Honestly, you dont need much, Mark said, waving his hands as if hed conjured the perfect excuse. Im saving every penny, and now you want a restaurant for your birthday? Isnt that a bit extravagant?
Come on, Lucy, its a milestone. A thirtysomething birthday should be memorable, he replied, trying to sound reasonable.
Did I just have a celebration a month ago? That was a fakeout, wasnt it? I marked the day at home, no fuss, no broken promises.
Lucy stared at Mark, arms folded, a storm brewing behind her eyes. It wasnt just the fact that his idea would cost a small fortuneabout a hundred pounds. It was the feeling of being reduced to a perpetual housewife, a perpetual helpmeoutofthistightbudget role.
Mark, of course, jumped at the chance to prove her right.
So you did say you didnt want much! he snapped.
Lucys eyebrows shot up. Yes, shed said it, but not while living on a shoestring.
Exactly, she said slowly. I told you I could do without a new dress, bake my own cake, even do my own manipedi. Because Im saving for my own flat, Mark, not because I enjoy being poor.
Mark pursed his lips, as if the very idea of a discussion was an inconvenience. He acted like a petulant teenager: I want this, end of story. Everything else can wait.
Youre only twentyeight, Lucy. Youve got your whole life ahead. Im hitting a round number and I want a proper celebration, not just a quiet night in, he said.
Lucy lowered her gaze. A quiet night thats exactly how it felt.
She remembered the week shed spent planning her own birthday menu, hunting down discount veggiesslightly wilted but still saladworthyscouring coupons, comparing prices. The cake was a copycat internet recipe with a frosting of sour cream and condensed milk. Not because she loved baking, but because it was cheap.
Despite the scrimping, the birthday turned out fine. Guests praised the salads, devoured the homemade pizza, and she smiled in her old dress with nails coated in a modest clear polish.
The cash gifts covered almost all the expenses. She pretended everything was fine, but later, alone in the bathroom, tears slipped down her cheeks. She felt sorry for herself, exhausted, and frustrated by the constant need to juggle a dress, a hairstyle, and family celebrations.
In the three years shed lived with Mark, thrift had become her second name. She knew how to squeeze extra cash back on a loaf of bread, bought cheap processed cheese instead of a proper block, and could spot a genuine sale from a sham.
Clothes? As long as they were clean and didnt have holes, she didnt care about looks, image, or brand names. Those were luxuries for people who could afford a fancy toothpaste. She just wanted a place of her own.
Having your own flat is important, Mark agreed. You wont be kicked out on a whim, and you wont have to spend half your salary on rent.
Only Marks contribution to the household budget was his salary transfer. That was something, but the idea of separate finances terrified Lucy, as did women who had to save for maternity leave on their own. Mark treated money like a teenager whod rather blow it on chips and soda.
It made sense; Lucy was the one who tallied the utility bills, transport costs, groceries. She cut back wherever she could to stash a little away. She booked haircuts with trainee stylists to stay within the limit. Sometimes it went badly, but it was always cheap.
They were inching toward their goal, but it felt like two solo projects rather than a partnership. Lucy never complained to Mark about the effort, she just kept quiet when he ordered pizza for lunch because he wanted a treat and was too lazy to go to the canteen.
Mark I really dont need much, Lucy finally said, averting her eyes. Just a bit of genuine respect. I dont enjoy scrimping, but I do it because Im thinking about our future together. Sometimes I wonder if we even have a future.
I work, Mark huffed. I bring home the money. What else do you want? Do I not have the right to a celebration?
Seeing she wasnt up for compromise, he retreated toward the bedroom. Lucy stayed alone in her cheap robe, under the single flickering chandelier bulb, thoughts of a mortgage that seemed forever out of reach dancing in her head.
Her heart throbbed with doubt as well as hurt. Maybe she was being dramatic? Maybe Mark had a point?
The next day she met her friend Mabel for tea. Lucy needed an ear.
Looks like you didnt just pop over to admire my linoleum patterns, Mabel said, noticing Lucys gloom. Whats up?
Lucy sighed, placed her hands on the table, and gave a quick rundown of yesterdays argument. She explained how it felt to fund a joint dream while only one side contributed, and how Mark seemed to value his own birthday more than hers.
Lucy, youre clever, Mabel grinned after shed finished. So youre skimping on yourself and expecting him to carry you?
Its about saving Lucy began.
Yes, yes, Mabel cut in. Youre saving, hes splurging. Does he ever deny himself anything? Does he ever thank you for your sacrifices?
Lucy shrugged. Mark wasnt ungrateful; he just believed thats how things should be. He thought the domestic magic would happen on its own.
Does he know how expensive it is to be a woman? Mabel pressed. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, decent lingerienot grannys knickers. Thats just the basics. Are you his partner or his convenient housewife in that threadbare robe, juggling all the numbers?
Stop Lucy tried to argue, but her confidence wavered.
I wont stop. Want the truth about why hes pushing for a restaurant? Because he knows youll bend over backwards anyway. Youll wear out your shoes, stop dyeing your hair with cheap colour, but youll still give in. And hell feel like a king because the anniversary is at a fancy eatery.
So what do I do? Lucy asked, lost.
Stop being such a doormat. Find a lover with a flatthat would solve everything, Mabel said, halfjoking.
Mabel!
Alright, alright. Backup plan. Stop skimping on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Fine, let him. But you need a dress, shoes, a proper bag, a hairstyle, and a pair of gold earrings to go with it. Youre not going to a fancy dinner in a tracksuit with sagging knees, are you?
Okay, the dress is easy. Ill just slip into my old school prom dress
Mabel, are you even listening? Stop cutting yourself short!
Lucy inhaled. Switching gears wasnt easy, but she knew Mabel had a point.
Fine. Ill give it a try
That morning she told Mark she needed to book a salon appointmentmanicure, haircut, styling. He was surprised, then shrugged.
Later she showed him a pair of shoes she liked.
Look, black, versatile. They go with almost any dress, and I can wear them again later, she said.
Eight hundred pounds? Lucy, I could upgrade the whole computer for that!
Its my birthday. I have to look decent. Its a restaurant, after all. You might end up without a present, but at least the anniversary will be unforgettable. By the way, Ive already scouted a boutique. Take me there and well pick a dress together.
Mark grunted but didnt argue. Perhaps he expected her to change her mind. She didnt. By evening she was already eyeing earrings.
How about these? Theyre lovely and cheaponly twenty pounds. Others of the same weight go for thirty. Well need a clutch to match, but thats after the dress.
Marks eyes widened as he tried to do the maths. He swallowed, went pale, and muttered, Maybe we should skip the restaurant a night in isnt bad either.
Lucy just smiled. They settled on a lowkey, familystyle celebration. Did they fully reconcile? Not quite. Did Mark grasp anything? Perhaps a little. But Lucy walked away with a clear thought: if you dont respect yourself, no one else will.
