Do you really expect me to cook for your mother every single day? the woman snapped.
How long is this supposed to go on? Amélie slammed the pan onto the stove. You think I was hired as a housekeeper for your mom? Two months without a single day off! She gripped the wooden spatula, her knuckles turning white under the strain. An old resentment lingered in her voice.
Julien lingered in the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to step inside. His wife stood by the stove, where meat pattieshis mothers favoritesizzled. The scent of grilled meat and onions made his throat feel rough, perhaps because of the looming argument.
Amélie, why are you getting so upset? he said gently, trying to calm her. Mom is just used to homecooked meals. She cant eat processed food, you know that provisions.
I know! Amélie thumped the spatula onto the countertop. I know everything! Her hypertension, her diet, her balanced meals. But why must I circle around this kitchen every night like a hamster on a wheel? I have my own job, too!
Outside, October was drawing to a close. Shadows from an old apple tree, whose branches pressed against the kitchen window, danced on the walls, silent witnesses to their quarrel. Julien glanced at the clocksoon his mother would return from her walk.
Maybe we should hire a cleaning help? he suggested, uneasy, aware that his wife disliked the idea of strangers in their home.
Amélie gave a bitter smile: Sure, and what will we pay her with? The rent savings? You know how much Moms medication costs.
She turned back to the stove, wiping away fresh tears with the kitchen towel. Three months earlier, when Marie moved in after a minor stroke, Amélie had been the one to push for her stay. She hadnt imagined how much their lives would be upended.
The front door slammed down the hall. Light footstepsMarie had come back from her evening stroll. Amélie quickly dabbed her eyes with the cloth and began plating the meat patties. Julien remained rooted in the doorway, clueless about what to say or do.
A heavy silence settled, broken only by the clink of dishes and the faint sizzle of the cooling pan.
Mom, how was your walk? Julien hurried into the hallway, eager for a reprieve from the tense conversation with his wife. Lately he found himself dodging conflicts, hiding behind late returns, endless urgent tasks, and his job.
Marie stood before the hallway mirror, slowly loosening the wool scarfa gift from her late husband. Her fingers, once deft at the sewing machine, now struggled with a simple knot. The tremor that had appeared after the stroke was growing worse each day.
Oh, it was lovely, my dear Julien she tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. The leaves were falling in the park. Remember how you used to jump into the piles when you were little? Id always scold you: Stop that, youll catch a cold! And youd laugh
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. The pallor of her face and the sweat on her brow didnt escape her sons watchful gaze.
My blood pressure is acting up, Marie admitted. I think I walked too much today.
Ill get you your medication, Amélie called from the kitchen. Though angry, she took her motherinlaws health seriously, perhaps because years in a clinic had taught her the dangers of neglect.
Dont rush, Amélie, Marie said, sinking heavily onto a bench and pulling a medication booklet from her coat pocket. Im playing the spy now, taking everything with me. Here are my aides
Her eyes fell on an old photograph on the wallher and her husband on their wedding day. It seemed a lifetime away. She had never imagined becoming a burden to her own son in his final years.
Julien scrambled to the kitchen for a glass of water, nearly toppling a vase. As he passed his wife, he tried to meet her eyes, but Amélie deliberately turned toward the stove where the patties were still sizzling. The smell of grilled meat made him nauseousshe hadnt eaten all day, juggling work, errands, and cooking.
Whats for dinner? Marie sniffed as she entered the kitchen. More patties? Amélie, why do you stress yourself so? A simple soup would have been enough
Its fine, Mom, Amélie thrust a fork into a patty, forcing it to crunch against the pans bottom. You like them; I remember that.
Her tone was so sharp that Marie startled, pausing at the kitchen threshold. In twenty years of watching her sons marriage, she had learned to detect even the slightest tension in her daughterinlaws voice, and now it rang like a overtight string.
The elderly woman shuffled slowly to the table, leaning on her sons arm. She sat, spreading a napkin on her kneesa habit formed from years of teaching. Julien hurriedly set her plate, a glass of water, and checked the chairs position.
You know Amélie began, then stopped, seeing her motherinlaws complexion blanch. Her temples throbbed with the words she held back. Lets just have dinner.
