You should be glad my mother eats your food, the husband snapped.
Did she wear my boots again? Emily burst into the hallway, eyes fixed on the open wardrobe door. I told you not to touch my things!
Darling, what’s the tone? Margaret Clarke adjusted her scarf in front of the mirror. You see it’s slushy outside and I’ve only got my dress shoes. What, is that a problem?
It’s not about whether it’s a problem, Emily crossed her arms, her chest tightening with irritation. It’s about respecting personal space. I don’t wander into your room or borrow your belongings.
Margaret pursed her lips, casting down that imperious stare Emily privately dubbed royal: a slow sweep from top to bottom, a slight squint and a patronising smile.
How genteel we are, she murmured. In our day eight people could share a single bedroom and no one complained about personal space.
In your day they perhaps didnt complain, Emily muttered, but times have changed.
What are you muttering about? Margaret leaned in, pretending not to hear. Speak up, Im not a spring chicken anymore.
Emily inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to explode. Living with her motherinlaw for the past three months had been a trial, but there was no alternative. The flat they had rented together had to be surrendered to cover the mortgage on a new house. Construction stalled, so they were crammed into Margarets modest twobedroom flat.
Im going to the shop now to buy you a pair of rubber boots, Emily forced a smile. So you wont suffer.
Oh, stop! Margaret flailed her hands. My shoe cabinet is already bursting. Better buy yourself some boots, not my trouble.
Mine, Emily noted silently. Not old or everyday, but specifically my. It was a thin line drawn around ownership.
Very well, Margaret, she said, gathering herself. Im off to work, Ill be late, theres a meeting.
Again? Margaret shook her head. James will come home tired and hungry, and his wife will be missing.
James can heat his own dinner, Emily shrugged into her coat. Everythings already in the fridge.
She stepped out into the damp spring air. The rain had ceased, but the slush underfoot turned to a grey mush. She really does need boots, Emily thought, hurrying to the bus stop.
At the printshop where Emily worked as a designer, the day crawled. Normally she submerged herself in colour swatches and deadlines, but this morning the argument replayed in her mind, tangled with the missing packet of expensive tea and the earlier incident when Margaret accidentally shrank Emilys favourite cardigan in the wash.
Youre on edge today, coworker Natasha whispered, sliding into the break room. Motherinlaw again?
Emily gave a faint grin.
It shows, huh?
Absolutely, Natasha patted Emilys hand. Spill.
Nothing major, just the usual domestic irritations. Theyre adding up.
And James?
James loves his mother, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.
Neutral wont work, Natasha shook her head. Sooner or later hell have to pick a side. Hed be better off choosing yours, otherwise
Otherwise what? Emily snapped her head up. Ill leave him because of his mum?
Not because of her, but because of his stance, Natasha corrected. Trust me, Ive been there. My first marriage fell apart after five years. The constant battles with his mother, with him always siding with his mum, killed it.
Emily recalled that story, feeling a cold knot form.
Well get through this, she said firmly. The new house will be finished in a couple of months, and things will settle.
Lets hope, Natasha sighed, not sharing the optimism.
That evening, Emily decided to surprise James with ingredients for his favourite carrot cake. Saturday was coming; she could bake early and treat the family.
The flat was silent, the kitchen light the only one on. She slipped off her shoes and paused at the doorway. Margaret was sitting at the table, tucking into a casserole Emily had prepared for breakfast, a whole dish meant for three.
Emily! Margaret jumped, startled. Already back? I thought youd be later.
The meeting was cancelled, Emily said, eyes flicking to the almost empty casserole dish. Wheres James?
Hes out with friends, said not to wait, Margaret waved a hand. I decided to have dinner. The supermarket chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Its good, by the way!
Emily set the grocery bags down, a wave of frustration rising. Now shed have to rise an hour earlier to make a new breakfast, and shed hoped to sleep in on Saturday.
Margaret, she began, keeping her voice steady, that casserole was meant for breakfast, for everyone.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! Margaret flailed, but there was no remorse in her eyes. I thought it was just sitting in the fridge. No matter, youll cook something else tomorrow. Youre a wizard in the kitchen!
Emilys lips pressed together. Margaret knew exactly what the casserole was for; Emily had mentioned it during dinner the night before when they were planning the weekend menu.
Fine, Emily said. Ill change.
While unpacking the groceries, Emily realized the chocolate shed bought for the cake was missing. She remembered buying two bars.
Margaret, have you seen the chocolate? It should be in the bags.
Margaret offered an apologetic smile.
Oh, Emily, sorry! I took one bar for my tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A surge of anger surged through Emilynot over the chocolate, but over the relentless, systematic violation of boundaries, the casual disregard for her possessions.
Noted, she replied curtly. It was for Jamess cake.
Just buy another tomorrow, Margaret shrugged. The shops just across the road. No big deal.
Emily nodded, holding back tears. She was angry, but didnt want a fullblown fight. What would it achieve? Margaret would just pretend not to understand the issue.
James returned late, finding Emily already in bed with a book, trying to escape the day.
Hey, sunshine, he leaned down to kiss her. How was your day?
Fine, Emily set the book aside. And yours?
