The Hundred Thousand Dollar Ledger

Six days. Don't you think your mom's visit has, you know, run its course?

My husband, Adam, put his fork down with a deliberate clatter that nearly sent it skittering across the table.

My mother, Elaine, sitting next to me, visibly flinched. Her face went white.

She left the next morning. Clutching the bag of fruit I had insisted she take, her shoulders slightly stooped, she looked back at me just before the security checkpoint at the train station.

I didn't have the courage to meet her eyes.

Three days later, Adam came up to me, a casual, friendly smile on his face. "My mom, Joyce, is coming to stay for a while next week. Can you clean up the guest room?"

His tone was as light as if he were discussing what we should have for dinner.

I looked at his face and a slow, quiet smile spread across mine.

"Sure."

"This time," I said, "I'll make sure she's properly hosted."

1.

I had practically forced my mother to come.

It had only been three months since her gallbladder surgery. My father had passed years ago, and my brother, Sam, worked in construction a thousand miles away, only coming home once a year. She was alone in the cramped old house, the kitchen sink leaked, and the only bathroom was outside in the yard.

I told Adam, "I want my mom to stay for a few days. She needs a place to rest and recover."

Adam was staring at his phone and didn't look up. "Fine. Whatever you think is best."

The day Mom arrived, Adam came home from work, saw a different person sitting on our sofa, and paused.

"Elaine's here, then."

He called her Elaine.

Five years of marriage, and he had never once called her "Mom."

"She just had surgery, Adam. I want her to recuperate here for a bit," I explained.

"Uh-huh." Adam slipped off his loafers, went into the bedroom, and closed the door.

That first night, I cooked four of her favorite dishes. Mom ate one small bowl of smash potato and kept saying, "This is enough, honey, you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."

Adam finished his plate, pushed it forward. "I'm going to my study. Working late."

He didn't say a single word to my mother.

The next morning, Mom was up before five.

When I woke up, the living room had been meticulously cleaned. "Go on to work, sweetie," she said. "I'll take care of things here."

When I got back that evening, dinner was ready. A pot roast, some scalloped potatoes, and steamed asparagus.

Adam tasted the roast. He frowned. "Bit salty."

Mom rushed over. "Oh, I can take it back and adjust the seasoning."

I put my hand on her arm. "No, Mom, it's fine. It's delicious."

Adam didn't reply. He ate a couple more bites and then retreated to his study.

On the third day, Mom mentioned she wanted to walk to the supermarket. I Venmo'd her fifty dollars and told her to pick up anything she wanted.

She came back that evening with a bag of groceries and a container of gourmet deli turkey that Adam loved.

"I saw that Adam likes this kind of meat," Mom said, smiling. "I made sure to get a good brand."

Adam came home late that night. At dinner, he glanced at the turkey, but didn't touch it.

"Where did you get that? The color seems off."

"From the market," Mom said, a flicker of tension in her voice. "Is it not fresh?"

"You buy prepared meats from the local supermarket?" Adam put his fork down. "Full of preservatives, I bet."

My mother's hand froze.

She barely ate anything else that evening.

When I went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher, she followed me, her voice a whisper. "Sweetie, should I not have bought that meat?"

A sudden, sharp ache hit my chest.

"Mom, please don't think about it. That's just how he is."

On the fourth day, Adam began breaking things.

Not intentionally, of course. Always by "accident."

In the morning, he "accidentally" slammed the bathroom door shut so hard the shower curtain rod rattled.

In the evening, he "accidentally" let the remote slip and hit the glass coffee table with a thud.

Mom sat on the sofa through all of it, gradually turning the TV volume lower and lower until she finally switched it off.

"Honey, do you have a mop? I can tidy up a bit."

"Mom, you don't need to. Please rest."

"I'm just sitting here anyway."

As she was wiping the floor, Adam came out of the bedroom, looked at her for a moment, said nothing, and went back inside.

On the fifth day, I came home from work and found my mother's small suitcase by the door.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"Sweetie, I'm leaving tomorrow." She was smiling, but her eyes were red-rimmed. "I've rested enough. I miss my own place."

"You've only been here a few days!"

"Six days," she said, patting my hand. "That's long enough."

That night, Adam actually stayed in the living room and watched TV instead of retreating to his study.

Mom brought out a plate of sliced fruit and placed it carefully in front of him.

"Adam, have some fruit."

He grunted in acknowledgment, but didn't reach for it.

Mom then said, "I'll be leaving tomorrow. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much these past few days."

Adam finally looked up. "Elaine, you're fine. Don't worry about it."

Then he looked back down and continued watching his show.

My mother stood there for a few silent seconds, then turned and went to the guest room.

Later that night, I heard her turning and tossing. She didn't sleep a wink.

On the sixth morning, she was gone.

I drove her to the station. She carried the fruit and the vitamins I'd forced on her, her back slightly bowed, saying over and over, "Too much, too much, I can't carry it all."

At the entrance, she turned back one last time.

"Go home now, sweetie. You need to focus on your life."

I nodded, unable to speak.

Because if I opened my mouth, I knew I would start to cry.

2.

Three days after my mom left, Adam told me his mother was coming.

"My mom, Joyce, is coming to stay for a while next week. Can you clean up the guest room?"

I was doing the dishes, and my hand stilled under the running water.

"For a while? How long is 'a while'?"

"No set time," Adam said from the living room, still looking at his phone. "Maybe a month or two. Her back's been bothering her, and she wants you to look after her."

A month or two.

My mother stayed six days, and Adam wore a dark cloud of resentment the whole time.

His mother was coming for two months, and he spoke of it casually.

"Fine," I said, turning off the faucet. "I'll get it ready."

The next few days were a master class in "preparation."

