The Key

Wait, I have a key...

My mother-in-law flourished a key at me this afternoon as we stood outside my front door after this afternoon's corn roast.  The event happened at the library-cum-police-station-cum-fire-hall;  I think I have mentioned before I live in a very small town.  Anyhow, the girls locked up our house while I drove the matriarch down to the corn roast and, then, they followed us down; the library is at the end of the street and around the corner.  It shouldn't have taken a long time for the return walk home; unfortunately, my daughters take after me and chatted to neighbours along the way and, basically, had us awkwardly waiting for them on the doorstep.  Until, of course, the matriarch brought out the key.  I know this sounds stupid but my first thought was: why do you have a key to MY house?

The matriarch started talking about how my husband had given her a key in case she was ever locked out of the house.  I was silent.  The matriarch only ever goes out with me; though, case in point, I did not have a key because my children did not have keys and needed to have mine...I know this is all very confusing in a way and immensely insecure but you have to know the feeling, for a moment at least, of me resenting the matriarch having a key and me not having one.  For a minute, no longer, I was really, really angry at my husband.

I know I tend to be a bit flaky but I deeply resented my husband being so familiar with that element of my character that he knew to act against it--if only it hadn't been his mother.

She stood there waving the key at me.  Of course, the woman did not give it to me; she showed it to me and then tried to put it in the lock.  I have mentioned before the matriarch is blind, well, not quite, there are times she sees nothing and times she sees less than that but we pretend not to notice.  So, I had to stand locked outside of my own house while my mother-in-law who cannot see showed her independence by trying to open the door.

My youngest daughter came up; she did not have the house key but she grabbed the matriarch's key out of her grandmother's hand; no patience is in those who have to go to the washroom.  And, the key did not fit.

The matriarch was surprised.  No, actually, I believe she was indignant.  Why would her son give her a key that did not work?  Of course, I felt better and calmed my emotions; though, I was still a little angry at my husband.  But the matriarch became royally infuriated at the absent man.  My oldest daughter came along and told me my middle child had the house key and she was talking to neighbours about what was happening to the old school house next door to the library-cum-police-station-cum-fire-hall.  Apparently, they are trying to put a new restaurant in the century old school; does anyone else see the irony in this?  So, four of us stood now waiting on the door step.  And, the matriarch began to talk...about my husband, about keys, about how she thought my husband trusted her more than me.  And, my youngest danced around the porch trying to stall washroom needs.

When my middle child finally got home, she let us all into the house and the matriarch continued to talk about her son.  She was obviously dismayed at my husband's behaviour...so much so she began to annoy me, again.  When my husband finally came into the picture, the matriarch began to discuss with him the fact the key to the house did not work.  I sat there looking at him.

And, he looked back at me knowing his mother could not see his face.  And, knowing that whatever he said, he was going to be in hot water with someone.  You could almost see him trying to balance contexts and see whose fury would be worse.

The fact that he allowed the matriarch to think he trusted her more than me bothered me more than anything.  I don't know why it is such a big deal; but, call it residue insecurity, these things lately really annoy me.  A lot.  My husband told his mother he would get her a new key to the house and grimaced at me; I know he was just keeping her quiet; I know he would just give her another key that likely wouldn't work.  The whole key debacle was happening because we are getting a new front door and didn't want to make any new keys.  What I don't think he knew, and what I anticipated, was the reality she would try any new key he would give her.  So, when he eventually gave her the new key, he tried his own key in the lock and with a little magic enabled by her blindness, everything righted itself.  Except, of course, my anger.

A son is always a son--an only son and only child, more so.  Sometimes, it takes a while to come to this realization.  But there are few ways to confront this drama...I don't for a moment believe my husband would put his mother ahead of us but I do know, in order to avoid confrontation, he would do anything to silence his mother.  Is it possible to still be afraid of a parent even when one is over 50 and the parent is 100?  Is it possible to debate one's wife when dealing with one's mother?  Why is it so necessary for my mother-in-law to have a key to the house?  Why do I have such anxiety?

The debate within myself ceased for part of the evening.  A key to the door is no big deal, really.  It is, after all, just a key.  But, then, my husband asked for strawberries and sugar...