Page 119 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

I was fine with the arrangement. Having Peter entertain his father while his mother simply sat back and watched me cook was best. Putting a drunk person in front of an open flame was a bad idea. Since Peter had been willing to help, that was all I needed to feel equal. Later, I would have to point out to Peter how easy it was to make me feel equal. Just to annoy him—but playfully. Not to instigate a fight.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “My son—and I’m sorry to say so—cannot cook. God knows he tried last year, but we ended up ordering out every day we were here. Other than the meals I made.”

“He has cooked for me before,” I said, feeling as though I needed to defend my husband. “He’s…well, he does okay.”

She laughed. “That’s very politic of you.”

“He tries,” I said, laughing with her. “Even when it’s not great, having someone cook a meal for you is nice.”

Peter’s mother eyed me for a moment, long enough to make me nervous as I chopped vegetables. Finally, when she spoke, what she said was unexpected.

“Trying is what keeps a marriage together, isn’t it?” she asked.

I glanced up, but didn’t say anything; didn’t stop chopping vegetables.

“Peter tries too hard for the wrong things,” she said quietly, making it obvious these words were only for me. “He’s in there with his father, carrying on like a loon about some game, drinking bourbon, acting a bit unlike himself. Don’t you think?”

I shrugged.

“Politic again,” she laughed, then lowered her voice again. “He thinks he has to behave a certain way or do certain things…achieve certain things…to make his father love him. I suppose it all has to do with the gay thing, but—”

“The…gay thing?” I asked, trying to control my voice.

“He’s always thought we were disappointed in him,” she said, waving the thought away. “And how stupid. I couldn’t love him more if I tried.”

I relaxed and continued chopping.

“I suspect he thinks that we wanted a normal son with a normal family.”

“What’s normal?” I asked.

“Hell if I know,” Peter’s mother responded with a laugh, which gave me a pleasant shock. “But I hope whatever he thinks it is, well, that’s what he has.”

I nodded along slowly.

“All we want is for him to be happy,” she said with finality. “If he’s happy, and he’s a good person, nothing else matters.”

Finally, I looked up at my mother-in-law and stopped chopping.

“All I want from life is to be happy,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s a good enough purpose, but that’s all I’ve ever wanted, too. And I am happy. Peter is happy. And your son is a good person.”

“Then that’s all that matters, right?” She tilted her glass at me in a salute as she winked.

“I suppose so,” I said, smiling. “Do you like mushrooms? I wanted to add mushrooms, but Peter is picky about which kind.”

She rolled her eyes. “His father is the same way.”

I sighed as his mother leaned in conspiratorially.

“I love them,” she said. “Put them in. Our husbands can pick around them.”

Laughing at our evil, yet harmless plot, I retrieved the carton of mushrooms. As I continued to prepare dinner, Peter’s mother drank, and we talked, I realized something about my husband. Almost always, when someone strives for perfection in one area of life, every other aspect of their life must suffer. Often, we focus our attention on being perfect to someone who already loves us, just as we are. If Peter and I could remember to remind each other that we loved each other, just as we were, and that we would love each other as we grew, that was all that we needed.

Christmas morning, though harried and eventful, was pleasant and joyous. Peter and I had breakfast with his parents in the kitchen, sitting around the small table, laughing, sharing stories, and drinking coffee as we ate. Afterward, we gathered in the living room and opened presents from each other. Peter’s parents, as they had always been, were generous in their gift-giving to us, which always made me uncomfortable—yet grateful.

Peter and I had purchased gifts for them, too, of course, which they were delighted to receive, as always. I received a handful of wonderful gifts from Peter, and I had put a few token gifts under the tree for him. More coffee and conversation were had in the living room as the tree twinkled and the wrappings and trash laid in a heap in the corner. Peter and I made no effort to clean up when spending time with his parents was more important, especially since they had to leave before lunch.