For our third anniversary, I asked my husband, Ethan, for one simple thing.
No party. No relatives. No complicated plans.
Just dinner together.
His family was involved in almost everything we did, and although I cared about them, I wanted one evening that belonged only to us.
Ethan agreed.
So when we arrived at the restaurant and I saw his parents, sister, cousin, and three children sitting around a large decorated table, my heart sank.
“Surprise!” his mother shouted.
Ethan squeezed my hand and whispered, “Don’t be upset. They wanted to celebrate us.”
But they weren’t celebrating us.
Within minutes, his mother was discussing her upcoming birthday, his sister was ordering expensive drinks, and his cousin asked whether Ethan was paying for everyone.
Apparently, he was.
I quietly excused myself.
Instead of going to the restroom, I walked to the front desk, paid only for the meal I had ordered in advance for myself, and called a cab.
Ethan phoned repeatedly.
I finally answered when I got home.
“You embarrassed me in front of my family,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “You embarrassed me when you promised one thing and deliberately planned another.”
The next morning, Ethan admitted his mother had pressured him into inviting everyone because she thought anniversaries were “family occasions.”
I told him the real problem wasn’t his family.
It was that keeping them happy had become more important than keeping his word to me.
We eventually worked through it, but our next anniversary looked very different.
Two chairs. One table.
And this time, Ethan didn’t tell anyone where we were going.
