When my husband’s family decided I would be their personal Easter maid, they had no idea I had already concealed something special among the chocolate bunnies. What transpired next continues to make me laugh still.
My name is Emma, I’m 35, and I work as a marketing director for a mid-sized corporation. I’ve been married to Carter for three great years. Carter is everything I could hope for. He’s supportive, caring, hilarious, and knows how to properly load a dishwasher.
Our relationship has been almost ideal, with the exception of one major flaw. His family.
“Emma, honey, could you grab me another mimosa while you’re up?” My mother-in-law Patricia’s voice echoed across our backyard patio last month, even though I had only made two steps toward the kitchen.
She hadn’t moved from her cushioned lounge chair in over an hour.
“Of course, Patricia,” I said with the practiced smile I’d developed over three years of marriage.
They made it apparent from the beginning that I wasn’t the right fit for Carter.
They’re the sort of people who believe they’re always right, and who’ve never truly accepted me. They’re the kind who offer compliments wrapped in barbed wire.
“Oh, Emma, you’re so brave to wear something that tight,” Sophia, the eldest at 41, commented at our last family gathering, eyeing my perfectly normal dress.
Melissa, 39, never misses a chance to comment on my eating habits. “Good for you, not caring about calories,” she’d say while watching me take a single bite of dessert.
And then there’s Hailey, 34, who, although being younger than me, always comes across like a disapproving aunt. “Our family has strong customs. I hope you can keep up.
But what about this Easter? Oh, they truly outdid themselves.
“Since you and Carter don’t have kids yet,” Melissa stated three weeks before Easter, as her three children climbed all over my freshly cleaned furniture, “it would make sense for you to organize the Easter egg hunt.”
Don’t just hide a few plastic eggs. No.
I was meant to organize an entire event, with scavenger hunt clues, costumes, and even hiring a bunny mascot with my own money.
“It would really show you care about our family,” Sophia added, sipping her latte and adjusting her oversized sunglasses while lounging on my backyard patio.
Carter clasped my hand beneath the table. “That sounds like a lot of work,” he began, but his sisters interrupted him.
“It’s just what we do in this family,” Hailey said, despite the fact that I’d never seen her organize anything before.
Fine. I swallowed my protestations. For now.
Little did they know, I had already begun devising a strategy to make this Easter one they would never forget.
Two days before Easter, my phone received a text message. Patricia had started a family group chat. Without Carter, of course.
“Since you’re already assisting, honey, it would be fantastic if you just cooked Easter dinner! Carter deserves a woman that can host well. 😘”
I gazed at my phone, my pulse pressure rising with each notification as Sophia, Melissa, and Hailey offered their “suggestions.”
What she truly meant was “cook for 25 people.” A complete buffet included ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, deviled eggs, bread, two pies, and “a lighter option for those of us watching our figure.”
None of them offered to bring even a pie.
“They want you to do what?” Carter questioned when I showed him the messages. His cheeks reddened with rage. “That is ludicrous. I will talk to them.”
“No,” I replied, resting my hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But Emma, that’s too much work. Let me at least order catering.”
I grinned and kissed his cheeks. “I’ve got this, trust me.”
“Emma, this ham is a little dry,” Patricia said within seconds of taking her first taste.
“The potatoes need more butter,” Melissa said.
“In our family, we usually serve the gravy in a proper boat, not a measuring cup,” Sophia observed, despite the fact that I had used my grandmother’s antique gravy boat.
Carter attempted to defend me, but I caught his eye and shook my head slightly. Not yet.
They ate. They wrecked the kitchen. They let their children run around, spilling chocolate everywhere.
Melissa’s youngest kid knocked over a vase, and no one bothered to clean up the mess. I only heard, “Kids will be kids!”
And then, after gorging themselves, they settled onto the couches with their wine glasses, not moving a muscle.
“Emma,” Sophia looked over her shoulder and said, “the kitchen isn’t going to clean itself.”
“Oh, honey,” Patricia added. “Now you can clean everything up. Time to show you’re real wife material.”
They smirked, settling onto the couch like pampered queens while their husbands disappeared to watch basketball in the den.
Carter stood up. “I’ll help you, Emma.”
“No, sweetie,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You worked so hard all week. Go relax with the guys.”
The sisters exchanged satisfied glances. They thought they’d won.
I smiled. Oh, I smiled pleasantly. I clasped my hands together.
“Absolutely!” I chirped. “I’ll handle everything!”
Their smug expressions softened as they returned to their chat about Sophia’s planned cruise. Hailey put her feet up on my coffee table, making little stains on the wood.
