I have been the unpaid housekeeper for my family for twentysix years, until I finally decide to leave for a business venture abroad on the occasion of my silver wedding anniversary.
Emily Whitmore stands at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when Simon walks into the kitchen and drops an invitation on the table.
Your school reunion, he says, eyes glued to his phone. Saturday.
She looks at the card thirty years since graduation, a pretty card with gold lettering.
Are you going? she asks, wiping her hands on the apron.
Of course. Just make yourself look decent, you look like a slob. Dont embarrass the family.
His words hit her like a punch. Emily freezes, ladle in hand. Simon heads for the door, but then Max and Dan appear in the kitchen.
Mum, whats that? Max says, taking the invitation.
A school reunion, Emily whispers.
Cool! Are you going to that in your foreverold dressing gown? Dan jokes.
Dont mock mum, intervenes Margaret Whitmore, Simons mother, stepping in with the air of someone ready to give sage advice. She just needs a little work on herself. Dye the hair, buy a decent dress. She should look respectable.
Emily nods silently and returns to the stove. Her chest aches, but she hides it. After twentysix years of marriage she has learned to tuck resentment deep inside.
Dinners ready, she announces half an hour later.
The family gathers around the table. The borscht is perfect the right tang, tender beef, fragrant herbs. Freshly baked bread and cabbage pastries sit alongside it.
Delicious, Simon grunts between spoonfuls.
Just as always, Margaret adds. You can actually cook.
Emily eats a few spoonfuls, then goes to wash the dishes. In the mirror above the sink she sees the tired face of a fortyeightyearold woman: grey roots, fine lines around the eyes, a dimmed gaze. When did she become this old?
On Saturday she wakes at five a.m. She must prepare dishes for the reunion everyone has to bring something. She decides to make several things at once: solyanka, herring under a fur coat, meat and cabbage pies, and for dessert, a delicate milkbased confection.
Her hands know what to do chop, mix, bake, garnish. Cooking is her sanctuary. Here she is a master; here no one criticises her.
Wow, youve made a lot, Max says, descending the stairs at eleven.
For the reunion, Emily replies briefly.
Did you buy anything new for yourself?
Emily looks at the only decent black dress hanging on a chair.
Itll do.
By two oclock everything is ready. She changes, puts on makeup, even wears the earrings Simon gave her for their tenth anniversary.
You look fine, Simon says. Lets go.
Sarah Irvings country house in Surrey impresses with its size. An old schoolmate who married a businessman now hosts guests in a mansion with a pool and a tennis court.
Emily! Sarah embraces her. You havent changed a bit! What did you bring?
A few dishes, Emily says, placing the containers on the table.
People have gotten richer, older, but they still recognise each other. Emily stays on the edge, watching classmates chat about their successes.
Who made this solyanka? Victor, the former class monitor, calls out. Its a masterpiece!
Thats Emily, Sarah points out.
A short man with kind eyes approaches. Emily! Remember me? Paul Mills, we sat together in the back row.
Paul! Of course, she exclaims.
You made this solyanka? Im thrilled! And those pies I dont think Ive ever tasted anything better.
Thanks, Emily says, blushing.
No joke. Ive lived in Dublin for ten years, they love Russian food, there are plenty of Russian restaurants, but Ive never seen this level. Are you a professional chef?
Just a housewife.
Just? Paul shakes his head. You have real talent.
All night people keep coming to Emily, asking for recipes, praising the food. She feels important. Needed. For the first time in years.
Simon, meanwhile, talks about his garage business, glancing at Emily now and then with surprise where does this popularity come from?
Monday begins as usual breakfast, cleaning, laundry. Emily irons the boys shirts when the phone rings.
Hello?
Emily? Its Paul. We met on Saturday.
Hi, Paul, she says, surprised.
Ive been thinking I have a business proposal. Can we meet? Talk?
What about?
A job in Ireland. I want to open a Russian restaurant there and need a coordinator. Someone with good taste, who can train chefs, design the menu. Good salary, plus a share.