Around the table a heavy hush fell. Only cutlery clinked against plates, and the wall clockan heirloom from Juliens grandmotherticked relentlessly, marking the unbearable silence. Marie barely touched her food, glancing sideways at her son and Amélie.
In recent weeks she had often caught such looks, heard fragments of conversations, noticed how the atmosphere shifted whenever she entered a room.
Perhaps I shouldnt have agreed to come she thought bitterly. But aloud she managed only: The patties are wonderful, Amélie. Almost like the ones my mother used to make
I cant take it anymore, Amélie blurted, her voice trembling as she set her fork down. I really cant.
The clocks ticking grew deafening. Marie froze, spoon hovering inches from her mouth, while Juliens face turned pale, realizing his deepest fear was about to unfold.
Every day its the same, Amélies voice steadied with each word. I get up at six, Im at work by eight. At noon I race to the pharmacy for meds, then after workshopping, cooking, cleaning When will I ever live? When can I rest?
My dear Marie started.
Im not your daughter! Amélie sprang up, her chair clattering against the wall. You have a son; let him handle the cooking. Im exhausted! Do you understand? Exhausted!
Julien made a small gesture: Amélie, but
What terrible thing did I say? she shouted, almost laughing. Its true! Youre always buried in work, and Im supposed to tear myself between the hospital and home? Your mother is your responsibility!
Marie gently set down her spoon, her hands shaking more than usual: Im just a burden she whispered. You know, Amélie, I get it. Do you think I dont see how tired you are? How angry? I pray every night for the strength to manage on my own
Mom, stop, Julien tried to wrap his arms around her, but she slipped away gently.
No, son, let me finish, Marie straightened her shoulders, as she would when facing a rowdy class. I taught for forty years. Do you know what I learned? To listen. And I listen, Amélie, when you cry in the bathroom. I see your hands shake from fatigue
Amélie stood frozen by the stove, her fingers white from gripping the countertop. Small tears streamed down her cheeks.
I was young once, Marie continued. I too dreamed of my own life. Then my motherinlaw fell ill I cared for her ten years. Every day blended into a fog of work, cooking, injections, treatments. My husband at work, my son small I thought I was losing my mind.
Mom, why are you saying this? Julien murmured, confused, his gaze shifting between his mother and his wife.
Because youre wrong, son. Marie rose from the table. Youre wrong to dump everything on Amélie. Tomorrow Ill call social services for a caregiver
How will we pay her? Amélie asked, without turning.
Ill use my pension. We can even rent out the flat thatll be extra.
Julien watched the two most important women in his life, feeling his insides twist. All these years hed hidden behind his job, pretending nothing had changed
No, he stood, straightening his back. No caregiver. And we wont rent out the flat.
But how Marie began.
Starting tomorrow Ill talk to my boss about remote work three days a week, Julien declared firmly. Well rotate cooking. Mom, could you teach me your famous patties?
Marie blinked, surprised: Of course, my son Do you think youll manage?
Men can cook too, Amélie managed a smile for the first time that night. But be warned, your son likes to experiment. Remember his curry borscht?
At least it was original! Julien grinned, feeling the tension ease.
I can handle the cleaning, Marie offered suddenly. Vacuuming is hard, but dusting and tidying I can do. I can even iron; Ive done it my whole life
Mom, Amélie interrupted, finally turning to the table. You dont have to do that
I want to! Maries eyes sparkled with her old teachers fire. Do you think its easy to sit idle all day? I just watch TV and look out the window. At least it gives me purpose.
She burst out laughing, covering her mouth: Forgive me, children I saw how tired you were and said nothing. I was afraid to speak too much.
Im sorry too, Amélie found herself kneeling by her motherinlaws chair, resting her head on her knees like she once did with her own mother. I said horrible things I was angry.
Marie stroked Amélies hair, her own tears sliding down her cheeks: Its settled then. Julien will cook Tuesdays and Thursdays
And every other Saturday, added her son.
Every other Saturday, Marie agreed. Ill take care of the housework. And you, dear, she lifted Amélies chin never hesitate to speak up when things get tough. Were family.
The wall clock ticked on, the patties cooled on the table, and outside the last October sun rays faded slowly. For the first time in months, genuine warmth returned to the home.