“Kids!” I yelled out joyfully. “Who’s ready for the special Easter Egg Hunt now?”
Excited children ran from various parts of the house.
“But I thought we already did the egg hunt this morning,” Patricia said.
“Oh,” I said with a wink at the kids. “That was simply a typical hunt. Now it is time for the Golden Egg Challenge.”
The children squealed with delight.
“What’s the Golden Egg Challenge?” Melissa’s ten-year-old son inquired, virtually jumping with enthusiasm.
“Well,” I replied, removing a dazzling golden plastic egg from my pocket, “while I was setting up the regular Easter Egg Hunt this morning, I hid something extra special.”
The youngsters came around me, their eyes wide with amazement at the sparkling egg in my hand.
“Inside this golden egg is a note about a VERY SPECIAL PRIZE,” I explained, suddenly lowering my voice. “Much better than candy.”
“Better than candy?” Sophia’s eight-year-old daughter gasped as if I’d claimed the moon was made of cheese.
“Absolutely. It’s an ALL-EXPENSES-PAID prize!” I announced.
The children were nearly salivating now. Patricia and her girls were watching from the couch with moderate interest, most likely thinking I was talking about a toy or a small gift card.
“The golden egg is hidden somewhere in the backyard,” I said. “Whoever finds it will win the grand prize!” Ready?”
The children dashed for the back door, practically trampling each other to be the first out.
“That’s sweet of you, Emma,” Patricia called from the couch. “Keep them busy while we digest.”
Carter caught my eye from across the room and raised an eyebrow. I just winked.
Fifteen minutes of frantic searching later, we heard a triumphant scream from the far corner of the garden.
“I FOUND IT! I FOUND THE GOLDEN EGG!”
It was Sophia’s daughter Lily, sprinting across the lawn, waving the golden egg over her head like an Olympic torch.
Perfect. I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried.
“Congratulations, Lily!” I applauded as everyone crowded around. “Would you like to open it and read your prize?”
The eight-year-old quickly cracked open the plastic egg, revealing a small rolled piece of paper. Her brow furrowed as she attempted to read it.
“Would you like me to read it for everyone?” I offered pleasantly.
She nodded and gave me the document.
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat dramatically. “The winner of the Golden Egg earns the GRAND PRIZE: you and your family will handle the entire Easter clean-up! Congratulations!”
For three wonderful seconds, there was complete silence in our garden.
Then followed the uproar.
“What?” Sophia spluttered and nearly choked on her wine.
“That’s not a prize!” Melissa complained.
Lily looked perplexed. “I have to clean?”
“Not just you,” I clarified cheerfully. “Your whole family gets to help! Isn’t that exciting? All the dishes, the kitchen, picking up candy wrappers… everything!”
“Emma,” Patricia started, her voice stern. “This is just a joke, right?”
“Oh no, it’s the official Golden Egg prize,” I insisted. “The kids have been so excited about it.”
And that is when the most amazing event occurred. All the children started chanting, “CLEAN UP! CLEAN UP!”
Carter couldn’t stop giggling.
“This isn’t funny,” Hailey hissed.
“Actually,” Carter said, stepping beside me and wrapping an arm around my waist, “it’s hilarious.”
“We can’t expect the kids to clean,” Sophia protested, her face flushing red.
“I’m just following the rules,” I said sweetly. “Family traditions are important, right? You taught me that!”
Patricia stood up, clearly trying to regain control of the situation. “Emma, dear, this is inappropriate.”
“Is it?” I asked innocently. “What’s more wrong than expecting one person to cook for and clean up after 25 people without assistance? What’s more wrong than making disparaging remarks about my cooking while you enjoy the food I prepared?”
The children continued to chant, becoming louder by the second. Several of them had already begun gathering rubbish in the yard, taking the challenge seriously.
“Mom,” Lily tugged at Sophia’s designer blouse. “We won! We have to clean up!”
Faced with their own children’s enthusiasm and the growing awkwardness of the situation, they had no choice.
“Fine,” Sophia finally muttered.
I handed her a pair of rubber gloves with a smile. “The dish soap is under the sink.”
For the next hour, I sat on the terrace with my feet up, sipping a wonderfully cold mimosa, and watched Carter’s mother and sisters clean dishes, wipe counters, and sweep floors.
Carter joined me and clinked his glass against mine. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”
“I learned from the best,” I answered. “Your family always says how important it is to follow traditions.”
Patricia drew my attention as she struggled to clean dried gravy from my roasting pan. For a brief moment, her countenance revealed something new. Something that seemed suspiciously like respect.
Next Easter? I have a feeling they will bring potluck dishes and cleaning supplies.
