My mother will be moving in with us. He slammed the door, and the chandelier in the hallway rattled. You dont like that?
The tea in the mug had long since gone cold, and Emily sat motionless at the kitchen table, unable to summon the energy to move. Jamess words, hurled at her before he left for work, replayed in her mind like a stuck record.
My mother will be moving in with us. James had said, slamming the door so hard the brass knocker rang. You dont like that.
In twentythree years of marriage he had never spoken to her like that. There had been arguments, there had been fights, but never a tone so chilling, so distant, that it felt as if a stranger stood before her instead of her husband.
Emily rose, carried the mug to the sink, and walked over to the window. From the ninth floor the autumn park stretched out in gold and burgundy. They had chosen this flat together, saved for it for years, giving up many comforts. Three rooms a spacious living room and two bedrooms. One for us, one for the children, they had dreamed. But the children never arrived. The second bedroom became Jamess home office, where he toiled late into the night, bringing work home from the firm.
Now his mother, Margaret Whitmore, would occupy that space.
Emily sighed. Margaret had always been a formidable woman domineering, used to having everything under her control. James was her only son, the late child shed had when hope seemed already dim. She loved him to the point of obsession, hovering over every step he took. When he announced his engagement to Emily, Margaret smiled at the wedding but her eyes stayed icy.
In the first years after the wedding Margaret lived her own life, teaching mathematics at a secondary school, visiting only occasionally. Three weeks ago shed suffered a mild stroke. She recovered quickly, but doctors insisted she needed constant care; a solitary old lady could no longer manage on her own.
Emily had no objection to helping her motherinlaw, but she suggested hiring a livein carer. James rejected outright I wont let a stranger near my mother. Yesterday evening he announced, without consulting anyone, that his mother would move in. This morning, when Emily timidly protested, he ripped the ultimatum from his throat.
The phones ringtone snapped Emily from her thoughts. The caller ID showed her old school friend.
Hey, Claire, a weary voice answered.
Emily, you sound like youre not happy to hear me, Claires tone trembled with worry. Whats happened?
Margarets moving in with us, Emily sank onto the sofa. James just put it in front of me. He said take it or leave.
Oh my! Claire whistled. Whens the move?
This Saturday. James has already arranged the removers. Theyll haul her bed, wardrobe, armchair Emily covered her eyes. You know how we get along. How are we supposed to live under the same roof?
I know, Claire sighed. Remember how she scolded you at your birthday last year for the oversalted soup? In front of everyone.
Exactly, Emily chuckled bitterly. Imagine that every day.
Maybe you should talk to James calmly, no emotions, just lay out your concerns.
I tried. He wont listen. He says the decisions final, no point in discussing it.
Then perhaps speak directly to Margaret? Start with a clean slate? Shes old now, it must be hard for her.
Emily hesitated. Start fresh? Could she ever reset after years of mutual dislike?
I dont know, Claire. I think shell see any gesture as a sign of weakness.
You never know until you try, Claire replied philosophically. Lets meet tonight, have a coffee, get your mind off things.
Fine, Emily agreed. The Bluebird at seven?
Its a date. Dont worry, itll sort itself out.
She hung up feeling a little lighter. Claire had always been her rock. Theyd been friends since secondary school, weathered first loves, university admissions, weddings, breakups. Claire had survived a divorce; Emily had endured several failed attempts at motherhood. Theyd always been there for each other in the darkest hours.
Now she had to decide what to do next. Leave? But where? Her whole life revolved around this house, around James. Despite the fights, she loved him and knew he loved her. He was torn between wife and mother, and chose his mother. Could she blame him?
That evening, at the café, Claire listened, propping her chin on her hand, nodding occasionally.
So, whats your decision? she asked once Emily had poured out everything.
Nothing yet, Emily stirred the cooling tea. I cant just walk away after all these years.
Of course not, Claire agreed. But you cant live in constant tension either. I know Margaret well. Shell monitor your every move, critique everything from your soup to your hair.
I know, Emily sighed. I just dont see a way out.
What about a compromise? Rent a nearby flat for her, visit daily, help with chores?
I suggested it, Emily shook her head. James said no. She must live with us. Hes adamant.
Right, Claire thought. Perhaps you should try to build a relationship with Margaret, for the sake of the family.
How? Emilys tired eyes met Claires. Ive tried for years. She thinks I stole her son.
