I’ve always considered myself lucky.
At 35, I have a stable job in tech that pays well, a beautiful home in a quiet neighborhood, and most importantly, a wife who makes every day better than the last.
Jane and I met through a mutual friend at a charity fundraiser five years ago, and I still remember the way she laughed at my terrible joke about the silent auction. It was like music.
“You’re staring again,” Jane said one morning as she poured herself coffee. Sunlight streamed through our kitchen window, catching the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
I grinned. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “But I won’t.”
That’s Jane. Always quick with a comeback, but even quicker with affection. We don’t have kids yet, though we’ve been talking about it more lately.
For now, it’s just us, and honestly, our life together is pretty great. Jane is everything I could have asked for in a partner.
Everything about our relationship is perfect, except for one glaring complication. Her mother, Celia.
My mother-in-law has always had a… competitive streak. Especially when it comes to my wife. Every time I give Jane something thoughtful, Celia somehow makes it about herself.
Last month, I gave my wife a beautiful bracelet for her promotion at the marketing firm where she works. It was white gold with a small diamond pendant.
Jane nearly cried when she opened it.
“Andrew, it’s perfect,” she whispered, immediately putting it on. “You always know exactly what I’d love.”
Two days later, I got a call from Celia while I was at work.
“Hello?” I answered, wedging my phone between my ear and shoulder as I typed an email.
“Must be nice getting fancy jewelry,” she said. “I’ve only been a mother for 32 years, but who cares, right?”
I stopped typing and pinched the bridge of my nose. “It was a gift for her promotion, Celia.”
“And I’ve never been promoted to anything, apparently,” she huffed. I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
This wasn’t new.
When I bought Jane a designer handbag for Christmas, Celia spent the entire holiday dinner pointing out how her own purse was “practically falling apart.”
When I surprised Jane with a weekend getaway for our anniversary, Celia called to remind us that she hadn’t had a proper vacation “in decades.”
“How’s Jane doing, by the way?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Fine. She showed me the bracelet yesterday. Very… shiny.”
The way she said “shiny” made it sound like an insult.
After we hung up, I sat staring at my computer screen, not really seeing it. I loved Jane more than anything, but her mother was testing my patience in ways I never thought possible.
That evening, when I got home, I found Jane in our living room looking troubled.
“Everything okay?” I asked, loosening my tie.
She sighed. “Mom called me today. She was upset about the bracelet.”
“Yeah, she called me too,” I said, dropping onto the couch beside her. “I don’t understand why she can’t just be happy for you.”
“She’s always been like this. When I was a kid and got a new toy, she’d suddenly need something new too. Dad used to say she never outgrew being an only child.”
“Well, she’s certainly perfected the art of making everything about her,” I muttered.
“She’s lonely,” Jane said softly. “Ever since Dad died, she doesn’t have anyone to fuss over her or make her feel special.”
“That doesn’t mean she gets to rain on your parade every time something good happens.”
“I know,” Jane sighed. “Maybe we should invite her over for dinner this weekend? It might make her feel included.”
Jane always tried to see the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it.
It was one of the many reasons I loved her, but sometimes I wondered if her mother took advantage of that kindness.
Mother’s Day rolled around, and despite our issues, I wanted to do something nice for Celia. After all, she was Jane’s mother, and that counted for something.
I took my time and gathered flowers from my late mom’s garden and arranged them carefully in a vase I had restored myself. It was a hand-painted porcelain piece from the 1950s that I’d found at an estate sale and spent weeks fixing.
Thoughtful, personal, beautiful… the perfect gift.
Or so I thought.
“Ready?” Jane asked, adjusting her dress as we stood on her mother’s porch.
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, balancing the flower arrangement in one hand while ringing the doorbell.
Celia greeted us with air kisses and ushered us into her dining room, where she’d prepared dinner. The conversation was pleasant enough until we handed her the gift.
She looked at the flowers like I had handed her a plate of spoiled fish.
“Your wife gets diamonds, and I get weeds?” she said, barely touching the vase.
Jane was mortified. “Mom! Andrew spent hours on this arrangement. These are from his mother’s garden.”
“Oh, how… thoughtful,” Celia said with a tight smile. “I’ll just put these in the kitchen.”
