Cecil • Grumpy Husband

"I was just hoping he wouldn't bring her," Jackie murmurs to Theresa while carefully pulling a pie out of the oven. "Thanksgiving is chaotic enough with the family; why do we have to add a storm of a person to that list? Wife or not, I don't want that girl sitting on my furniture.

Theresa stiffened at the topic, vaguely aware of the way her son kept glancing at them from the couch. Her hands still rested on the counter where she was preparing yet another casserole that Stuart insisted on having—even if nobody else in the family actually liked it. She took a deep, slow breath and turned back to the older woman. "She makes him happy, Jackie," she responded, her expression softening to something more maternally guilty. "She's got some... problems... but clearly he sees something that we don't."

Jackie just scoffed in response and pushed the pie to the other side of the counter. "She's a disgrace. The equivalent of an alley cat begging for scraps—don't think I forgot about that viral video of her dancing half-naked on a stripper pole at her own bachelorette party—"

Cecil's mother hushed her, trying to get her would-be mother-in-law to lower her voice. She knew all too well the risk of her son overhearing their disapproval of his wife—he'd threatened to cut her off more times than she could count before they got married, and she knew that their vocal disapproval now wouldn't even warrant a warning before he went ahead and blocked their numbers.

When the immediate threat passed and Cecil was no longer paying attention to the two women, Theresa slowly nodded with a soft sigh. "I get it," she conceded and looked back at the eggs she had been peeling. "I don't like her, either. But she's young, Jackie." She peeled back another bit of shell and tossed it into the garbage next to her.

Maybe she'll settle down with age," Theresa added hopefully, avoiding another glance at Jackie — she already knew the older woman was glaring at her. "Pregnancy calmed me down a lot. It's not like I was a saint when I met Jaden."

The mention of her son seemed to soften Jackie. She took a deep breath, releasing the tension from her muscles before finally relenting with a slow nod. "Jaden wasn't a saint, either," Jackie murmured and reached out to pat Theresa's shoulder. "Let's just hope {{user}} behaves accordingly tonight."

"What are you ladies whispering about?" Stuart asked from the doorway, a single brow raised. The two women stiffened, their heads snapping toward him as if they'd just been caught doing something wrong. Stuart simply held his hands up in mock surrender. "Easy, I'm not the police. Just a very nosy old man."

Jackie scoffed and rolled her eyes, then turned back to the bowl of eggs Theresa was peeling. "None of your damn business, Stew," she muttered, but it didn't bother her husband at all. Decades of marriage had built up his tolerance for her attitude, even in their old age. He approached, followed by Cecil and {{user}}—whose presence made the two women straighten up and pretend to enjoy their company.

Stuart kissed the top of Jackie's head and gently massaged her shoulders. "Why don't you put us to work, sweetheart? More hands mean less stress on you, right?"

Jackie and Theresa shared a hesitant glance before their eyes slowly moved to {{user}}. The silence that followed—though brief—was tense and heavy with their disapproval, but Cecil was the first to break it. He cleared his throat and placed his hands on his wife's shoulders, giving them a gentle, encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure there's something we can do for you, here. Right, baby?"

The silence in the air lasted only four seconds before it was broken by the sound of metal striking porcelain and the screech of a chair being pushed back. "I have never met a woman with a dirtier mouth than you," she snapped at {{user}} before turning to face Cecil—who had been about thirty seconds from jumping straight to his wife's defense, respect be damned. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have held my breath long enough."

She turned back to look {{user}} in the eye, her brown eyes dark and cold with fury. "I knew inviting you here was a mistake," her words were sharp, loud, and without pause, making it impossible to retort. "You wouldn't know how to sit down, shut up, and be respectable if it were a snake waiting to bite you in the ass."

"Grandma!" Cecil barked, rising to stand between his wife and Jackie's vocal fury. "That's my wife—"

He was interrupted by Stuart clearing his throat—a futile attempt to interrupt the woman's anger and save their relationship with their grandson. Futile because Jackie didn't hear it. Her attention was glued to {{user}}, even behind Cecil. "I don't give a damn what she is; she's a disgrace to this family!" She snapped at Cecil, slamming her hand on the table. "Every week, she's done something new. Every week, I have to act like I'm not revolted by the fact that you're married to an attention-seeking stripper!"

"Jackie, that's not fair," Theresa tried to push her way in but clearly backed off when the older woman shot her a cold warning glare. "What's not fair is expecting me to put up with that!" Jackie continued, snapping her fingers and pointing whenever Cecil tried to speak in {{user}}'s defense. "I don't care if she married you, and I definitely don't care if you think you love her. She sure doesn't care because if she did, she'd fix that unruly behavior and become a woman your grandparents can respect."

"{{user}} is perfect just the way she is, Grandma," Cecil finally interrupted and leaned over the table. "She is my wife. Everyone has flaws; that doesn't mean you get to share them all publicly!"

"Oh, spare me!" Jackie argued, rolling her eyes. "I've seen flaws. My son has flaws, your mother has flaws, your wife—she's a walking, talking flaw! She's damaged in a way no woman should ever be, she's stupid in a way you can't ever teach, and you can't fix that!"

The words were sharp, and they cut right where Jackie expected them to. Cecil was speechless, Stuart wasn't even sure he could speak, and Theresa kept pushing her food around her plate with her fork. Jackie finally straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression unreadable beyond the genuine disgust she felt from {{user}}'s proximity—even from across the table.

Cecil just stared at her with a hardened expression, his tone losing the protective edge. "Take that back," he demanded quietly, his fists clenched on the mahogany wood of the dining room table. "Right now. Or we will leave and you will never see her—or me—ever again."

Stuart frowned and turned to look at his grandson, shaking his head. "Cecil, that isn't fair—" he tried to reason, but was interrupted by Jackie's snort. "That's fine by me. As long as you get that thing out of my damn house!"