I Spent Days Baking a Cake for My Mother-in-Law’s Birthday – But When She Mocked Me Again in Front of Everyone, I Struck Back
There was never an opportunity for my mother-in-law to minimize any aspect of me. I was done being quiet, though, when she made fun of my professional baking abilities at her birthday party, shortly after I had given her a free, award-winning cake. I made it clear to her who she was playing with.
Do you realize how a sly smile may cut more deeply than a shout? For the last eight years, it has been my life with Wendy. This is my mother-in-law’s gift. With a smile and a few well-chosen words, she can make you feel two inches taller.
No matter what I do or how hard I try, it makes no difference. In her view, there’s always something wrong with me.
I wore a navy dress I had been putting away for a special occasion for Tyler’s cousin’s wedding last month. Wendy’s eyebrows flew up when she spotted me.
She glanced up and down at me and exclaimed, “Oh Sandra, that’s… quite a statement,” Very brave. I’m not sure I could manage something so striking.”
Margaret, her sister, gave a bobblehead nod. “Definitely makes a statement.”
My cheeks were burning. The clothing was understated yet sophisticated. It wasn’t particularly ostentatious. However, Wendy somehow gave the impression that I had arrived dressed for a carnival.
There’s always something. Even the way I raise my daughter, Mia, who is seven years old, is frequently criticized.
Last Christmas, Wendy scolded Tyler, “You’re spoiling that child rotten,” in front of me. “In my day, children weren’t coddled every time they skinned a knee.”
Mia had scraped her elbow after falling off her bike. I was hugging her and applying a bandage. Wendy apparently didn’t like that much pampering.
She can judge me even when I laugh. Wendy whispered to Margaret during Tyler’s birthday dinner two years ago, “She sounds like a wounded goose when she laughs.”
Like schoolgirls sharing a secret, they both laughed. They pretended that I wasn’t three feet away from them at the dinner table and made no effort to conceal it.
I’ve been swallowing these tiny cuts for years, biting my tongue until it almost bled, and making myself smile when I wanted to scream.
I told Tyler, “Maybe we should just keep our distance,” following the goose remark.
I was creating a wedding cake three weeks ago when my phone rang. Wendy’s name appeared on the caller ID. She never gave me a call.
I said, “Hello, Wendy,” attempting to hide my surprise.
“Sandra, I have an offer for you.” Her voice was as sugary as fake vanilla. “Why don’t you create my birthday cake this year since you own that small bakery? You’ll benefit from the practice.
I almost dropped my bag of piping. A tiny bakery? Is it good practice?
For the past four years, I have been managing Sweet Dreams Bakery. We have a full schedule for the holidays. The waiting list for my wedding cakes is three months long. However, Wendy continued to refer to it as my “little bakery.”
“I charge $200 for custom birthday cakes,” I responded, attempting to hide my annoyance.
“Oh, stop being dumb! Family is involved. Furthermore, you need some expertise with palates that are more refined.
My stomach knotted at the disdain in her voice. Then, however, something became clear. She wanted something from me. Perhaps this was my opportunity. Perhaps if I produced something truly beautiful, she might at last have a new opinion of me.
“What kind of cake did you have in mind?” I inquired.
“Take me by surprise! Whatever you think of will be… sufficient, I’m sure.”
Her response hurt, but I forced myself to ignore it. “Wendy, I’ll make you something unique. Don’t be concerned about that.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that dessert for the following five days. Baking was no longer the only focus. The purpose of this was to demonstrate to Wendy my true talent and value.
I drew one design after another. I ultimately decided on a three-layer chocolate masterpiece with salted caramel filling and Swiss meringue buttercream on top, which would highlight every talent I had acquired.
The true show-stopper would be the decoration. Sugar blossoms in dusty rose and cream, piped by hand. To resemble actual peonies, each petal would be colored separately. Accents of gold leaf would catch the light and give the entire item a shimmering appearance.
During that week, I worked till midnight every night. I was bent over the piping bags, and my back hurt. The delicate labor caused my fingers to spasm. However, pride filled my chest as I took a step back and gazed at the completed dessert.
It was stunning and fit for a magazine. When you stepped into a room with that type of cake, everybody stopped talking.
At one in the morning, Tyler discovered me in the kitchen, completing the final sugar rose. “It’s amazing, baby. When Mom sees this, she’s going to lose it,” he said.
“You think she’ll like it?”
“Are you serious? To buy something like this from that upscale establishment downtown, she would need to spend $500.
He was correct. However, I wasn’t billing Wendy for anything. I offered this as a sacrifice for peace.
I had butterflies in my tummy on delivery day. Using every safety precaution I could think of, I gently loaded the cake into my van.
Wearing a black suit and gold earrings, Wendy answered the door. As usual, she gave me a thorough examination, her eyes resting on my apron, which was powdered with flour.
“On time. I want to see what you’ve accomplished.
With my pulse pounding, I carried the cake to her dining room table. The gold leaf glistened in the midday sunshine that poured through her windows. You would think the sugar flowers had just been plucked from a garden because they looked so authentic.
