The In-Law Effect

One

Trish Waffler jerked the fitted sheet over the corner of the bed, taking out her frustration and growing anxiety on the furniture. Stuffing the corner of the flat sheet underneath it, she smoothed it out and turned to reach for the bedspread when she spied her husband standing in the doorway. He casually watched her as he stuffed potato chips into his mouth from the bag he held in his other hand.

Without saying anything, she marched over to where he stood, extracted a chip, and shoved it into her mouth, munching on it while she placed the bedspread on the bed. That done, she grabbed the two pillows.

When is her plane due to arrive? he inquired.

Five-fifteen.

If it’s on time.

It’s on time. I checked online half an hour ago, she told him. Placing the pillows on the bed, she folded the bedspread over them. One final smoothing pat, and she stepped back to examine her work. Satisfied the bed would pass inspection, she scanned the bedroom one more time.

Don’t know why you go to all the trouble, Chuck Waffler drawled. Doesn’t matter what you do, it isn’t gonna be to her satisfaction.

Yeah, I know, Trish admitted. At least I’ll know I went to the trouble. Thank God this arrangement is just temporary. She gave him a pleading look. Are you sure you’re okay with all this?

He shrugged. As long as she follows the rules of this house, I don’t have a problem with her staying with us for the short time she needs to get her affairs in order and find herself a permanent place to live.

"If she’ll follow the rules of the house," Trish emphasized.

Chuck nodded as another potato chip disappeared inside his mouth. That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Will she or won’t she? He exited the doorway and headed into the living room.

Trish followed him, and went into the adjacent kitchen to heat a cup of water in the microwave. How long do you think it’ll take for her to sell her house?

I called Byron, and he said the housing market is good right now. But since her place was built back in the fifties, it probably needs a lot of repair work and maybe some additional upkeep we’re not aware of, sooo…

Who’s Byron?

Byron Durstin. I bowl with him on Thursday nights. He works over at Maximum Realty. I told him about your mother coming to live temporarily with us, and he checked out her listing for me, Chuck explained.

So, what you’re trying to tell me is that chances aren’t good it’ll sell quickly. The microwave beeped, and she pulled the mug from the oven. Taking it over to the French press, she poured it into the glass container.

He says she’s got it listed for a reasonable price, but because of the home’s age and location, he doubts it’ll fly off the market. He estimates two to three months.

Trish gave him a helpless look. "Two or three months?"

Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll sell it sooner than that.

What if she doesn’t?

He frowned at her. How much money did you say she had in savings?

Not much. A couple of thousand.

Chuck frowned. That won’t even cover a security deposit and first month’s rent in a halfway decent apartment.

Going over to the sofa, she sat down, her hands clasped together in her lap. Chuck, what are we going to do if her house doesn’t sell?

Her husband sighed loudly. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that it does.

But, Chuck—

I said we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it! he suddenly snapped. Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and cranked up the volume. Discussion over.

Trish went back to the kitchen to fix her coffee, taking the mug to their bedroom where she