angry alone, and then complain about everything later.
I'm not good with confrontation and neither is my father-in-law. He stormed upstairs while we were going back and forth. A few minutes later, he came back downstairs, clearly angry. I decided right then to apologize for upsetting him. He, in turn, accused me of getting really defensive. I admitted that I did, but partly because he oftentimes seems accusatory in his manner of speaking. Passive-aggressive, too, but I didn't say that part. He tied his shoelaces and abruptly left the house.
After that, I felt terrible and irritated and worried: What would things be like between Bruce's dad and me the next time we saw each other?
When I relayed the events to Bruce on the phone, he laughed. He said, "It doesn't really sound like anything happened except you apologizing for stuff." But, I was shaking; I replied. To me, it was a big deal.
I went to work that night, and when I came home I avoided my father-in-law, who was again sitting on the couch like normal. I cried to Bruce in our room and told him how miserable I felt. How I feel like the last year or so of our lives hasn't been our real life. Except for Emmie. I knew I wouldn't want to sit awkwardly at breakfast with Bruce's dad the next morning, so we developed a plan. I would drive Bruce to work (the old car's oil light went on and we aren't driving it until we can afford to fix it) and leave with the baby in the morning.
So that's what we did. It was great. The baby got up; I changed her, and we dressed to go out. Then we walked down the stairs and out the front door. We went to breakfast together at this diner I've been wanting to try.
"Table for one and a half," I told the host. It was breakfast just for the girls.
Then Emmie and I went grocery shopping and came home just before noon. It was such a pleasant morning. By then I had gathered enough courage to face Bruce's father and act normal. With less eye contact.
Today's tune can't sum up what I want any better: "To break free." God knows! This is my new anthem. It's time, my friends. I always try to count my blessings, but I am so looking forward to the next chapter.
FREEDOM!
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