The words stung, even though I’d expected them. There’s something about hearing your worst fears confirmed that takes your breath away, no matter how prepared you think you are.
“Exactly.
That’s why I’m here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I want to make a deal.”
She tilted her head, skeptical. “A deal?”
I leaned in a little and smiled.
“Yes. A deal between you and me.”
“Here’s the deal. You give me a real chance.
You stop trying to change Ryan’s mind, and instead, you let me prove to you who I really am. Not the version you’ve built up in your head.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed, but I could see I had her attention.
“You spend some actual time with me. Dinners, holidays, whatever.
No backhanded comments, no little digs. Just… try. And if, after that, you honestly still believe I’m not good enough for him?
Fine. I’ll respect that. I won’t cause drama.
But until then, you have to stop sabotaging us behind the scenes. Deal?”
Linda stared at me, and I could practically see the gears turning. This was not the conversation she expected when she opened the door.
Finally, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“And what exactly do I get out of this?”
I grinned. “You get peace of mind. You get to know, once and for all, if I’m really the problem you think I am.
And hey, if I’m as awful as you’ve decided, you get to say ‘I told you so’ later. But if I’m not… maybe you finally get to stop worrying that your son’s throwing his life away.”
She actually laughed at that. A short, surprised little laugh, like she hadn’t expected me to have a backbone.
“You’re more direct than I gave you credit for,” she said, studying me with new interest.
“I’ve found it saves time.”
“Alright,” she said slowly.
“Fine. Deal. But just so you know, I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I said.
“But you might be surprised.”
And you know what? She was.
It wasn’t overnight, but once she stopped looking for reasons to hate me, things actually got… easier. The first time I came over for our “deal dinner,” I arrived early and found her struggling with a recipe.
“Need a hand?” I asked, hovering in the doorway.
She looked up, flustered.
“This sauce keeps breaking. I don’t understand why.”
I rolled up my sleeves and moved beside her. “Let me see.
My mom taught me a trick for this.”
We worked in silence for a few minutes, but it was a different kind of silence than before. Linda was focused rather than hostile.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked eventually.
“My mom. She worked two jobs, so when I was old enough, I started helping with dinner.”
Something in Linda’s expression shifted.
“My mother worked two jobs too. I never learned to cook until after I was married.”
It was the first personal thing she ever shared with me.
She started asking me questions, real ones… about my family, my students, and my plans. And I asked her about her life before Ryan, about how she met her husband, and about what her dreams had been.
“I wanted to be an interior designer,” she admitted one evening as we washed dishes.
“But then I got pregnant with Ryan, and plans changed.”
“It’s not too late,” I said. “You have an incredible eye for design. Your home is stunning.”
She paused, soapy water dripping from her hands.
“You really think so?”
“I do. I mean it.”
By the end of that third dinner, she was praising my mashed potatoes like they were the best thing she’d eaten all year.
“What did you put in these?” she demanded, taking another helping.
“Family secret,” I teased. “But I could teach you sometime.”
She looked at me, really looked at me, for what felt like the first time.
“I’d like that.”
The turning point came about two months into our deal. I got a call from Ryan in the middle of the school day.
“It’s Mom,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “Dad’s in the hospital.
Heart attack. Can you —”
“I’m on my way,” I said, already grabbing my purse.
I found Linda in the hospital waiting room, alone and small in an uncomfortable plastic chair. When she saw me, her face crumpled.
“Ryan’s on his way,” I said, sitting beside her and taking her hand.
“What happened?”
“He just collapsed,” she whispered. “One minute we were arguing about the yard work, and the next…” Her voice broke.
I stayed with her for hours, fetched coffee, talked to nurses, and made sure Linda ate something. When Ryan finally arrived, he found us huddled together, my arm around his mother’s shoulders as she dozed against me, exhausted from worry.
The look on his face was worth every moment of tension we’d ever experienced.
“Thank you,” he whispered over his mother’s head.
I just nodded.
It wasn’t about scoring points. It was about being there when someone needed you.
Later, when the doctors confirmed his father would recover, Linda hugged me… really hugged me for the first time.
“You didn’t have to stay,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” I replied simply. “That’s what family does.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then said something that changed everything: “I was wrong about you.”
Now, she texts me more than she texts Ryan.
Sometimes I think she forgets which of us she was supposed to dislike.
Last week, she called me in a panic about what to wear to her college reunion.
“Nothing looks right,” she complained. “Everything makes me look old.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I promised. “We’ll figure it out.”
Ryan watched me grab my keys, amused.
“Should I be jealous that my fiancée spends more time with my mother than with me?”
I kissed him quickly. “Absolutely. We’re planning to run away together as soon as she gets her passport renewed.”
He laughed.
“Seriously though, what happened? Six months ago she was plotting ways to break us up.”
I shrugged. “We made a deal.
And then we both held up our ends.”
“Whatever you did,” he said, pulling me close, “thank you. I’ve never seen her this happy.”
And as for the wedding? Linda sat front row, cried through the whole thing, and gave a toast that ended with, “I couldn’t have picked a better woman for my son if I tried.”
I caught her eye across the reception hall later.
She was dancing with her husband, now fully recovered and twirling her around like they were 20 again. She winked at me, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
Guess my little deal worked out better than either of us expected.
Ryan found me watching them and slipped his arm around my waist. “What are you thinking, darling?”
“Just thinking that people are like books,” I said, leaning into him.
“You can’t judge them by their cover, or even by the first few chapters. Sometimes you have to read the whole story to understand what they’re really about.”
“And my mom’s story?” he asked.
“Is still being written,” I smiled. “But I think it’s going to have a happy ending.”
And honestly?
I never wanted to “win Linda over.” I just wanted her to see the real me… the Jenna whom Ryan loves. Turns out, that was more than enough.
Source: amomama