Wendy lost her temper for a second. Her mouth parted slightly and her eyes grew wide. “Oh my!” she exhaled deeply.
It was this. She would finally recognize my talent at this point.
She smiled at me and slapped her hands together. “Amazing! Also, it’s free! At last, you’re contributing here.”
The words hit me like ice water, and my smile became cold. That’s what she remarked after all I’d put into this dessert.
The following Saturday, Wendy’s house hosted the birthday celebration. Wearing my nicest dress, Tyler and Mia and I arrived.
Like a crown jewel, the cake rested in the middle of the dining room table. Instantly, guests flocked around it, pointing and whispering. “Professional quality” was mentioned, and someone else inquired as to if it originated from the downtown bakery.
Being around Wendy made me feel proud for the first time in years.
Margaret leaned toward her companion. “Take a look at those flowers. They are incredibly detailed.
“It must have cost a fortune,” muttered a different visitor.
Tyler looked at me from the other side of the room. “You did good!” he said, giving me a wink.
More guests praised the cake as the evening went on. Helen, a woman, inquired as to whether the baker accepted orders. Another visitor inquired as to Wendy’s source for such a gifted baker.
Then Wendy’s toast was served. She enjoyed the attention from everyone as she stood at the head of the table with a champagne glass lifted.
She started by saying, “Thank you all for coming to celebrate another year of my fabulous life,” which made her pals giggle. “And thank you for admiring the centerpiece of our evening.”
She made a flourishing move toward my cake. “I actually baked this cake myself!”
With crushing power, the words struck me, causing my hands to shake uncontrollably and my chest to tighten. In front of everyone, she was claiming credit for my work.
Wendy wasn’t finished, though. Her voice carried easily across the table as she leaned toward her closest companions. “Really, it’s not that difficult. Anyone can do it, really, if I can make anything like this. If Sandra really tried, she could definitely pull something comparable off.
Years of ingested taunts and bitten tongues came tumbling down at that one terrible moment, and the shame tore through me like fire.
I cautiously put down my juice glass. For the first time in years, my mind was clear, even if my hands were shaking.
I was fully aware of what I was going to do.
Silently, I excused myself and crept into the kitchen. I carried a folder in my purse as a precaution. There was something in there that Wendy was unaware of. Something that would completely alter the situation.
My MIL was still presiding over the dining room, receiving accolades for “her” cake, when I returned. I bided my time till the discourse died down.
With my voice easily audible throughout the room, I stated, “Since we’re all talking about the cake, I should probably share something interesting.”
Every head turned toward me, every discussion halted in midsentence, and I saw Wendy’s self-assured smile waver with doubt.
“This isn’t just any cake.” I took out a glossy magazine from the folder. “This is the exact cake that won me first place in the State Baking Championship last year.”
Around the table, there were gasps. To show the cover to everyone, I held up the magazine. My cake was there, expertly photographed, with my name displayed across the top in large letters.
“Sweet Life Monthly featured it in their annual winners showcase.” I turned to the inside article. “They interviewed me about my techniques.”
There was an overwhelming quiet in the room. Wendy had turned pale, then hot, and then pale once again.
“So I find it fascinating,” I added in a steady, quiet voice, “that you’re claiming credit for something that has already been identified as MY work.” But keep telling people you made it, please. I would love to hear you describe the magazine interview and the professional photo shoot.
With a look of bewilderment on her face, one of Wendy’s pals glanced between us. “Wait, you made this cake, Sandra?”
“Yes, I did. along with over fifty others just this year. I make a living doing it.
Margaret’s jaw dropped. “But Wendy said she…”
“Wendy says a lot of things!” I gently interrupted.
I turned to face my mother-in-law. Her jaw was so tightly gripped that I was afraid it could break.
“I want to make it obvious that this will be the last time I am taken advantage of in this way. This cake was a sincere present that I made from the bottom of my heart. I didn’t charge anything. However, after tonight, no more free favors will be given. And there won’t be any more disparaging remarks about what I’ve created.”
The room remained quiet, and Wendy was still unable to speak.
“I’ve worked too hard building my business to let anyone treat me like their personal punching bag anymore,” I said.
Helen was at my side almost instantly. Would you mind giving me your business card? For my daughter’s graduation celebration, I would love to hire you.”
My arm was touched by another woman. “Do you make wedding cakes?”
In a matter of minutes, I was surrounded by people who were genuinely interested in my work and were finally treating me with the deference I had always desired.
Wendy watched from the head of the table as her guests flocked to me rather than her. I gave each person a courteous smile, distributed a number of business cards, and remarked, “I should probably go now. tomorrow morning.”
My phone was ringing with new questions as Tyler, Mia, and I made our way to the car.
Prior to our arrival at home, we received three more orders, all of which came from Wendy’s social circle. I just received the best advertising I’ve ever received from the woman who had spent years trying to discredit me.
What’s the best part? She has now realized that I will no longer be her silent target. Some fights are worthwhile, and there are times when you must take a position and reveal your true self to the world.
