On Our Family Vacation, They Relaxed—While I Got Stuck with a Chore List

 

 

Initially, I grinned. Foolish. Perhaps it’s the Wi-Fi password, I reasoned. is a list of local eateries.

However, no. It was a list of chores.

Color-coded. divided into day and responsibility categories. Whose name appeared more frequently than anyone else’s?

mine.

The mother of Matt had wrote “Tess: meal prep, dinner planning, clean up, grocery coordination (there’s a local supermarket), laundry and ironing.”

What about her own name?

Listed once. To “help with sunscreen application (for grandkids only).”

 

Her daughters? On one occasion, Lisa showed up to “organize massages and hair treatments at the spa.”

Audrey said “call cleaning services for a deep bathroom cleaning.”

Diane said, quite nicely, “You’re so organized,” as though it were a complement. “And we know how much you love cooking.”

“So I’m… doing dinner every night?” I blinked slowly.

She laughed, “Oh no, not every night!” while laughing. “On Tuesday, we’re going out to dinner, and I know Matt will enjoy the beautiful seafood restaurant. You’re off that night.

I looked at my husband, anticipating a response, such as a laugh or a “Mom, really? I’m here to unwind with Tess as well.”

Rather, he gave me a back rub and remarked, “They’re just trying to make it fair, babe.”

Fair? Yes.

 

I mumbled, “I’ll show them,” later that night. I made the decision that I had two choices as I was standing on the balcony and taking in the sunset.

I could either go home or act calm and give them a lesson. I wanted to be here, even though home sounded like a good alternative. It was lovely, and I also needed some time away from our lives.

As I lay in bed that night, I gazed up at the ceiling fan spinning overhead, its blades sluggish, regular, and heartless. With his arm draped across my waist, Matt was already fast asleep next to me. However, it was not consoling. It was heavy.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how thrilled I had been during packing. How I dreamed of leisurely mornings and afternoon strolls while purchasing a new swimsuit. This was my first actual trip after getting married.

I was the helper now, though. Diane didn’t even make an effort to conceal it.

I went along with it the following day. While everyone else had coffee and packed to head to the beach, I prepared a huge brunch spread. Pancakes, fruit salad, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and even mushy fruit for Audrey’s infant son, Ethan.

 

 

 

Ethan had a habit of pushing toys into his mouth, so I cleaned and rinsed the sand off of them. I prepared drinks and snacks for the beach in coolers.

As Diane brought her novel and sunhat out to the terrace, she gave me a jovial thumbs up.

I remained behind, watching them via the kitchen window while drenched in dish soap. The children were being watched by a babysitter that the sisters had hired. Matt was already using a straw to drink something sweet and cool.

Audrey was enjoying a foot massage, and when the therapist got to her left leg, she couldn’t stop laughing. Lisa was photographing herself in her brand-new red bikini.

 

 

Diane was also repositioning the umbrella to avoid too much shade. It dawned on me then. I was not invited to join them on the family vacation. I was asked to serve them.

“Sneaky fools,” I thought to myself as I consumed a dish of watermelon cubes. “You have no idea what’s going to happen next.”

I had no intention of playing housekeeper for ten days in a house where I had no place. No.

Later that night, as I was drying the silverware, Matt approached me from behind.

He kissed my temple and whispered, “Thanks for today,” in a quiet voice. “You were amazing.”

I remained silent. I was unable to. Because I might burst into tears if I did. Dishwater was the last thing I wanted to cry about. I grinned as a result. On the inside, though, I began to unravel.

I therefore devised a strategy.

 

 

 

I sneaked out of bed at the crack of dawn the following morning. Not even in bed was Matt. He most likely passed out there because he had spent the majority of the evening sipping beer in front of the television.

I grabbed my bag and threw Matt’s extra clothing on the bed.

I packed the necessities in another tiny bag, which included some food, the novel I never got around to reading, and sunglasses. The laminated roster was carefully placed on the kitchen counter by me. Naturally, with some modifications.

In fact, I rewrote it. I made it equitable.

Everyone took turns cooking, cleaning, and clearing up after themselves, based on my roster. I even wrote mild directions on sticky notes and labeled the refrigerator.

Tuesday nights for Diane were now “Taco Duty.” Matt was doing the dishes. Three times.

I also wrote a note beneath the task chart.

“Guys, thanks for the vacation! To make things equitable for everyone, I’ve reorganized the roster. For the timetable, see the fridge. I’m excited to play mini golf with the kids when I visit on Thursday. If you want to have supper, text me—as equals, of course.”

On the further end of the resort where we were staying was a distinct group of suites beside the beach. When we made our reservation, I had seen them in the brochure, which promoted them as peaceful, private, and ideal for couples who wanted to relax.

Using the money I had saved for Matt’s anniversary gift, I made a reservation. Was a high-end watch truly necessary for him?

following the two days I’ve had? Not at all. It wasn’t fair to him.

I could see the ocean from my new bedroom. fluffy robes. Additionally, there was a lovely breakfast buffet in the dining area below that didn’t require me to cut melons.

