When I first met Avery, my husband Scott’s best friend, I thought she was wonderful. She was funny, ambitious, and easy to get along with. As a nutritionist, she and Scott bonded quickly over their shared background in the health field—he worked as a food safety auditor—and soon she became part of our circle.
We even hung out together, the three of us, going to concerts or sharing dinners. I never imagined she would later test my patience to the breaking point. The shift began when Scott and I announced my pregnancy.
We were overjoyed, and our families were thrilled. Avery was among the first to congratulate us. She texted Scott, “You two are going to be amazing parents!” At first, it felt genuine, a sweet gesture from a close friend.
But soon after, the floodgates of unsolicited advice opened. Suddenly, Scott was receiving daily texts from Avery: what foods I should avoid, what prenatal vitamins I “absolutely needed,” which organic baby products were “non-negotiable.”
At first, I brushed it off. Everyone gets excited when a baby is on the way, right?
But Avery wasn’t just enthusiastic—she was intrusive. One night, Scott showed me his phone. “She says we need to throw out all the coffee.
And switch to organic soap. And…” His voice trailed off in frustration. I sighed.
“Scott, she’s acting like she’s the one having this baby. We need to set boundaries.”
We tried ignoring her, but Avery wasn’t one to take a hint. She became bolder, critiquing my meals through Scott.
If I posted a photo of lunch on social media, she’d text him: “Jean shouldn’t be eating that. Not enough folic acid.” It felt less like concern and more like constant surveillance. By the time I started planning my baby shower with my mom and sister, I was already tired of Avery’s overbearing behavior.
So when she texted me out of the blue—“I’d love to host your baby shower! I have so many ideas!”—I politely declined. “Thank you, Avery, but my mom and sister are already handling it,” I wrote.
I thought that would settle it. I was wrong. The very next day, Avery showed up at my door with boxes of decorations, a binder full of menus, and the energy of someone convinced she was in charge.
She marched into my dining room and started unloading pastel streamers and eco-friendly favors. “I already found the perfect gluten-free, sugar-free cake,” she announced. “And a playlist of soothing music for the baby.
It’s going to be magical!”
I stood there, torn between disbelief and anger. “Avery, I told you—my mom and sister are taking care of the shower.”
She waved a hand, dismissive. “Trust me, Jean.
I know what’s best for you and the baby.”
That was the breaking point. I realized Avery needed a reality check. But instead of confronting her then and there, I decided to outplay her.
I pretended to go along, nodding politely as she rattled off her plans. Meanwhile, I finalized arrangements with my mom and sister at a cozy café across town. On the day of the shower, Avery was busy at our house, decorating it like something out of a Pinterest board.
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