Great! he plopped onto the bed. Met the lads, had a few pints at the pub. Long time since weve gone out.
Emily hesitated, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and the missing chocolate. She didnt want to seem petty.
Mum still up? James asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her room watching telly.
Ill pop in to say hi, he said, getting up.
Through the thin wall Emily could hear muffled laughter from Margarets side of the flat. She wondered if Margaret had told James the same flattering version of the casserole story.
James came back after about twenty minutes, relaxed.
Guess what? Mum loved your casserole, he said, sliding under the covers. Says its fingerlicking good.
I know, Emily replied dryly. It was for breakfast.
So what? James turned to her. Make something else. At least Mum appreciated your cooking!
Emily looked at him.
James, it isnt about the casserole. Its that your mother constantly takes my things without asking, eats food Ive set aside for special occasions, and never respects my opinions.
Oh, come off it, James waved a hand. Its just a casserole. Mum was hungry.
And the chocolate for your cake? She just ate it.
What chocolate? James frowned.
I bought it for a surprise cake tomorrow, and your mum ate it, just like that, with her tea.
So what? his voice grew sharper. She felt sorry for the chocolate?
Its not the chocolate! Emily felt tears sting her eyes. She does this on purpose, testing limits, showing who runs the house.
Nonsense! James threw back, sitting up. Youre making a mountain out of a molehill. Were a family!
A family respects personal boundaries, Emily said quietly. Asks before taking, doesnt rummage through others stuff or eat whats meant for everyone.
Enough! James shouted, his tone cracking. You should be grateful my mum eats your food. It means she likes what you cook. Thats a compliment!
Emily stared at him, eyes wide, bewildered that he couldnt see the problem.
A compliment? she echoed. So if I make dinner and your mum eats it while were not there, thats a compliment, not disrespect?
Stop dramatising! James snapped, pulling the blanket over himself. Im exhausted, had a rough day, and youre turning this over a casserole!
He got up, grabbed his pillow.
Im going to crash on the sofa. Ive got an early start tomorrow. Goodnight.
Emily was left alone, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hadnt expected such a reaction. Shed hoped James would understand, would stand with her, but he sided with his mother without even trying to see her side.
The next morning, the scent of pancakes filled the kitchen. Margaret was at the stove, James sat at the table with a smug grin.
Oh, youre up? he said, as if nothing had happened. Mum decided to treat us. Sit down, have breakfast.
Emily reluctantly sat. Margaret placed a plate of pancakes before her.
Eat up, love. Ive also made some scrambled eggs, will bring them over.
Thanks, Emily murmured, reaching for coffee instead. Im not hungry.
Not hungry? Margaret flared, hands waving. Ive made a feast! Youll hurt my feelings if you dont eat.
James watched, his eyes flicking between them, waiting for a reaction. Refusing the food felt like declaring war.
Fine, Emily said, picking up a fork. Ill have a little.
Good girl! Margaret patted her head, almost patronisingly. Youve gotten so skinny, youll end up in a coffin.
James snorted, remaining silent. Emily chewed mechanically, feeling the flatness of a home that no longer felt hers. Had it ever been?
After breakfast, when Margaret left for the shop, Emily seized the chance to speak with James. She could no longer postpone this conversation.
James, we need to talk about your mother, she began, sitting opposite him on the sofa.
Again? he grimaced. Everythings fine. She even made us breakfast.
Thats a nice gesture, Emily agreed. But the real issue is the lack of respect for my boundaries. I feel like a guest in my own home.
James sighed.
Emily, Mums used to being the head of her house. Its hard for her to change. Just be patient; well move soon.
And when we move? Emily asked softly. Will she still pop into our new flat, still take my things, still eat what Ive prepared for everyone?
James looked away.
Shell visit sometimes, of course. Shes my mum.
You dont see a problem with that? Emily leaned forward. Im not against your mother, Im against the constant disregard for my space. And you dont seem to understand.
What bothers me is youre dividing everything into yours and hers, James retorted. Were a family; we share.
Sharing, yes, Emily replied. But with consent, not because someone takes without asking.
They stared at each other, and Emily realised James couldnt grasp the core of the issue. To him, his mother would always occupy a privileged position, immune to criticism. She, meanwhile, felt forced to accept an impossible status.
You know what? she said finally, her voice low, Im going to stay at Natashas cottage for the weekend.
What? James lifted an eyebrow. Drama over a casserole?
Not over a casserole, Emily shook her head wearily. Over you not wanting to hear me. I need time to think.
She rose, gathering her things. James stayed seated on the sofa, staring at the empty space.
When Emily carried her suitcase out, he asked,
What should I tell Mum?
The truth, she said. That Ive left to consider our future. And you should think about it too.
She stepped onto the street, a strange lightness in her step. The decision felt impulsive, but also the only right one. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Natasha confirming the cottage key was with the neighbour. Emily inhaled the crisp spring air, ready for quiet weekends and introspection. Soon shed have a serious talk with James about family, boundaries, and respect. Because a family isnt about sacrificing oneself for others; its about honoring each persons feelingseven when the dispute is over something as small as a breakfast casserole.