I switched off my phone. For the first time during the trip, I read in complete peace while lying by the pool with my book.

I was relaxing in the sun the following day when one of the resort employees walked by.

He pointed to the main villa. “Thought you were with the big house group,” he remarked.

“I was,” I said at a shrug. “But they’re not exactly my vibe.”

He said, “Yeah, that tracks,” with a giggle. “I’ve heard that breakfast was burned. To resolve the issue, they contacted our cleaning crew. The blender was broken by the blond woman wearing the large gold earrings. They’re sort of falling apart.

I could see he was trying not to laugh again because he bit his lip.

“And that’s why I left for some peace and quiet,” I chuckled.

He said, “Then how about another mimosa?”

I grinned and nodded.

I could as well have been on an other planet, despite the fact that I was technically still on the same resort site. Nobody showed up to look. Nobody questioned.

However, the resort personnel spread the word, and I heard it all.

Diane’s towels had apparently been splattered with nail paint.

“Probably Audrey,” I said in a whisper.

Then nobody remembered to wipe the grease pan, and the grill almost caught fire. Burned pancakes caused one of the children to cry. Ethan was scrambling for his toys when he nearly fell into the pool.

What about the roster that is laminated? According to the concierge, it was ripped in two and tossed in the trash, ready for removal by the cleanup crew.

I grinned. I took a sip. I took a bite out of some fresh fruit. I then went on to the next page.

Matt arrived at the suite on the third day that I was away.

He appeared worn out and sunburned. Like a frightened child preparing to apologize to the principal, he stood at the entrance to the pool area with a baseball cap in each hand.

“Tess,” he remarked as he walked slowly up. “The items I used to buy off the employees so they would tell me where you are! Can we have a conversation?

With a groan, I rose from my lounge chair and pointed to the vacant one next to me.

He took a seat. merely sat. It was a minute before he spoke. He simply gazed at the ocean.

When he eventually said, “I didn’t realize how much they were leaning on you,”

It was “you didn’t want to see it,” I said. I spoke quietly. No rage. Just a slight melancholy.

“You’re right,” he said, nodding.

I took a sip of my beverage. Its canopy swayed languidly in the wind.

I went on, “You didn’t even question it,” “Your mom hands me a chore chart on day one, and your response is to rub my back and call it fair.”

“I thought you’d speak up if you had a problem.”

I gave him a look. I gave him a serious look. This dude was who?

“Matt, that’s the point. I said, “I shouldn’t have to.” It’s your responsibility to do it. as my spouse. But I suppose my view of marriage was different.

He looked at his hands and said, “I’m sorry,”

There was nothing more I said. He sat for a time in the quiet. Allow it to extend.

He said, “Can I stay with you?”

“Are you ready to be on my team?” I inquired.

He gave me a glance. And his eyes were clear for the first time in days. Weary. Sincere.

“Yes,” he replied plainly.

So I gave my extra key card to him. And he remained.

The remainder of the trip was spent as if we were a couple on a honeymoon—not the type you arrange to impress people, but the kind you take when you’re at last sincere with one another.

With the curtains closed and the balcony door slightly open to let in the sound of the waves, we slept in. There was no to-do list, no alarm clock, and no one waiting for me with scrambled eggs when I woke up. It was just Matt, dozing quietly next to me, his hand resting on my thigh as if it were perfectly normal.

At the swim-up bar, he told me stories I had never heard before while we had cocktails and slushy drinks with plastic swords sticking out of pineapples.

He saw me for the first time in the laundry room of our apartment building. About how anxious he was to present Diane to me. He always believed that I would be the one to soften his family rather than fight them. He spoke as if he had just realized it wasn’t fair to expect me to do it by myself.

We also discussed trivial topics. We engaged in guessing games regarding the nearby couples. We had a lighthearted argument about who had better food tastes. I didn’t have to ask him to massage sunscreen onto my shoulders. When I was quiet, he kissed my neck.

I didn’t just laugh with him again out of habit or courtesy. But genuine laughter, the kind that feels like you’ve been suppressing it for too long and begins in your chest. The sound of someone letting go of something heavy made him giggle as well.

The Matt that I married reappeared. On the other side, however, I was a different woman who was waiting for him.

I silently vowed to myself. I would go if he ever vanished again and if the person who stood by and watched me be handed a list of chores without blinking came back.

And when? I wouldn’t write anything down.

On the morning we were to go, we returned to the house. Diane hardly gave me a glance. She drank iced tea and wore a visor.

Diane eventually broke the ice later at the reception when we were ready to check out.

“Well, Tess,” she remarked in a brittle, bright voice. “I suppose you needed some space.”

I looked her in the eye and said, “No, I needed some respect,”

She blinked. As if the term didn’t taste familiar to her. I didn’t go into detail. I gave it to her to sit with.

 

 

 

A year has passed. Chore charts are no longer. Schedules are no longer laminated. Matt now makes sure to check in with me before accepting any invitations. “What do you want?” he says. And we don’t go if I say no.

How would you have responded?