Whats she doing with my son?!
Margaret Thompson bustles around the kitchen, waiting for her son, whos about to arrive with his fiancée. The oven breathes out the scent of a perfectly roasted duck, steaming meat pies sit waiting on the centre of the table, and a chilled jelly terrine holds its place in the fridge.
Margaret takes the guest arrival very seriously; the table overflows with food shes been preparing since yesterday morning. And todays guests are a big deal. James has been dating Emily for a year, and at last hes ready to introduce his beloved to his parents.
A short ring of the doorbell cuts through the chatter. Giving herself a quick tidyup in the hallway mirror, Margaret hurries to the door.
Hello, love! Come in, let me take your coat, she greets James warmly. He offers a sheepish smile, steps aside and lets the young woman in first, hanging his own coat on the peg.
Emily, this is my mother, Margaret, James says.
Margaret instantly notes Emilys slight frame, which she interprets as a sign of frailty, and the tattoo on her forearm. Her eyebrows rise a fraction, but she decides not to comment on the ink just yet, especially since James has spoken so glowingly of his sweetheart.
Good evening, Mrs. Thompson, its a pleasure to finally meet you, Emily says with a radiant smile.
Margaret watches James look at his future wife with a gleam of adoration.
Polite conversation flows around the table, but Margaret soon detects a problem: James picks at his food halfheartedly, his plate half empty, and Emily doesnt even pass him any bites. Casting a disapproving glance at the girl, Margaret rises, moves to Jamess seat and begins to ladle small portions onto his plate.
Mum, Ive got it, James protests, but years of futile resistance have taught him that arguing with his mother is pointless.
Having rescued James from a potential hangry demise, Margaret turns her attention to the future daughterinlaw, still baffled by her behaviour. When Margaret reaches for Emilys salad, Emily calmly says:
Mrs. Thompson, everything looks delicious, but I dont actually eat that. The salad is lovelyIm on my third helping already. Could you share the recipe? she asks, reaching for the bowl of mixed greens.
Emily, what nonsense? That dont eat ityoure talking about our family duck with orange, a secret recipe, Margaret replies, slicing off a duck leg, laying it on the plate, adding a scone with smoked sprats and a generous scoop of potato salad.
Mom, no need. Emily has been watching her diet for years, James interjects.
Calm down, you two, this is proper nutrition! Margaret exclaims.
Darling, leave her be, starts Robert, Margarets husband, but he falls silent under her stern stare.
Satisfied that the children have full plates, Margaret settles back into her chair.
We grew up on bacon, chips, and dairy, and were all healthy, she says.
Mom, the doctor also advised you to watch what you eat. Youve been complaining about feeling poorly, James adds.
Thats nonsense. Do you even have breakfast at home? Margaret retorts.
James and Emily exchange a quick smile.
We eat well, Mum. Lots of veg, and I try to avoid heavy foods, Emily replies.
Margarets eyes widen. Her son has truly slimmed down!
Whats Emily feeding you, then? Margaret asks.
We cook together, both of us work late, and we often order delivery, James says.
That actually works out betterclean house and more time for useful things, Emily adds.
Margaret is in shock. In her thirtyyear marriage, Robert never peeled potatoes; that was never a mans job. When Margaret was a bride, her mother and grandmothers taught her that a wife should keep the home spotless, cook hearty meals, and keep the husbands clothes tidy. Robert could hardly iron a shirt, and Margaret took pride in that. Now shes horrified by the modern household dynamic her son lives in.
How can you be cooking, James? Your job is demanding, you need rest, Margaret frets. Emily, a man shouldnt be doing that. Your marriage wont last.
Emily replies, I also work, sometimes earning more than James. We share duties equally, and were happy.
Margaret is taken aback that James argues with her, and not gently like before. She decides to smooth the tension.
Fine, its your business. Ill stay out of it, she says. Come inside, Ill keep you fed, otherwise youll just get bones. Emily, youre looking a bit thin, thats not good.
The conversation continues. Margaret tries a few more times to feed them, but they still eat modestly. Emily tells her she works in the media industry, organizing concerts and travelling frequently. Margaret is unsettledhow can a woman be on the road all the time and still keep a home?
She finally asks about the tattoo.
Emily, whats that on your forearm? A translation, perhaps? A pretty design, but you should be able to remove it if you wish, Margaret says.
We got matching tattoos with James six months ago. We liked them, Emily replies confidently.
James, dear, tattoos are for prisoners! Margaret exclaims. Robert, will you stay silent?
Robert mutters, Well, son, its uh
James knows his father never takes a firm stance, and he fears contradicting his strict mother, so he stays quiet.
Mrs. Thompson, the worlds changing, Emily says gently. Its fashionable now, many see tattoos as art, and they can be removed later. James is twentyeight; he can make his own decisions.
Margaret feels her breath catch at the audacity.
This crosses every line! Parents opinions should matter most! We never allowed our son to do such foolish things, she protests.
Mom, calm down, please. Youre the one crossing the polite bounds. As Emily said, Im an adult now, James says with a grin. This is my life, and Im confident in my choices.
