I believed meeting my fiancé’s parents would simply be another step toward the life we were building together. Richard and I had met at work, started dating within weeks, and became engaged only six months later. He seemed confident, considerate, responsible, and exactly like the kind of partner I wanted. The only part of his life I had never seen was his relationship with his parents, who lived in another state and whom he had repeatedly avoided introducing to me. When they finally insisted on meeting, Richard booked a table at an expensive downtown restaurant and promised they would love me. I spent days worrying about the dinner, trying on outfit after outfit before choosing a simple black dress. But when we arrived, his mother Isabella embraced him while barely acknowledging me, and his father Daniel greeted me with only a grunt. Things became uncomfortable almost immediately. Isabella offered to order for her thirty-year-old son because he supposedly became overwhelmed by too many choices, and Richard happily agreed. She selected lobster, prime rib, and a $200 bottle of wine, while I ordered a basic pasta dish because I had already lost my appetite. Then Daniel asked what my intentions were with their son and whether I knew how to iron his clothes properly, prepare dinner by exactly six, and remember the special pillow he needed to sleep. Richard sat silently while his parents described him as though he were a helpless child.
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