Anne sat at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on the silver knife as Mrs. Whitaker, her motherinlaw, sliced crisp apples for an apple crumble and narrated a story with such fervour that even the steam seemed to lean in. The tale drifted past Annes ears; she was barely listening. For a month Mrs. Whitaker had been staying with them, and the walls of the modest terraced house in a leafy London suburb were beginning to close in.
Although her marriage to Kevin had been happy for five years, recent weeks had coaxed a faint doubt into Annes thoughts: had she truly married the son of the woman who now hovered like a moth around the kitchen?
Anne, love, youre not listening to me! Mrs. Whitaker snapped, pausing her story and pursing her lips. Im saying Kevin needs a new job. That construction firm of his is a joke! I spoke to my friend; shell take him on in her building company. Better pay, clearer prospects, a promotion within a year. And you could stay at home, without work.
Anne drew a slow breath, fighting the sting of irritation. Mrs. Whitaker, Kevin decides where he works. Hes an adult.
Of course hes an adult! But youre his wife, you must steer him! All that design and those picturesthose arent a mans business! the older woman scolded, waving her hands.
Hes a designerarchitect and hes brilliant, Anne snapped, on the brink of collapse. His firm is reputable, and he loves what he does.
Loves it? Mrs. Whitaker flared her arms. And the money? They pay him peanuts! And children? Youll have to raise them. What will you teach them?
Were not planning children yet, Anne replied softly, though the subject had already been revisited many times. We have enough money.
No plans? Mrs. Whitaker set the knife down and turned, eyes bright. I knew it! Good heavens, what am I to do with you? Five years of marriage and no children! I was raising Kevin at your age!
Anne fell silent. She wanted childrenvery muchbut not now, while she had just defended her doctoral thesis and secured a senior lecturer post in the universitys Department of Architecture. She and Kevin had agreed: three more years to cement her academic career, then perhaps think of a family.
Mrs. Whitaker, mistaking Annes quiet for consent, pressed on. Look at Lucy, my friends daughtershes already had three and her husbands a builder who put up a lovely house for them.
Mrs. Whitaker, Anne tried again, Kevin and I will decide how to live. I respect you, but
What does well decide mean? the motherinlaw huffed. Im his mother! I know whats best for him and for you! Youre still a green, inexperienced girl. A mother never gives bad advice.
Anne shook her head and left the kitchen. Arguing was futile. She climbed the narrow staircase to the upstairs bedroom of the little, cosy house they had bought two years earlier with a mortgage. She lay down, closed her eyes, and felt the weight of her day: lectures, grading, endless scrutiny from Mrs. Whitaker. Exhaustion wrapped around her like a heavy blanket.
That evening Kevin returned, tired but smiling. Guess what? Ive been appointed lead designer on a new project! he announced, planting a kiss on Annes cheek.
Congratulations, love! she beamed.
Mother, whats the project? How much will they pay? Mrs. Whitaker interjected.
Its a highend residential development, Kevin said, buoyant. The salary will rise, of course.
Whats the figure? the older woman pressed.
Mother Kevin winced. It doesnt matter. Were fine.
Fine? What about the mortgage? The car? That clunker of yours will fall apart any day now! Mrs. Whitaker declared, as if reciting a grocery list. Look at Sophies son
Im not Sophies son, Kevin cut her off. And lets just eat.
During dinner Mrs. Whitaker continued her moral lecture. Kevin mostly stayed silent, while Anne felt a growing knot of irritation. After the meal, alone in the bedroom, Anne could hold back no longer.
Kevin, I cant take this any longer! Your mother is in every corner of our livesyour work, our plans, our home! When is she leaving?
Anne, Kevin sighed, she just wants whats best. Shes always like that.
I know, Anne nodded. But its one thing when she visits on weekends, another when she lives with us permanently!
Its only temporary, Kevin tried to soothe. Shes renovating her flat.
How long does a oneroom flat take to renovate? A month already! Anne protested.
