[Diary of an Expat Bride] ‘The honeymoon is over’

Nevertheless, we arrived back in İstanbul and the next day went to Can’s parents’ house for dinner. Sinem-teyze, Can’s mother, acted like nothing had happened and that everything was normal. After dinner, Can and his father left to pick up his computer from the repair shop. I took this as my opportunity to open up to Sinem-teyze. I started out by saying that now that Can and I were married, she was my mother now and that I would start to call her “anne,” something I had not done during our two-and-a-half year engagement and which I knew had wounded her deeply. I wanted to talk to her openly about how I felt. I used my most flowery Turkish, having practiced this conversation in my head countless times during my honeymoon.

Sinem-teyze’s eyes sparkled and snapped. I knew I had breached some code of etiquette, and she faced me with gloves on, ready to start where we had left off after the wedding.

“You want to speak openly, fine. I’ll start,” she spat at me.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had simmered and stewed over the last week. She had a lot on her chest, too, and was throwing it off now. I cowered on the corner of the sofa as she launched into a diatribe of such hateful things it made me lose all power of speech in Turkish entirely. I was powerless against her assault and didn’t once try and interrupt or stop her. For 20 minutes, I let myself get doused with her terrible words. The ones that really stuck out were in relation to Can’s and my hopes of starting a family. Can is 32, and I am 30. One of the primary reasons we had tied the knot after being together for four years was so that we could have a baby. Not that we had discussed any of that with Sinem-teyze, nor was it any of her business. However, at that moment she was attacking me for forcing her son to marry me so that we could have a baby.

“I don’t want a baby, my son doesn’t want a baby, so get over it,” was one of the more memorable lines.

She also went on about how miserable her son is with me, that we are always fighting and that he is always depressed. She claims that I don’t understand him and that I am always hurting him. These are things only a mother can know, she assured me. Next she went on about how all of her friends congratulated her that she accepted a foreign bride into her family. They all admitted that none of them allowed it, and they admired her tolerance. Then, Sinem-teyze did something even more shocking. She stood up, kissed me on both cheeks and told me that she felt better after having talked. “It is good to talk openly,” she said and then asked me to make coffee, the traditional job of the gelin (bride). I had said nothing in my defense. Shakily, I made the coffee as Can and his father returned, oblivious to the drama of the past hour. I vowed not to tell Can what she had said, taking my mother’s sage advice. She warned me not to get between Can and his mother but to rather let Can come to the realization on his own of how nuts she was. I tried to mask my face and show Can that everything was alright, but he could see right through it. I begged him to take me home as soon as possible. I couldn’t stand another minute in that house. Worried, Can immediately agreed.

When we got home I went into the shower and cried hard, the kind of tears that come from somewhere deep inside. The fan and the shower masked the keening noise these tears bring, but I knew that Can sensed it regardless. After I showered we sat on the sofa, and he asked me to tell him what happened. While I may have kept little things from him during our relationship, this was the first time that I hadn’t talked openly to him about something big. I knew that if I told him what his mom had said to me, he would be furious. First at her, and then possibly later on at me. I knew that now was not the time to share this fight with him, no matter how much keeping it inside was killing me. I just told him that I couldn’t see or talk to his mom for a few weeks. I needed some time.

Thankfully Can agreed, worried by the look on my face. I also told him that I wanted to visit Bursa, my favorite mountainside city only one-and-a-half hours from İstanbul, that weekend. My best friend and her family live there, and they are my surrogate Turkish family. Although I couldn’t share this fight with Can, I needed to pour my heart out to them. They would be able to help me navigate the new, tricky, cultural waters I currently found myself in. Especially in these situations, women need other women’s counsel.

It was so sad that I was leaving Can alone for a few days so soon after our honeymoon, but I couldn’t trust myself to keep it together and not worry him. I needed a good two days of crying, anger and just to let it all out like I could only do in Bursa. Can was upset, and he told me he went right to his mother’s house after dropping me off at the ferry station to find out what had happened. Sinem-teyze, of course, played dumb and said that everything was fine, that we had actually had a good conversation. It was telling, however, that since the fight she hadn’t even tried to call me once, not even to pretend that nothing was wrong. I know that deep down she knew that she had officially broken something that would never be repaired. She would never, however, admit that to anyone.