After Three Years as a Live-In Son-in-Law, My Wife and Mother-in-Law Only Speak in Dialect

It was dinnertime again. My motherinlaw was very capable and had made three dishes and a soup. They were all mild local dishes. I liked spicy food.

But there was not a single dish on the table that made me want to eat rice. So I carefully took a jar of chili sauce out of the drawer. My motherinlaw glanced at me.

Then she turned her head and muttered to my wife in dialect.

My wife’s expression suddenly changed. “Put the chili sauce away, the smell is too strong.” After saying that, she put a piece of boiled meat into my bowl. “Eat this, it’s healthy and nutritious.” I screwed the lid back onto the chili sauce and threw it into the trash.

I understood that we had different tastes. When you lived with family, you had to compromise and be tolerant. I tried to convince myself to fit in with them.

But the boiled meat in my bowl tasted like wax. Eating it made me want to throw up. My wife and motherinlaw started speaking dialect again. My head buzzed.

It had been three years, and I had learned how to get through mealtimes. I counted the grains of rice in my bowl. I looked at the view outside the window.

I studied the color of the floor tiles. At last, I endured dinner. Since I had not eaten enough, I secretly went downstairs and ate a bowl of spicy sour noodles.

While scrolling on my phone, TikTok pushed me a food video. It was the four dishes and one soup my motherinlaw had made.

But the caption was a complaint: My livein soninlaw doesn’t like eating these, young people are so picky. It felt like a thorn had pierced my heart.

The comment section was full of heated scolding. “What kind of soninlaw complains when his motherinlaw cooks for him!” “He’s an outoftowner, so if he can’t get used to local food, let him cook for himself!” ...

My motherinlaw replied to them in dialect, and I could understand every word on its own. But when they were put together, I could not understand what they meant.

After finishing my spicy sour noodles, the first thing I did when I got home was brush my teeth. My wife did not like the smell of spicy sour noodles and said it stank.

I had to clean my mouth thoroughly. When I passed the kitchen, I wanted to prepare breakfast for myself for tomorrow.

But the flour I had bought had all been thrown away by my motherinlaw.

Before throwing it away, she did not explain a single word to me and instead said a long string of dialect to my wife.

My wife translated, “Locals like eating rice and aren’t used to pasta or bread.” I once lost my temper at them and said, “Can you speak standard English?” My motherinlaw gave a stiff smile. “Sorry, my daughter and I have spoken this dialect for decades.” I began to reflect on myself and wondered if I was the one being unreasonable.

To fit into this family, I learned to cook in the first year after I married in. I made local dishes.

But when the food was served, my motherinlaw and wife did not seem very excited. They commented on my cooking in a flood of dialect.

I grew anxious and said, “If it tastes good or not, at least tell me!” My wife translated, “My mom is praising you for being hardworking and thoughtful, and she says you did well.” But my motherinlaw only took one bite before spitting it into a napkin.

Then she threw the napkin into the trash. After that, she never touched her fork again. I could not understand their dialect, but I could understand the meaning.

My cooking tasted bad. From then on, I never entered the kitchen again. Before bed, I took a few antidepressants.

My wife saw the bottle and asked with concern, “What medicine are you taking?” I lied, “Vitamins.” I could not let her know about my illness. My wife believed me.

As part of her routine, she pulled me into bed and prepared for our onceamonth sex life. But when she leaned close to me, she clearly smelled the spicy sour noodles.

I had not scrubbed myself clean enough.

She pushed me away and said, “You went out to eat junk food again?” “You don’t appreciate the nutritious meals Mom makes, and that hurts her so much.” My ears buzzed, and their dialect filled my mind.

The auditory hallucinations came back again.

I covered my ears and tried to block out those voices. But the louder they spoke, the louder they became. They pointed at me and laughed with malicious faces.

I could not understand a single word. But they were clearly insulting me by pretending to talk about something else. “Who are you cursing? If you’ve got guts, say it to my face!

Speak standard English!” I could not take it anymore and slapped my wife across the face. My wife froze.

She roared at me, “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?” “I only said a couple of things about you, and you had to hit me?” The hallucinations disappeared.

I stared at my own hands in disbelief. There was a clear slap mark on my wife’s face. “Clara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” I hurriedly apologized and said, “Does it hurt?

I’ll get some ice for you.” My wife shoved me away, her face dark. “Stop pretending, will you?

You think you can slap me and then offer me a treat?” “I’m not falling for that.” “You can sleep in the guest room this week.” Filled with guilt, I awkwardly walked out of the master bedroom and hid in the guest room.

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. When exactly had my relationship with my wife become like this?

Everything started after we got married and I moved into her family’s home. One extra person had come between us, and one extra language had appeared between us.

The next day was the weekend, and I got up early.

I went downstairs to buy three portions of local breakfast and waited for my motherinlaw and wife to wake up so we could eat together.

But my motherinlaw only glanced at it before turning and going into the kitchen.

I reminded her, “Mom, I bought breakfast...” My motherinlaw did not look at me and said, “I’m not used to eating food from outside.” After finally waiting for my wife to wake up, I handed her the steaming chicken sticky rice wrap.

My wife looked at it with disgust, then turned her gaze away. “My mom makes breakfast, so why waste money on this?” I explained, “I was worried she’d be tired, so I...” Before I could finish, my wife went into the kitchen to help my motherinlaw.