Your mother wants everything perfect, Kevin chuckled. Just a bit more patience, okay?
Anne could only nod. She could not drive Mrs. Whitaker out; her patience was fraying.
The next morning, as Anne prepared for work, Mrs. Whitaker appeared in the bedroom doorway. Anne, we need to talk, she said, perching on the edge of the bed.
Im in a rush. Maybe this evening? Anne tried to dodge.
No, its urgent, the motherinlaw insisted. I think you should quit your job.
What? Anne froze, comb over in hand. Why?
Because you need to have children! You cant keep postponing forever. I spoke to Kevin yesterday; he also wants a baby.
Kevin? Annes heart thudded. Did he actually say that?
Not exactly, Mrs. Whitaker faltered. But I can see it in his eyes. He dreams of a son!
Anne set down her comb and faced her motherinlaw. I appreciate your concern, truly. But Kevin and I have already talked. Were planning children in three years. Right now isnt the right time.
Not the right time? When will it be? When youre forty? I was your age Mrs. Whitaker wailed.
I know, Anne interjected. You raised Kevin at my age. Times have changed.
Exactly! Mrs. Whitaker exclaimed. Back then the family came first; now everyone chases careers. Youth!
Anne glanced at the clock. I must go, she said firmly. Well finish this conversation tonight with Kevin.
The day slipped by in a blur of lectures, tutorials, a faculty meeting, and Annes mind kept returning to the looming conversation. What if Mrs. Whitaker was right? What if Kevin secretly wanted a baby now but feared upsetting her?
When they stepped through the front door, a surprise awaited. Mrs. Whitaker had set a festive table in the living room.
A celebration? Kevin asked, slipping off his shoes.
Of course! she chirped. Family council!
Annes stomach tightened. She sensed the topic before any words were spoken.
Mrs. Whitaker poured wine, raised her glass, and declared, I have news! I spoke to Ms. Green, who will take Kevin into her company!
Kevin choked on the wine. Mother, what?
Your new position! she enthused. Ms. Green runs a major construction firm and wants you as head of the design department. Double the salary!
What department? Kevin asked, bewildered.
The design department, of course! Youre an architect! Mrs. Whitaker beamed, handing him a stack of printed flyers.
Anne watched Kevins hand tighten around his glass. Im happy where I am, he said firmly, pushing the papers aside. Im not looking for a new job.
But Kevin, think of the future! Think of the children! Mrs. Whitakers voice rose.
We have no children yet, Kevin reminded.
Exactlysoon! she said, eyes flicking to Anne. Anne is even thinking of quitting.
What? I never said that! Anne protested.
I thought youd consider it after my suggestion! the older woman replied, genuinely surprised.
I said wed talk about it tonight, Anne corrected. And were not planning children now. We agreed on three years.
Kevin nodded silently, but Anne saw the frustration in his eyes. Had his mothers meddling driven a wedge between them?
Three years? Mrs. Whitaker flailed her arms. Youre already thirty! In three years youll be thirtythreedangerous!
People have children after thirty nowadays, Kevin tried to reason.
And what? Thats wrong! Mrs. Whitaker retorted. I gave birth at twentytwo and it was perfect! I just want the best for yougrandchildren!
We understand, Mother, Kevin said gently but firmly. But its our life, our decision.
Exactlyour life! Mrs. Whitaker repeated, as if chanting. Career isnt everything; family is!
Anne inhaled deeply. Mrs. Whitaker, I want both a good academic career and, someday, to be a mother. Just not yet.
The dinner ended in a sour silence. Mrs. Whitaker retreated to her bedroom, Kevin stared at his plate, and Anne whispered, Kevin, do you really want a baby now?
He met her gaze. No, Anne. Weve agreed on three years. I just feel the pressure from your mother.
But you look upset, she noted.
Its the constant pressure, he admitted. Shes always insistent. Its become unbearable.
Maybe we should speak to her, Anne suggested. Tell her we value her care but need space.
Ill talk tomorrow, Kevin promised. Tonight she wont listen.
