My mom gave up college at 18 to raise her younger siblings. Years later, when my future MIL learned she had no degree, one simple question changed the way she treated her.
My mother never went to college.
She was eighteen when both her parents died, leaving her responsible for her thirteen-year-old sister and ten-year-old brother.
While her friends were preparing for college, Mom was working double shifts at a diner to pay rent and keep food on the table.
My mother never went to college.
Later, she married my dad and raised three children of her own.
But she never stopped learning.
Our house was always full of library books, and even after we grew up, she watched history lectures, gardening tutorials, and videos that taught her how to repair almost anything.
She never complained about the education she’d missed.
She never stopped learning.
And my fiancé, Nathan, adored her.
One afternoon, I found him watching as Mom repaired a loose cabinet hinge.
“How do you know how to do all this?”
Mom shrugged. “You live long enough, you learn a few things.”
Nathan smiled. “I’m starting to think I should be taking notes.”
My fiancé, Nathan, adored her.
Compared with Mom’s modest home, Nathan’s parents’ house felt almost intimidating. Diplomas covered an entire wall, books filled the shelves, and both Laura and Ronald were professors.
At our first dinner there, my MIL, Laura, settled beneath one of her degrees with a glass of wine.
“And where did you study?” she asked Mom.
Diplomas covered an entire wall.
“I didn’t attend college,” she replied shyly.
“Oh.” Laura lowered her glass. “I see.”
“I worked at a diner. Then—”
“Rose, Nathan tells me you’re still taking classes?” Laura interrupted her.
Mom closed her mouth and smoothed her skirt.
I answered Laura, but I noticed the change immediately.
“I see.”
Over the next few weeks, I learned to watch Laura’s hands whenever someone introduced a subject she didn’t know.
At lunch, Nathan mentioned a documentary about octopuses.
“Apparently, they can recognize individual people,” he said.
Laura lowered her phone beneath the table.
Her thumb moved while he described an experiment.
“They can recognize individual people.”
“They also have three hearts,” she interrupted. “Two pump blood to the gills. Most people don’t realize that.”
Nathan glanced down at her glowing screen.
He said nothing.
The following Saturday, she delivered a speech about museums returning artifacts to their countries of origin.
I recognized an example from a magazine I’d seen open on her desk.
“Wasn’t that in the article you were reading?” I asked.
Laura lowered her phone beneath the table.
Laura paused.
“It’s a widely discussed issue, Rose.” Then she turned toward Mom. “How’s your little garden?”
“Doing well. Although planting mint beside the parsley was counterproductive. It’s taking over.”
“Counterproductive means something works against your intended goal,” Laura explained.
Mom folded her napkin. “Yes. I wanted parsley.”
Nathan coughed into his glass.
“It’s a widely discussed issue, Rose.”
Later, Mom noticed a loose handle on the serving cart and tightened it with a screwdriver Ronald found.
Laura laughed. “Well, everyone has their talents.”
I followed Mom into the kitchen. “Do you want me to say something?”
“About the drawer?”
“Mom.”
“Please don’t create trouble before your wedding.”
“Well, everyone has their talents.”
“She corrected a word you used correctly.”
“I heard her.”
“And you’re supposed to smile?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m asking you to leave it tonight.”
A week later, Laura caught sight of the textbook in my bag. “Who’s teaching your final course?”
I named the professor.
“Please don’t create trouble before your wedding.”
“Arthur? We attended university together.” She smiled. “Mention me. I’m well respected in those circles.”
After class on Monday, I did.
“Laura?” Arthur laughed. “Good heavens. There’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”
“She’s going to be my mother-in-law. She says she’s well respected.”
His smile faded.
“What were you going to say?”
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”
“Nothing appropriate, considering the connection.”
“Please. I’d rather you told me.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think I should. But if Laura talks as much about academic integrity now as she did back then, you might ask Nathan’s father how she managed to stay enrolled.”
“Why Ronald?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Because he was there.”
That was all he would give me.
That evening, I told Nathan exactly what Arthur had said.
“My mother?”
“I don’t know what happened. Arthur wouldn’t tell me.”
Nathan shook his head. “She made me rewrite an entire assignment because I’d forgotten to credit one quotation.”
That was all he would give me.
“Maybe there’s an explanation.”
“Then let’s get one.”
The next evening, Nathan and I visited Ronald together. He went quiet when we mentioned Arthur.
“Your mother was young,” he finally said.
“So was everyone else there,” Nathan replied. “What happened?”
“Maybe there’s an explanation.”
Ronald rubbed his forehead. “She was caught copying answers during one examination. There were notes during another.”
“And she stayed enrolled?” I asked.
“Her father was the dean. Complaints went through him. Somehow, Laura always received another chance.”
“Did she know?”
“Of course she knew.”
“She was caught copying answers during one examination.”
I thought about Laura’s phone disappearing beneath the table and the certainty with which she delivered information she’d learned seconds earlier.
“Did she ever admit she’d done anything wrong?”
Ronald gave a tired smile. “Not to me.”