Who will cook for us if you go?What are you doing? Where are you heading? And who will make our meals?the husband whispered, watching Claire after her quarrel with her motherinlaw.
Claire stared out the window at a drab, gray sky despite the early spring. In their small northern town the sun rarely showed its face, which perhaps explained why the locals often seemed sullen and unfriendly.
She realized she was smiling less and less, the permanent crease on her forehead making her look ten years older.
Mum! Im going out, her daughter Chloé called.
Yes, yes, Claire answered distractedly.
Yes, what? Give me some money.
Are walks no longer free? she sighed.
Mum! Why are you asking these questions? My friends are waiting, hurry up! Why so stingy?
Thatll do for an icecream.
Such a cheapskate, Chloé snapped, slamming the door without hearing her mothers reply.
What a storyClaire remembered the sweet little girl Chloé had been before adolescence.
Claire, Im hungry! Is it ready? Thierry, her husband, snapped.
Its on the table, she replied indifferently.
Could you serve it for me?
Claire almost tipped the pot. How bold
We eat in the kitchen, Thierry. If youre hungry, eat. Otherwise do whatever you want, she said, sitting down alone at the table.
Fifteen minutes later Thierry appeared in the kitchen.
Its cold yuck.
You should have come earlier.
I told you! No tenderness, no effort for me! You know Im watching football! Thierry growled, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth. Not very good.
Claire rolled her eyes. Her husband was obsessed with footballParis matches, accessories, pricey ticketsdespite never having shown any interest in sport before.
Without sitting, Thierry grabbed a beer and some chips, then returned to the television. Claire was left to clear the dishes alone.
She had cooked for nothing. No one appreciated her efforts.
She was exhausted after her shift as head nurse at the hospital. Each day she faced grouchy, sick patients, endured work stress, and then returned to the same exhausting routine of household chores.
Is there any left? Thierry asked, looking for another drink in the fridge. Why isnt there any?
You drank it all! Do you expect me to shop for you too? Have some decency, Thierry! Claire snapped.
Youre too sensitive he muttered, slamming the fridge door and heading out to stock up before the next match.
Claire decided to go to bed because she had a big day ahead, but she couldnt fall asleep. She kept worrying about Chloéwhere she was, who she was with.
It was already dark, and Chloé still hadnt come home. Claire was too afraid to call, fearing a scolding.
Youre embarrassing me in front of my friends! Stop harassing me! Chloé shouted over the phone. After that, Claire stopped calling, reassuring herself that her daughter had just turned eighteen. She didnt want to work or study; she had finished school and taken a break to find herself.
Halfasleep, Claire heard her husbands joyful shouts, probably after a goal, followed by animated chatter with a neighbor who had dropped by unannounced. The neighbor stayed with his partner to support their team together. Later that night Chloé returned, rummaged for food loudly, and went to bed. When everything finally quieted, just as Claire was about to drift off, the cat began meowing for its dinner.
Is there anyone here besides me who can feed the cat? Claire exclaimed, exasperated and at her wits end. She hoped someone would listen. But her daughter, earbuds in, made a mocking gesture, and Thierry was already snoring in front of the TV, a can in his hand.
Ive had enough truly enough! Claire thought.
The next morning the phone rang; it was her motherinlaw.
Claire, dear, remember we have to plant the seedlings? And we should go to the countryside to do some cleaning
Yes, I know, Claire sighed.
So tomorrow we go.
She spent her only day off in the country under her motherinlaws stern gaze.
No, hold the broom like that! the woman commanded from a bench.
Im nearly fifty, Marthe, I know how to sweep Claire dared to reply.
Oh, if only Thierry were here
Where is your Thierry? Why didnt he help his own mother out in the country? Why did we spend three hours on a bus? And you keep talking about Thierry, Thierry
Hes tired.
And me? You think Im not tired?
That was the spark Claire regretted not staying silent. Marthe was talkative and practiced a onesided justice that never favored Claire. All her life Marthe had idolized Thierry and treated Claire like a workhorse she tolerated out of necessity.
They each took the bus home separately. The next day Marthe complained to her son, and he exploded.
How dare you speak to my mother like that? Thierry barked. Because without her?
Without her what? Claire crossed her arms, realizing she no longer wanted to accept such treatment.
Well, youd still be working at the dispensary! he retorted, recalling that Marthe had helped Claire get a job at the regional hospital. The salary was higher but came with stress and grey hairs. Claire had often regretted leaving the quiet dispensary for that stressful hospital. What are you doing here? he interrupted, seeing what Claire was preparing.
What Claire had done was something Thierry could never even imagine.
