How many? You said you didnt want much, Jack snapped, a bitter smile curling his lips. Im saving every penny on myself, hopping from one cheap flat to another, and you want a restaurant for your birthday? Isnt that a bit extravagant?
Mabel, its a milestone, Jack pleaded, trying to soften his tone. You dont turn thirty every day. It should be a night to remember.
She stared at him, eyes hard, fists clenched at her sides. The anger that boiled inside wasnt only about the price tagJacks wish would cost them a thousand pounds. Mabel felt, in that moment, like a servant or a penniless relative, stuck at the bottom of a household that never seemed to notice her.
Jack only confirmed her fears.
You yourself said you didnt need a lot! he said, his voice edged with triumph.
Mabels eyebrows shot up. Yes, she had said it, but not from a place of comfort.
Exactly, she replied slowly, the words tasting like ash. I told you I could do without a new dress, bake my own cake, do my own manicure and pedicure. Im saving because I want to move into my own flat, Jack, not because I enjoy being poor.
Jack pursed his lips, clearly unwilling to dig deeper. He behaved like a petulant teenagermy way or the highway, no room for negotiation.
Youre only twentyeight. Youve got your whole life ahead of you. Im hitting a round number, and I want this to be a proper celebration, not just a quiet dinner at home.
Mabel lowered her gaze. A quiet dinner exactly how it feels.
She recalled the weeklong marathon of planning her own birthday: hunting for discount vegetablessome wilted but still saladworthyscrutinising flyers and coupon codes, comparing prices in every corner shop. She baked a cake from an online recipe, using cheap cream and condensed milk, not because she loved homecooking but because it saved money.
Even with the scrimping, the party had been a success. Guests smiled, praised the salads, devoured the homemade pizza. Mabel managed a smile too, in a faded dress, nails painted with cheap clear polish. The cash gifts almost covered the costs. She pretended everything was fine, but later, alone in the bathroom, tears fellselfpity, exhaustion, the endless need to stretch every pound: the dress, the hair, the family celebrations.
Three years with Jack had turned frugality into a second name. She knew how to squeeze the most cashback on a loaf, bought cheap processed cheese instead of proper cheddar, and could spot a genuine bargain from a fake one. Clothing? As long as it was clean and untorn, she didnt care about brands or looks. Those things were luxuries for people hunting the cheapest toothpaste, not for someone desperate to secure her own roof over her head.
Having our own flat is important, Jack agreed, trying to sound supportive. Then we wont be pushed around on a whim, and we wont have to fork over half our salaries on rent.
In reality, Jacks contribution to the household budget was limited to handing over his paycheck. The idea of separate finances terrified Mabel; women who had to scramble for maternity funds seemed even scarier. Jack treated money like a teenager blowing his allowance on chips and soda.
It was no wonderMabel was the one calculating utility bills, travel costs, groceries. She trimmed expenses to stash a planned sum, booked haircuts with trainee stylists to stay within the limit. Sometimes the savings were painful, but they were cheap.
They moved toward their goal, but it felt as if they walked sidebyside, not together. Mabel never told Jack the full weight of her sacrifices, never complained, never nagged. She stayed silent when he ordered a pizza at lunch, simply because he was too lazy to go to the canteen and wanted a treat.
Jack I really dont need much, Mabel finally said, averting her eyes. Just a bit of basic respect. I dont like having to scrimp, but I do it for our future. Sometimes it feels like we have none.
I bring home the money, Jack growled, his tone sharp. What else do you expect? I have a right to celebrate too, dont I?
Seeing she wasnt ready to compromise, he retreated toward the bedroom. Mabel was left alone in a cheap nightgown, a single flickering bulb in the chandelier, thoughts of a mortgage she feared they would never reach.
Her heart throbbed with pain and doubt. Was she overreacting? Was Jack right?
The next morning she met her friend Gwen at a café. I can see you didnt just come over to admire the linoleum, Gwen said, noticing Mabels gloom. Whats wrong?
Mabel exhaled, hands resting on the table, and recounted the previous nights argument. She explained how it hurt that a shared dream was funded by only one, how Jack placed his own anniversary above her birthday.
Honestly, youre clever, Gwen smirked after Mabel finished. So youre saving on yourself and expect him to carry you on his shoulders?
Were saving Mabel began.
Yes, yes, Gwen cut in. Youre saving, hes spending. Does he even realize how hard it is for you? Has he ever thanked you for it?
Mabel shrugged. Jack wasnt ungrateful; he just believed thats how things should be, that the household magic would sort itself out.
Does he know what it costs to be a woman? Gwen pressed. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, decent underwearnot grannys bloomers. Thats just the baseline. Are you his partner or his convenient housewife in a faded robe, the one who does all the calculations, organising and fixing?
Stop Mabel tried to protest, but her voice wavered.
Dont stop, Gwen insisted. Do you want me to tell you why he insists on a restaurant? Because he knows youll bend. Youll wear holes in your underwear, stop dyeing your hair, but youll still give in. Then hell feel like a king. Its a milestone, after all.
What should I do? Mabel asked, lost.
Stop being such a doormat. Find a lover with a flatsolve everything, Gwen joked. Ritauh, Gwenokay, enough. Practical plan: stop scrimping on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Fine. But you need a dress, shoes, a matching clutch, a proper hairdo, even cheap gold earrings. If youre going out, go allout, not in joggers with stretched knees.
Mabel sighed. The shift felt abrupt, but she recognised a grain of truth.
Fine. Ill try, she said.
That afternoon she told Jack she needed to book a salon appointmentmanicure, cut, styling. He raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Later she showed him a pair of black shoes she had found.
Eight hundred pounds?! Mabel, I could upgrade the computers memory for that! Jack exclaimed.
Its my birthday, I have to look decent. The restaurant wont judge me for cheap shoes, she replied. Ive already picked a boutique; you can drive us there and well choose a dress together.
Jack grunted, reluctant but silentperhaps hoping shed change her mind. She didnt. By evening she was already comparing earrings, holding them up in front of him.
How about these? Not pricey, only two hundred pounds. Others cost thirtyplus. Well need a clutch to match after the dress.
Jacks eyes flickered with panic; he swallowed, turned pale, and muttered, Maybe we skip the restaurant homes fine.
Mabel just smiled. They settled on a quiet family celebration. Did they truly reconcile? Not entirely. Did Jack understand anything? Perhaps. What Mabel realised, crystalclear, was that until she respects herself, no one else will.