Try a different angle, Claire leaned in. Not as daughterinlaw, but as a daughter. She has no one else now. A retired teacher, alone after a stroke. She might just be terrified of being left completely.
Emily considered this. Shed always seen Margaret as a rival, never as a lonely soul needing support.
Maybe youre right, she finally said. It cant get any worse.
Good, Claire clapped her hand. Start small. Invite her for tea before the move, discuss how to organise the space so it works for everyone.
Back home, Emily found James in the living room, laptop open, brow furrowed over some paperwork. He looked up as she entered.
Hi, his voice wavered, unsure how shed react.
Hello, Emily slipped off her coat and headed to the kitchen.
James followed.
Emily, we need to talk, he stopped in the doorway, watching her pull mugs from the cupboard. I I was out of line this morning. I shouldnt have spoken like that.
I know you shouldnt have, she replied calmly, setting the kettle on.
But you understand I cant leave my mother alone, he stepped closer. After what happened
I understand, Emily turned to face him. Im not saying she should be left alone. But you could have discussed it with me first, not just dumped it on me.
Youre right, he lowered his eyes. I guessed youd oppose and backed away.
Im happy to help your mother, she said gently. Im just afraid we wont get along under one roof. You know how things are between us.
I do, he sighed. I hope you both can find common ground. For my sake, for ours.
Emily stared at his silvertinged temples, the lines around his eyes, and remembered how hed courted her at university, how theyd dreamed of a future on a bench in Hyde Park. Twentythree years together was no small thing.
Ill try, she said finally. But you have to support me too. Dont leave me alone with her. Be a mediator. And if anything goes wrong, we discuss it together. Deal?
Deal, James exhaled, relief washing over him. Thank you, Em. I knew youd understand.
The next day Emily called Margaret and invited her for tea. Margaret was surprised but agreed. Emily booked a minicab, as Margaret still avoided the bus after her stroke.
At three oclock the doorbell rang. Margaret stood there, upright as a reed despite her infirmity, her hair neatly silver, eyes sharp.
Good afternoon, Margaret, Emily forced a smile. Please come in.
Good afternoon, Emily, Margaret nodded stiffly, stepping inside. Is James at work?
Hes staying late on a project, yes.
He never looks after himself, Margaret muttered, removing her coat. Always pushing himself.
Emily led her to the sitting room, where a tray of tea, scones, and fruit lay waiting. Margaret settled into the armchair, scanning the room.
Its been ages since I last visited. New curtains?
Yes, we put them up last autumn, Emily poured tea. How are you feeling? James said youre improving.
Fine, I suppose, Margaret sipped. Still a bit weak, my blood pressure is erratic. The doctor says Im recovering well for my age.
Silence settled. Emily wasnt sure how to broach the upcoming move. Margaret stared out the window, avoiding her gaze.
James said Id be living with you, Margaret finally said.
Yes, Emily nodded. In the room that used to be your study. Weve started clearing it out.
I know you dont like it, Margaret said bluntly, eyes locked on Emily. You could deny it. Id be angry in your place too.
Emily blinked, taken aback by the honesty.
I she stammered. Im worried well clash. Were very different.
Of course we are, Margaret replied. Youre young and modern, Im an oldfashioned sort. But theres no choice. James decided, so it is.
In Margarets voice Emily heard fatigue, resignation, perhaps a flicker of fear.
Margaret, Emily began cautiously, maybe we could try to get along, for Jamess sake. We both love him, after all.
Margaret lifted her head, surprised by the suggestion.
We love him, each in our own way, she said slowly. I once suggested hiring a carer, keeping me in my flat, but James insisted.
He can be stubborn when family is involved, Emily admitted. Hes stubborn about his mother.
Thats our family, Margaret chuckled. Stubborn as the lot.
Emily could hardly believe her ears. For the first time in years, Margaret spoke almost kindly.
Lets make a deal, Emily said firmly. Youll have your own room to rest, watch TV, keep to yourself. Ill handle the cooking, but if you need anything special, just tell me.
Margaret listened, tilting her head slightly.
And I wont interfere in your marriage, Emily added. But please, dont criticize me in front of James. If you have concerns, come to me directly.
Fair enough, Margaret agreed. Ill try. I could also help around the house a little. I cant stand at the stove much, my legs ache, but I can sort grain, peel veg, maybe knit. I still knit, you know.
I know, Emily smiled. James still keeps that sweater you made for his graduation.
Really? Margarets eyes widened. He still has it?
Absolutely. He cherishes anything youve given him.
