My mother-in-law,\u00a0Janice, was already seated at the head of the mahogany table. She was smiling, but it was that tight, Botox-adjacent grimace she reserved for moments right before she planned to ruin someone\u2019s psychological well-being. Beside her hovered\u00a0Gerald, my father-in-law, slicing the honey-glazed ham with a violence that suggested the pig had personally insulted his ancestors.<\/p>\n
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And then there was\u00a0Agnes. My husband\u2019s ninety-year-old grandmother sat quietly at the far end, a small island of grace in a sea of pretension. She caught the eye of my eight-year-old daughter,\u00a0Fiona, and offered a genuine, crinkle-eyed smile. She was the only person in this house who didn\u2019t treat my child like a visiting exchange student whose paperwork they had lost.<\/p>\n
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