Chapter 1

When I was buying my son his wedding car, I casually mentioned, to bargain a little, that the passenger seat felt a bit cramped, and that I wanted to check out a few more dealerships to compare.

But my daughter-in-law suddenly snapped, threw her iced americano all over me, and then slapped me twice, backhanded.

"So you're one of those 'green tea' mothers-in-law from the internet, fighting me for my passenger seat—that's why you care so much!"

"That passenger seat is for my ninety-pound self, and it's not for a fat widow like you to nitpick over."

I was shivering from the cold, my ears ringing from the slaps.

Instinctively I looked to my son, hoping he'd say something.

But my son ignored the fact that I'd just been hit and only blew tenderly on his wife's hand.

Then he looked at me, annoyed.

"I know you don't have a man, so you've been pinning your feelings on me, but I'm your son, not your husband."

"The passenger seat is the other half of a man's bed. Even if you're his own mother, you don't get to sit there."

I gave a cold laugh and said, "Good, good, good."

"I won't sit in your passenger seat—and don't you two dare reach into my wallet either!"

One:

To squeeze out a better deal on the car.

My son, Morton Cobb, and I had agreed to put on a show for the salesperson. I would pretend to be picky about the car, and he would act like I'd talked him around and then pretend to leave.

So I walked a circle around the car and picked out a small, fixable flaw in this otherwise very satisfactory vehicle.

"The passenger seat in this car is a bit cramped. I heard there's a brand whose passenger seat—"

I didn't get to finish.

My daughter-in-law, Georgette Sawyer, dumped the iced americano she'd taken a few sips of straight over my head. The cold made me flinch, and before I could get a word out, Georgette slapped me twice, once on each cheek.

"You may be Morton's mother, but from now on you're an outsider to our little family."

"I brought you along to look at cars because you're the one paying. You're an ATM that spits out gold coins—so what makes you think you get to be picky?"

"Everyone knows the passenger seat is the wife's own seat. Saying something like that, you're just trying to compete with me, going toe to toe with me!"

"You shameless, filthy widow!"

My head was buzzing; I couldn't tell if it was from the anger or from being hit.

Morton was startled by the slaps too.

But while everyone calls him the perfect devoted husband, he's no devoted son.

So he immediately blew tenderly on Georgette's hand, all concern.

"Don't be upset, baby. Only you get to sit in the passenger seat. No one else can."

I wanted to blow up.

But I knew young people these days think differently than we do, especially now that everyone online is stirring up mother-in-law and daughter-in-law conflicts. So as angry as I was, I still couldn't help but explain.

"I only wanted to help you two get a better deal. I have my own car. I never planned to sit in Morton's passenger seat."

It was the first time the salesperson had run into anything like this.

She stood there stunned for a while, and once she came to her senses she hurried over to smooth things over, saying she'd go find her manager to apply for the biggest discount she could get me, and then she fled the office as if she were running for her life.