They talked for another hour, the first genuine conversation between daughterinlaw and motherinlaw in over two decades. Emily spoke of her job at the public library, her plans for a reading club. Margaret recalled former pupils, some now grandparents themselves.
When it was time to leave, Margarets hand lingered on Emilys.
Thank you for the tea, she said softly. And for the talk. Ill try not to be a burden.
Well manage, Emily assured, helping her into her coat. Well get through this together.
Later that night James came home, and Emily recounted the visit.
You really talked? No shouting? he shook his head in disbelief. I cant believe it.
Turns out your mum is an interesting conversationalist, Emily laughed. Shes just worried shell get in the way.
I told you, James said, pulling her into a hug. All we needed was a chance to get to know each other. Im sorry for the way I handled it yesterday.
Its over, she whispered into his shoulder. But from now on, lets discuss big decisions together, okay? Were a family.
I promise, he said earnestly.
Saturday arrived. Margarets belongings a bed, a chair, boxes of books and photo albums were wheeled into the former study. Emily helped her settle the room, arranging the furniture just as Margaret liked.
It feels cosy, Margaret said, looking around. Thank you for making this space for me.
Its yours now, Emily replied, smiling. Make yourself at home.
That evening the three of them dined together. James told jokes from the office, Margaret reminisced about his childhood mischief, and Emily, for the first time in months, felt an odd sense of peace.
Of course, the first week brought a spat Margaret criticised the way Emily ironed Jamess shirts. But she quickly apologised, recalling their agreement. Small disputes over TV volume, room temperature, or an open window peppered their days, yet compromises emerged. Margaret began knocking before entering a room; Emily started cooking milder meals suitable for an elderly stomach; James acted as the peacemaker whenever tensions rose.
A month later, Emily found Margaret in the lounge, leafing through a photo album.
May I join you? Emily asked.
Of course, Margaret moved the album. Look, this is James in third grade, winning a maths competition.
Emily smiled at the boy in the picture, medal glinting on his chest.
He was always serious, she said.
Hes always been responsible, Margaret replied. My husband Victor was the same do what you say, do what you promise.
Emily listened as Margaret spoke of Victors sudden heart attack when James was fifteen, of the wedding day that felt both joyous and sorrowful. She learned that Margaret had sworn never to let anyone get too close again, fearing loss.
You were a threat to me, Margaret admitted quietly. I thought youd take James away. Silly, I know, but fear makes us do strange things.
I understand, Emily said softly. I hold no grudges.
Margarets gaze lingered on Emily.
I regret that you have no children, she said suddenly. James would have made a wonderful father.
We tried, Emily lowered her eyes. It just never worked.
I know, Margarets voice softened. James told me about your attempts, the treatments. He was desperate, and so was I.
Emilys eyes widened.
Really?
Absolutely, Margaret nodded. Youre his wife, youre dear to him. I should at least respect you.
Tears welled in Emilys eyes.
Thank you, she whispered. That means a lot.
When James returned home, he found his wife and mother at the kitchen table, rolling out dough for an old family apple pie. Margaret directed the process, and Emily followed her instructions.
Well, Ill be! James exclaimed, eyes wide. Have you two become friends?
Dont get carried away, Margaret teased. Im just teaching your wife how to make a proper apple crumble, not the bland thing you usually serve.
Mum! James protested.
Its fine, Emily said, smiling. We agreed to be honest with each other. I really want to learn this pie; it smells wonderful.
James shook his head, still in disbelief.
Later, in their bedroom, Emily turned to him.
I think well be okay. It wont be perfect, therell be fights and misunderstandings, but well manage.
I knew you could find common ground with her, James whispered, pulling her close. Thank you for your patience, for not walking away when I said that stupid thing.
And thank you for giving me a chance to meet your mother, Emily replied, sincere. Shes difficult, but theres something genuine in her. She loves you fiercely.
As do I, for both of you, James smiled.
That night Emily lay awake, thinking how easily their family could have shattered over pride and stubbornness, and how a single step toward each other could mend it. Living under one roof with Margaret wouldnt be easy, but now she knew it was possible. Two women, each loving the same man in their own way, could at least learn to respect one anotherfor his sake and for themselves. Perhaps, with time, genuine affection might even bloom. After all, isnt family about accepting flaws, learning forgiveness, and finding compromise? That, she realized, is the real wisdomnot fleeing difficulties, but finding the courage to overcome them.
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