Chapter 3 - The Vocabulary of Entitlement
Our wedding was elegant, understated, and exactly what I wanted. My father, Robert, a retired corporate finance executive, gave a touching toast about how happy he was that I found a true partner.
After the honeymoon, Eric officially moved his remaining boxes into my Tribeca condo. For the first few weeks, it felt like playing house. Then, the vocabulary began to shift.
It started with his mother, Gloria. She would call on speakerphone while I was cooking dinner.
“How is Eric’s apartment treating you two?” she asked cheerfully one evening.
I paused, holding a wooden spoon. “You mean our apartment, Gloria?”
“Oh, you know what I mean, sweetie,” she dismissed with a harsh laugh.
Eric didn’t correct her. In fact, he started adopting the same language. My apartment became our place, and then, subtly, it became his domain.
One evening, I asked him to move his golf clubs out of the guest room closet so I could store my winter coats.
“I’ll get to it eventually,” he said, not looking up from the television.
“Eric, I need the space now. The dry cleaner dropped the coats off today.”
He sighed heavily. “Claire, I live here too. I should be allowed to put my things where I want in my own home.”
“It is your home,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “But I bought this place three years before I met you. We agreed the guest room is for my office overflow.”
His jaw tightened. “You always do this. You always have to remind me who holds the deed. It’s emasculating.”
“Asking you to move your golf clubs is emasculating?”
“No. Treating me like a tenant who is lucky to be here is.”
May you like
I backed down. That was my first major mistake in the marriage. I started walking on eggshells around my own property, desperate not to make my husband feel insecure about the wealth disparity. But Eric wasn’t insecure at all. He was systematically establishing dominance over assets he had never earned.
|