The next day Mrs. Whitaker behaved as if nothing had happened, making breakfast and asking about plans. Anne wasnt sure whether to be relieved or wary.
That evening, returning from work, Anne found her motherinlaw hunched over a laptop, typing furiously.
Good evening, Anne said. What are you doing?
Oh, Anne! Mrs. Whitaker jumped, closing the browser. Just writing to a friend.
Anne caught the page title: How to convince children to have babies. She sighed. We need to talk.
About what, dear? Mrs. Whitaker feigned surprise.
About you trying to control our lives, Anne said, voice steady. Your desire to manage everything.
Control? Mrs. Whitaker gasped. Im helping! Advising! Im a mother!
Yes, youre Kevins mother, not mine, Anne replied. Were adults; we make our own choices.
Mrs. Whitaker shook her head. A mother always knows best.
Perhaps, Anne conceded. But the decisions belong to us.
At that moment Kevin returned, looking uneasy. Whats happening? Anne asked, half forgetting the conversation.
My director called, Kevin said, sinking into a chair. Someone was asking about my salary and prospects.
What? Who? Anne asked.
Both turned to Mrs. Whitaker, who was now staring at a pattern on the tablecloth. Mother? Kevins tone wavered.
I had to check that youre okay at work! she blurted, hands fluttering. I called your director!
You called him? Kevins shock was palpable. Why?
To make sure everythings fine for you! she repeated. And what did he say?
He said some strange woman was inquiring about my job, Kevin said, shaking his head. Mother, that crosses a line!
A line? Mrs. Whitaker echoed, offended. Im your mother! There can be no line!
There must be, Kevin said calmly, fists tightening. We have a right to a private life.
A private life from your mother? she sputtered. I raised you! I did everything for you!
Yes, Motherthose boundaries, Kevin insisted. We decided to have children in three years, and well stay at our current jobs. Please respect that.
Mrs. Whitakers eyes welled. I just dont want you to make mistakes!
Even if theyre mistakes, theyre ours, Kevin replied softly. We have the right to make them.
Silence settled. Anne looked at Kevin with gratitude; finally he had voiced what had been hidden.
Shall we have some tea? Anne suggested, hoping to ease the tension.
Tea sounds perfect, Kevin agreed.
Mrs. Whitaker nodded, still a little hurt but beginning to understand.
The following morning she announced she was moving back to her flat, the renovation finished. Anne felt a mixture of relief and sorrowrelief at the return to normalcy, sorrow for the woman who truly believed she was doing the right thing.
Mrs. Whitaker, youre always welcome to visit, Anne said as they said goodbye. Just dont interfere with our lives.
Just not interfere, the older woman repeated, a faint smile forming. Ive learned what better really means.
Anne smiled back. We appreciate your care. Sometimes we just need to decide for ourselves.
Mrs. Whitaker embraced Anne, and for the first time in years Anne felt genuine understanding between them.
When the motherinlaw left, the house fell quiet. Anne and Kevin savoured the peace, planning their future without external dictates. Three years later, as they had intended, they welcomed a baby girl into the world. Mrs. Whitaker, now a proud grandmother, cradled the infant, her eyes shining.
Shes beautiful, she whispered, gazing at the newborn. You both chose wisely.
Anne and Kevin exchanged a look, knowing that the path of love, patience, and mutual respect had finally led them here.
Now the family gathered often. Mrs. Whitaker visited, played with the grandchild, and rarely tried to steer their choices. She learned to listen, to accept, even when she disagreed.
One afternoon, as they all shared tea, Mrs. Whitaker said, Ive learned a lot from you. I used to think mum knows best. Now I see that better is when each of us decides how to live.
Your wish for the best was always there, Mother, Kevin replied, smiling.
And we value it, Anne added. What matters is what we create together.
Mrs. Whitaker glanced around the roomson, daughterinlaw, granddaughterher heart finally at peace with the family she had always imagined, even if the road had taken an unexpected turn.