I clenched my jaw, smiled, and said nothing. I figured, fine, whatever… let it go.
The rest of the evening was tense, with Celia making little comments about how “some people” were more valued than others. By the time we left, Jane was close to tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in the car. “She had no right to act that way.”
I squeezed her hand. “It’s not your fault.”
But then it got worse.
Jane had recently gotten into really unusual gifts. She had always been eclectic in her tastes, but lately, she’d been leaning into the weird and wonderful.
First, she asked for a glowing geode lamp. It was a massive amethyst crystal with LED lights embedded in the base. Then came a framed butterfly collection in a glass case. Then, a skull made of hand-blown glass.
“Your wife certainly has… unique tastes,” her mother said during one of her surprise visits.
“She knows what she likes,” I replied.
“And what she likes is spending your money on junk,” she muttered, not quite under her breath.
Jane pretended not to hear, but I saw her shoulders tense up.
Then came the kicker…
“Babe,” she said one night with a grin. “Can I get a tarantula?”
I looked at her with wide eyes. “Like… an actual spider?”
“Yes! They’re fascinating. And fuzzy! They’re so weird. I love it.”
“Won’t it… escape? Or bite?” I asked, not exactly thrilled about sharing our home with an eight-legged roommate.
Jane laughed. “They’re actually docile. The one I want is a Chilean Rose Hair. They’re considered perfect for beginners.”
I wasn’t convinced, but Jane had supported all my weird hobbies over the years. Besides, she looked so excited about it.
So, I got her the tarantula. A fluffy brown creature named Rosie that lived in a terrarium in our home office. Jane was thrilled, spending hours watching it explore its habitat.
And that’s when the idea hit me.
A week later, I ordered another tarantula. Same breeder. Same packaging. Same species.
I included a care guide, special food, and a small terrarium setup. Everything needed for tarantula ownership. I had it carefully labeled with a gift note that read, “Since you always want what Jane gets. Enjoy! Love, Andrew.”
And I sent it straight to Celia’s house.
I didn’t even warn my wife. I just waited.
Three days later, my phone exploded with calls. I was in a meeting, so I couldn’t answer, but the texts started coming in rapid-fire.
“CALL ME NOW!!!”
“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU DID THIS!”
“THIS IS NOT FUNNY, ANDREW.”
When I finally got a break, I had 17 missed calls. 15 from Celia and two from Jane. With a deep breath, I called Celia back.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” she shrieked before I could even say hello.
“Good afternoon to you, too, Celia,” I said calmly.
“You sent me a spider. A GIANT HAIRY SPIDER!”
I put on my most innocent voice. “Oh no, Mom! I thought you wanted the same gifts I give to my wife. I just wanted to make sure everything stayed fair.”
Silence.
Then, a stammer.
“You—! That’s not—! You KNOW I hate bugs!”
“Yes, but you said you wanted what she gets. I thought you meant all of it.”
“I could have DIED! I have a heart condition!”
“That’s strange. Your doctor said you were in perfect health at your last checkup. Jane told me.”
She hung up.
I heard from my brother-in-law, Rob, later that she screamed when she opened the box, dropped it, and it skittered across the floor. (Don’t worry. It was in a secure enclosure, no risk of escape.)
She made him come over and “banish it.” He told me between laughs that she wouldn’t stop muttering, “Who sends a SPIDER?!”
When I got home that evening, Jane was waiting for me. She didn’t look happy.
“You sent my mother a tarantula?”
I winced. “In a secure enclosure.”
For a moment, she stared at me, and I braced myself for anger. Then, to my surprise, she burst out laughing.
“Her face must have been priceless!” she gasped between giggles. “Rob said she jumped on a chair like in a cartoon!”
“You’re not mad?” I asked.
Jane wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “She’s been calling me all day, ranting about how you’re trying to give her a heart attack. But you know what she hasn’t mentioned once? My bracelet. Or any other gifts.”
I grinned. “Mission accomplished then.”
Celia hasn’t asked for “equal gifts” since. She’s cordial at family gatherings now, maybe even a bit wary of me. The tarantula found a new home with Rob’s son who, apparently, always wanted a pet spider.
And Jane? She’s more in love with me than ever. She says any man who would send her mother a tarantula to defend her honor is a keeper.