The evening loses its pleasant tone and ends quickly. James and Emily gather their things to leave. Polite refusals of leftover biscuits and tea wont stop them, and they take the bags with them.
Alone, Margaret washes the dishes while Robert dozes on the sofa with the paper. Hundreds of heavy thoughts swirl in her head.
She cant understand how her son ended up in this situation. James and Emily look happy; he often tells his mother on the phone how supportive Emily is. Emily is welleducated, financially stable, and comes from a respectable family. But is this attitude toward a man normal today?
Margaret has always seen herself as the perfect housewife. For years her day starts with caring for the family, and she never goes to bed until the last cup is washed. It doesnt stop a marriage from small frictions; there have been arguments, and Robert once had a few affairs in his youth, which Margaret eventually forgave. She thinks the problem lies in herselfperhaps she gave Robert less attention after James was born. Still, she believes their marriage succeeded; they recently celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Nowadays they talk rarely. Robert spends evenings glued to the telly, while Margaret knits, tends to her roses, and chats with a neighbour on the phone. What else is there to say when everything has already been said?
Will James be happy with this girl? Is he making a mistake? He has changedhis voice now has a firmness, and at work he says his projects are soaring thanks to Emilys advice. He calls less often, but hes always ready to drop everything and come when his mother needs himprovided he has no plans with his fiancée. Hes started skipping trips to the family cottage, telling his mother that buying groceries is cheaper than growing his own potatoes. Margaret feels she understands her son less and less.
Its his decision, of course, but a mothers word should still matter. Time will tell who wins.
Meanwhile, James and Emily drive home. James apologises again, and Emily waves it off with a smile.
I expected this, no worries. I can understand any hiccups. Just stay on my side, James, okay? Thats the most important thing, she says.
Of course, James replies, kissing her on the temple.
Family life promises to be interesting.
—
Live and be joyful
Susan wanders through a massive supermarket. Its aisles twist like a labyrinth, easily causing shoppers to lose their wayclever marketers have arranged everything so consumers cant escape the overwhelming bounty displayed on the shelves.
Anything you need for the soul! What would you like? Fruit? Here you go!
In wicker baskets, glistening pomegranates sit beside ripe cherries, practically begging to be eaten. Soft, velvety peaches, their skins like a newborns cheek, are displayed in elegant rows. Pears of many varieties line the next shelf. Exotic bananas, from green to bright yellow, sit beside deepred, almost burgundy apples. Clusters of honeygold grapes dangle from tidy crates, shouting, Buy, buy, just buy us!
Susan admires the jars of sweet, southernstyle juice and berries, then moves past the refrigerators where spotless glass doors reveal rows of milk, yoghurts, sour cream, and cottage cheeseso many dairy products that its hard to tell them apart.
She imagines scooping a spoonful of strawberry jam into a pot of creamy cottage cheese and devouring it, or grabbing a piece of goats cheese, touted as healthy. Perhaps a milkshake flavored like custardshe used to buy those for her son at the Little Red Café. Now she could just grab a readymade bottle and drink it straight away, no queue required.
Thinking of her son, Sam, Susans heart tightens with melancholy. He was eight, they used to sit in the café, laughing as he sipped a strawfilled shake that made a funny noise as it neared the bottom of the cup. Where is Sam now? Hes gone, and the Little Red Café has been replaced by a sleek sushi bar called Sakura on Victoria Street. Susan has no idea what a sushi bar looks like, but she passes by, trying not to stare at the window.
Near the frozen food aisles, a couple wrestles with a bag of items.
Take it straight from the pack, theres less ice! says a middleaged woman in quirky sailpants.
Her husband ignores her, shovelling into a bag a handful of red creatures that look like oversized beetles or perhaps exotic crabs.
The man is about Sams age, but he looks nothing like her sonSam was lanky and wiry, this man is stocky and solid. Sams dark hair and brown eyes contrast with the mans light, freckled face and blue eyes. Yet both share a similarly open, friendly smile. Susan cant help herself:
What are you putting in that bag? she asks.
The woman replies, Shrimps. She glances at Susan and quickly adds, But you probably wont like them.
Why not? Susan probes.
Have you ever tried crayfish? the man interjects, Theyre a bit like little crabs. Cook them with dill and theyre perfect with a pint.
Susan admits shes never tried crayfish.
Come on, any lad can catch some! the man jokes.
Weve never had men in the familyjust women. Father died in the war, left mum and three of us. No men, no crayfish. He sighs, his eyes softening with sympathy.
His interest draws Susan closer, as if a locked door has opened and someone is gently inviting her inside, from the cold, stark shop into the warmth of a homely hearth.
At last, the dam of longheld silence bursts. Susan begins to speak, telling the stranger about her husbands death a year ago, how her son left three months later, how shes been alone ever since, how her granddaughter probably doesnt even know if her own mother is alive. She mentions its her birthday, that she wanted to buy something tasty but cant decide on anything. Shes eightyseven, originally from the village of Dymley, where German pilots once bombed houses and her mother chased them away from the window. She misses Sam terribly; he never returns, while a man named Kolka berates her every night, eating everything, and Sam never shows up
She just wishes the couple would stay, to finally have someone listen. She hasnt spoken like this to anyone in years.