The two of them talked and laughed, still using dialect. Then they brought breakfast out, and there were only two portions. They had not prepared anything for me.

Ironically, what my motherinlaw made that day was chicken sticky rice wraps. They were exactly the same as the ones I had bought. I was so angry that my whole body trembled.

The problem was not the breakfast, but the people. They did not notice me at all and ate with relish while chatting happily.

They were still speaking the dialect I could not join in on. It was not until I threw the extra breakfast into the trash can that something happened.

My movements were a little too loud.

My wife finally looked up at me. “Next time, just buy your own so you don’t waste food.” Seeing the slap mark that had not faded from my wife’s face, I felt a little guilty.

To make it up to her, I swallowed the unhappiness from breakfast and planned to spend the day with her properly. My wife loved watching sports channels.

I sat beside her and watched soccer with her all morning. The host’s lines were very funny, and my wife and I laughed together.

My motherinlaw came over and said something in dialect by my wife’s ear. My wife immediately stopped laughing and looked at me with dissatisfaction.

The two of them started muttering again, as if they were discussing something. I suddenly realized that whatever they were discussing had something to do with me.

I could not help asking, “What’s wrong?” My wife shook her head and said, “Nothing.” “We’re going to the mall, do you want to come?” I nodded and said, “I’ll come.” My wife and motherinlaw both froze.

It seemed what she had said just now was only out of politeness, and they had not planned to really invite me. I gave an awkward smile and said, “Is it inconvenient?

Then I won’t go.” My wife patted my head and said, “We’re family, what could be inconvenient?” “Let’s go together.”

I linked my arm with my wife’s. But she instinctively pulled away.

Then she explained beside my ear, “With an elder here, I’m not used to it.” But when my motherinlaw linked arms with her, my wife naturally offered her arm.

My heart sank lower and lower. Along the way, the two of them spoke dialect back and forth and had a great time. I was like a servant tagging along, bored out of my mind.

Fortunately, the mall had new clothing styles, and they caught my attention. We got separated in the clothing section.

Only after I had tried on more than a dozen new outfits did my wife appear in front of me with my motherinlaw. They had already picked out clothes and paid.

They were carrying big and small bags, waiting for me to go home.

I picked out three pairs of pants and asked my wife for her opinion. “These pants are all ones I like, what do you think?” My wife nodded perfunctorily and said, “They’re okay, buy them if you want.” But my motherinlaw glanced at the pants a few times and started muttering in dialect again.

My wife immediately changed her mind.

She advised me, “Ethan, these pants aren’t practical, choose something else.” I stared at the two of them and gave a mocking smile. “It’s Mom who doesn’t like them, right?” “I only asked for your opinions, but the final decision is still mine.” As I spoke, I took out my bank card and told the clerk, “Pack up these pants, I’m buying them.” My motherinlaw muttered something to my wife again.

Her tone grew more and more agitated, and she even started crying.

My wife hurried to comfort her, then turned and shouted at me angrily: “Do you have to go against my mom?” “She has never said one bad word about you, you’re the one being paranoid.” “I already said the pants aren’t practical, but you insisted on buying them just to upset her!” “This was my idea, and it has nothing to do with my mom!” I carried the clothes and turned to leave. “Fine, you two can take your time shopping, I’m done.” My head hurt badly, and my chest felt clogged, so I had to hurry home and take my medicine.

After getting home and swallowing two lifesaving pills, my emotions finally calmed down. I was too tired, so I slept for a while.

When I woke up, I heard lively dialect coming from the living room. Someone was singing the birthday song. I put on my pajamas and came out to see what was going on.

I saw my motherinlaw sitting in the main seat, blowing out candles on a cake. More than a dozen family members were dressed neatly and gathered around my motherinlaw.

Even my wife’s younger brother, who worked out of town, had rushed back with his family. Only I knew absolutely nothing and appeared in the living room wearing only pajamas.

Everyone’s laughter stopped abruptly. I apologized instinctively, “Sorry, I interrupted.” After saying it, I felt it was absurd.

My wife coughed once and broke the dead silence. “Ethan, Mom thought you were tired, so she didn’t wake you.” “Since you’re awake, come eat some cake.” I nodded and sat beside my wife.

Everyone let out a breath of relief. Then the lively chatter and laughter resumed. My motherinlaw did not spare even the corner of her eye for me.

She only focused on laughing and chatting with my wife, her son, and her other daughter. The chattering dialect made my head ache.

Lucas saw how lonely I looked and walked over to me.

He looked at me with a bit of pity and said, “Ethan, don’t take it to heart, they’re just saying things casually and don’t mean anything by it.” I froze and asked, “What are they saying?” Lucas lightly patted his mouth, as if blaming himself for talking too much.

Then he comforted me and said, “Nothing, just some things you wouldn’t want to hear.” “It’s better that you don’t understand.” I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles, wondering what those things I would not want to hear could be.

I quietly threw away the cake in my hand and found an excuse to leave. Then I went into the convenience store downstairs and started picking out snacks.

Just as I was about to go to the counter to pay, my motherinlaw’s and Mia’s voices suddenly came from behind me. “Mom, wasn’t it a little too much not to tell Ethan about your birthday?” My motherinlaw scolded her softly and said, “Why are you helping an outsider?” “Look at that gloomy face he drags around all day, I feel uncomfortable as soon as I see him.” “I’ve been messing with him for three years, and he still refuses to leave.” This time, they were speaking standard English.

I understood every word.