“Come visit, but leave the grandchildren behind.”
“Well, they’re my grandchildren, and if they bother you”
“Linda, just wait a minute! I invited you. You. I thought we could walk along the pier, maybe catch a show at the theatre, remember? How are we supposed to do that with children? Ive only got a one-bed flat. Four kids where on earth would we all fit?”
“Oh, youd manage if you really wanted to. But I get ityou dont.”
“Linda At my age, hosting a nursery is exhausting,” sighed Marina. “I can barely keep up with just one. I thought wed chat, have some tea, reminisce. Instead, Id be cooking mountains of food andno offencelistening to constant screeching. If youre set on bringing them, I can help find you a nearby rental.”
“Right. Well, Marina, where my grandchildren arent welcome, neither am I,” Linda said firmly. “Seems were on different paths. Happy New Year.”
She hung up. Marina sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. When had Linda become such a mother hen? Then again, theyd always been different.
Marina and Linda had met through mutual friends at sixteen. Three years later, theyd married around the same timeLinda had been Marinas bridesmaid, and Marina hers. Theyd been godmothers to each others firstborns, and then Linda had gone on to have a second child.
Marina stopped at one daughter. She was an introvert by nature, but little Polly was a whirlwind of energy, always demanding attention. Nursery was her only respitethose few hours to cook, clean, breathe. When Polly was ill, the days dragged. The girl grew fussy, whining endlessly, never settling on what she wanted.
Marina had always marvelled at Linda. She handled two children effortlessly, never complaining, always bright-eyed.
“How do you manage? Doesnt it wear you out?”
“Took some adjusting, but I learned to let go. Muddy hands? Good for the immune system. Clothes on backward? Developing their own style. Ate the cats food? The cats problem. Plus, they entertain each otherI can relax. Mostly. As long as they dont wreck the house.”
Marina could only shake her head. Shed never manage that. She bundled Polly in layers each winter, terrified of illness, holding her hand everywhere. Maybe Lindas way workedfor her. But Marina wasnt built the same.
With grandchildren, it was no different. Marina had one, little Emma. Linda had four grandsons.
Emma, like her mother, craved constant attention. When Marinas husband was alive, theyd copedbut after he passed, she struggled. Emma refused to play alone. Every puzzle, every game, required a partner.
And she never stopped talkingquestions fired rapid-fire, never waiting for answers. Marinas mind spun trying to keep up. An hour with her was lovely; by the third, her temples throbbed, her thoughts fogged, and she longed to hide under a blanket in silence.
Linda thrived in chaos. Endless noise, photos of the kids, summers spent with them trampling flowerbeds, eating strawberries straight from the garden, dousing each other with the hose.
Marina could never understand it.
“The oldest is nine nowhe helps mind the others,” Linda would shrug. “Theyre independent. Find their own fun.”
Once, Marina saw just how independent they were.
Life had taken them to different cities. Linda stayed in their hometown; Marina moved to London after Polly turned eight. Over the years, theyd met only in passing.
“Youve no little ones now, no real ties. Pollys grown. Come visityouve only seen my cottage in photos,” Linda suggested.
Marina agreed, craving a break from monotonylong evenings with an old friend, reminiscing on the porch.
How wrong shed been.
Two grandsons were already there when she arrived; the other two joined by lunch. And thenchaos. A toy car sparked a screaming match, food flew, oatmeal dripped down Marinas cheek as the boys howled with laughter. Linda scrubbed walls, waving a cloth.
“Enough! Or no supper!”
It barely worked. Either they ignored her or wailed louder, banging pots like drums, shooting toy guns at anything moving.
By day one, Marina hoped shed adjust. By day two, she forced smiles. By day three, she packed early.
“Im sorry, but I need quiet,” she said gently, though the words hung heavy between them.
And now, history repeated itself.
Just a month ago, Linda had lamented that her family was “abandoning her for New Years”some off to the in-laws, others skiing. Marina saw her chance: a reunion, just the two of them, on her terms.
“Lets celebrate together,” shed offered.
Linda had agreed eagerly. They planned walks, the theatre, Love Actually. Marina mapped out routes, bought Lindas favourite rum cake, stocked up, cleaned fiercely. Then
“Marina, your son-in-laws caronly one child seat, right? No spare?” Linda asked casually.
“Why? What for?”
“Well, Im coming to yours. Forgot? I promised the grandsons a London tripwhen else will they see it? Their parents could use the break.”
Marina froze. Grandsons? A trip? Was Linda seriously bringing the whole brood?
“Lin I cant survive another oatmeal war. This was supposed to be just us.”
“Whats the problem?” Lindas voice turned sharp.
“My nerves. They cant take it.”
And there it was. For Linda, her grandchildren were extensions of herselfgoing without them was unthinkable. Marina couldnt fathom why every meeting had to be mayhem.
They never reconciled. On December 31st, Marina sat alone, thinking of old timeshusbands alive, summers by the lake, Linda accidentally hooking her own husbands shirt on her first fishing attempt. Back then, their friendship seemed unshakable.
Now? Something had fractured.
In the end, she went to her daughtersbetter than solitude.
“Grannys here! I told you shed come!” Emma cheered. “Im glad shes with us, not that other aunt.”
That New Year was warmtree lights, roast dinners, sparklers. Noise, yes, but familiar. Maybe this was how it should be.
Linda, though, stayed angry. She ignored Marinas birthday call weeks later. Setting the phone down, Marina sighed. Their paths had truly diverged. They aged differentlyone thriving as the heart of a bustling family, the other craving quiet corners. The real tragedy? They no longer spoke the same language.
Perhaps some friendships, like seasons, simply run their course.
