Chapter 2

As soon as the salesperson left, Georgette's parents, Matthew and Celeste, gave a snide little smile.

"You'd throw away every scrap of dignity for a little discount?"

"If I'd known you were this kind of person, I'd never have agreed to let my daughter marry you."

"That slap was well deserved. It knocks the cheapness out of him. I couldn't stand it if he stayed this penny-pinching."

"Morton, you've been with her since you were small. You haven't picked up that cheap, shabby streak of hers too, have you?"

I was too angry to keep up appearances any longer, and I was about to speak—but Morton didn't give me the chance.

He let go of Georgette's hand and angrily pulled me aside.

"You may be getting old, but you're not a caveman. You're online every day; don't tell me you don't know how important the passenger seat is. So many families fight, even divorce, over the passenger seat!"

I'd heard that a man forgets his mother once he has a wife.

But I never imagined Morton would take her side this completely.

"You were the one who told me to nitpick the car. You said it would get us a lower price and a lot of free extras."

Morton frowned.

"I told you to play along with the act. I didn't tell you to come here and maliciously provoke Georgette."

"You could've talked about the color, the style, even the tires, but no, you had to say the passenger seat was too cramped."

"You're not the one sitting in it, so what gives you the right to say whether it's cramped? If that's not deliberate, what is it?"

"And how could you come right out and say it was to haggle over the price? What are my parents supposed to think of me? You know perfectly well this is marital property, and I was planning to put Georgette's name on it. Saying that only makes them doubt whether I'm sincere."

"Don't you think before you speak? Is this the time to be stingy and save money?"

At that, Morton, beside himself, shoved me.

"Go apologize to Georgette. Now."

"If she won't forgive you, I won't forgive you either."

The shove made me stumble a couple of steps, and I only kept from falling by grabbing the table beside me.

Morton's words hurt more than Georgette's slap, and chilled me deeper than the ice in that iced americano.

I'd meant well, dipping into my savings to lift them up, buying them a car, and over one thing I said they blew it up into some grave offense against me. People like this are not my son and daughter-in-law. They're ingrates and bloodsuckers.

But I also knew.

There was no way for me, alone, to reason with four fake human beings.

The more I said, the more slaps I'd get.

So I let out a few cold laughs. I didn't apologize, I didn't argue. I just picked up my bag, ready to leave.

Seeing me like that, Matthew and Celeste knew I meant to walk out.

They weren't afraid I'd turn on them—but all their relatives and friends already knew about buying the car today, and they'd even arranged to take everyone out to dinner in the new car, so they couldn't lose this much face.

At that thought, Matthew and Celeste immediately blocked my way.

"All right, all right, we're willing to forgive you. After all, nobody's a saint—who never makes a mistake?"

"Don't get so worked up and embarrassed that you storm off. We've already talked Georgette around. She's a good girl, willing to forgive an honest slip."

"But even though she's willing to forgive you, you still have to show some effort, to prove you know you were wrong."

I gave a cold snort.

"What exactly did I do wrong?"

Matthew and Celeste had no patience left to argue with me, so they quickly shot Morton a look.

Morton caught on and grabbed my arm at once.

"All right, that's enough. Stop making a scene."

"If Georgette hears you don't even know what you did wrong, she'll just get angry all over again."

"Here's what we'll do. We won't take this car. You put in a little more and buy the top-of-the-line version. That way you don't have to apologize out loud, Georgette will still know you're sorry, and the whole thing is behind us for good."

I couldn't hold back any longer.

I whipped around and slapped Morton across the face, then walked out of the office and asked, loud and clear, the other customers browsing cars in the dealership.

"You're all young people, so I want to ask you something. Is the passenger seat really the other half of a man's bed? If his own mother doesn't get to sit in it, does even asking one question earn her a slap?"