Adam took a half-day off work and went to IKEA for a brand-new bed set. Organic cotton, four hundred bucks.

When my mother stayed, she slept on the old, faded sheets we'd used when we first got married.

Adam told me to replace the guest room curtains because Joyce was sensitive to light.

When my mother stayed, the curtains were the original flimsy sheers; the sun woke her at six every morning.

Adam bought a case of his mother's favorite specialty organic milk and a box of expensive health bars.

"My mom has low energy. You need to make sure she has one of these every morning."

When my mother left, I gave her two bottles of vitaminswhich I had bought with my own money, not a penny of Adam's.

The day Joyce arrived, Adam drove to the station to pick her up himself.

When my mother arrived, I went alone. Adam said, "Work conflict."

When Joyce walked in, Adam was a different personfawning, solicitous.

"Mom, are you tired? Sit down and rest."

"Mom, are you thirsty? Have some water."

"Mom, what do you want for dinner tonight? Maya will cook it."

Maya is me.

I stood there, watching Adam hover, and a strange, cold humor bubbled up.

When my mother was here, he couldn't even manage a genuine "Elaine."

When his mother arrived, he shouted "Mom" loud enough to shake the walls.

Joyce surveyed the living room, then turned her gaze to me.

"Maya, is the guest room ready?"

"Yes, Mom."

"The sheets are new, right? My skin is very sensitive; I can't sleep on old linens."

"They're brand new. Changed them today."

"Good." Joyce nodded. "Alright. I'm going to lie down."

She went into the guest room and closed the door.

Adam turned to me, smiling. "She had a long trip. Can you make sure you work a little harder these next few weeks?"

"I know."

"Also, she likes bland food. Go easy on the salt."

"I know."

"And her back hurts, so don't let her lift a finger."

"I know."

"What's with the attitude?" Adam's smile faltered. "My mom is here to help us, Maya. Why do you look so unhappy?"

I looked at him.

"Your mother is here to help us?"

"Yes. You'll be more relaxed with her here."

"Did you ever say, 'My mother-in-law is here to help us,' when my mom stayed those few days?"

Adam froze. His face changed.

"Why are you bringing that up now?"

"I'm not bringing it up." I placed the dishcloth on the counter. "I'm asking you a single question."

"My mother stayed six days, and you were sullen, dropping things, refusing to say a kind word. Your mother is coming for two months, and you're telling me to 'work a little harder,' 'go easy on the salt,' and 'don't let her lift a finger.'"

"Why?"

Adam was silent for a few seconds.

"Your mother has somewhere to live, Maya. What was she even doing here?"

The sentence felt like a direct slap across my face.

I stared at him, and then I laugheda short, sharp burst of air.

"You know what?"

"You're right."

3.

On the third day of Joyce's visit, I took out the ledger from the back of my cabinet.

It was a notebook I'd started keeping right after our wedding.

It wasn't for tracking household expenses. It was for tracking the money given to our respective parents.

Adam didn't know I had it. He thought I was "easygoing" and didn't care about money.

I wasn't.

But every time I tried to mention money, he'd say, "Why are you so petty?"

So I stopped mentioning it. I just tracked it silently.

The first page dated back five years.

First month of marriage: Joyce's birthday. Adam sent her a $2,000 cash gift and bought her a gold necklace for $3,800.

My mother's birthday: Adam said, "You handle it." I bought her a skincare set for $80.

Third month of marriage: Joyce visited for the first time. She stayed a month and a half. During that time, our household spending doubled because Joyce insisted on organic, grass-fed meat and expensive imported fruit. Adam paid the bills with our joint card.

I tallied it up: an extra 0-02,000 in expenses.

Sixth month of marriage: My mother had her gallbladder surgery. I wanted her to stay with us, but Adam said, "The apartment is too small. You go home and take care of her."

I took two weeks of vacation and went back to my hometown. Hospital bills, home care, and supplements cost $8,000.

How much did Adam contribute?

$0.

He said, "Your brother, Sam, should cover that. He's her son."

Sam was working minimum wage in a different state.

I didn't argue. I paid for it all myself.

I turned to the third page.

First year of marriage: Joyce said her house had a minor roof leak. Adam wired her 0-00,000 for repairs.

My mother said her kitchen sink was leaking. Adam said, "Just patch it up. It's fine."

Second year of marriage: Adam's father was hospitalized. Adam flew home for a week and transferred another 0-05,000.

When my father passed away, Adam took three days off. On the third day, he said, "Work emergency," and left early.

I paid for the funeral expenses myself.

Third year of marriage: Joyce mentioned wanting to travel. Adam immediately booked her an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise. Cost: $8,000.

My mother said she wanted to visit me and see the monuments in D.C. Adam said, "Too crowded, too much hassle, not worth it."

She never came.

The ledger grew thicker.

Five years of dense, meticulously recorded numbers.

I added them up, line by line.

Money given to Joyce/Adam's father (from joint account): 0-085,000.

Money given to my mother (from joint account): $0.

It wasn't that I didn't give her money. It was that every time I brought it up, Adam would say, "What about Sam? Shouldn't he pay for that?"

So I always gave her money secretly, using my own salary, my own personal savings.

Those payments weren't in this ledger.

The 0-085,000 was from "family expenses"our shared money.

0-085,000.

In five years, 0-085,000 of our combined earnings went to his side of the family.

To my mother?

Zero.

I stared at the number for a long time.

Joyce's voice drifted in from the living room. "Maya, my tea's cold. Can you brew me a fresh cup?"

I closed the ledger and put it back in the cabinet.

"Coming, Mom."

4.

On the fifth day of Joyce's visit, Adam came home from work and found me calculating the numbers again.