Emily sits down, heart pounding.
Paul, I I dont know what to say.
Think about it. Call me tomorrow, okay?
She spends the whole day in a fog. Working in Ireland? A restaurant? She, a simple housewife?
At dinner she tries to explain to the family.
Can you believe they offered me a job?
What kind of job? Dan snorts. You cant do anything except cook.
Exactly, they offered me a cooking job. In Dublin, at a restaurant.
Dublin? Simon repeats. Thats nonsense.
Mum, what are you talking about? Max puts down his fork. How old are you? Fortyeight?
Besides that, Margaret interjects, who will run the house? Who will cook?
Okay, maybe someone was joking, Simon waves his hand.
Emily stays quiet. Maybe theyre right? Maybe its not serious?
The next day the same arguments surface over breakfast. Simon eyes her critically.
Youve changed, you need to exercise, he says.
Mom, by the way, Dan spreads butter on his toast, dont come to my graduation, alright?
Why? Emily asks.
Because all the other parents are stylish. And youre oldfashioned, I guess.
Dans right, Max adds. Dont be offended, we just dont want the kids to talk about you.
Their motherinlaw nods.
Exactly. Women have to keep themselves presentable even in old age.
Emily gets up, goes to her bedroom, and with trembling hands dials Paul.
Paul? Its Emily. Im in.
Really? his voice brightens. Emily, thats wonderful! But I warn you the work will be hard. Lots of responsibility, long hours, decisions. Are you ready?
Im ready, she says firmly. When do I start?
In a month. Well sort the paperwork, the visa. Ill help with everything.
The month flies by. Emily handles the documents, learns a bit of Irish, drafts the menu for the new place. The family remains sceptical, treating her plan as a fleeting fancy.
Shell be back in a month or two, realize home is best, Simon tells his friends.
The important thing is she doesnt lose money, Margaret adds.
The boys never take her seriously. To them she is part of the décor cooking, washing, cleaning. What could she possibly do abroad?
On the day of departure Emily rises early, prepares a weeks worth of meals, leaves written instructions for laundry and cleaning. She drives to the airport alone; everyone else is busy.
Call when youre settled, Simon mutters as he waves goodbye.
Dublin greets her with rain and new scents. Paul meets her at the terminal with a bouquet and a broad smile.
Welcome to your new life, he says, embracing her.
The following months pass in a blur. Emily recruits staff, finalises the menu. She discovers she can not only cook but also manage, plan, and lead.
The first customers arrive after three months. The dining room is packed, people line up. Borscht, solyanka, dumplings, pancakes everything sells out instantly.
You have golden hands, Paul says. And a sharp mind. Weve created something special.
Emily watches the satisfied faces, hears the compliments, and realises she has found herself. At fortyeight she starts living anew.
Six months later Simon calls.
Emily, hows it going? When are you coming home?
Fine. Im working.
When will you be back? Were barely coping here.
Hire a housekeeper.
What kind? How much?
At the same rate I earned for twentysix years.
What do you mean?
Nothing special. I was the free housekeeper for my family until I left for a business venture on my anniversary.
Silence hangs on the line.
Emily, can we talk properly? No hard feelings?
Im not angry, Simon. Im just living. Its the first time Im truly alive.
Her sons react similarly. They cant grasp how their mother suddenly becomes independent, successful, needed beyond them.
Mum, stop playing the business lady, Max says. The house falls apart without you.
Learn to live on your own, Emily replies. Youre already twentyfive.
Simon doesnt object to divorce; its merely a legal acknowledgement of whats already happened.
A year passes. The restaurant Moscow becomes one of Dublins most popular spots. Investors approach her to open a chain, TV chefs invite her onto culinary shows, critics write glowing reviews.
Russian woman who conquered Dublin, she reads in a local paper.
Paul proposes on the restaurants anniversary. Emily thinks it over before saying yes not because of distrust, but because she enjoys being independent.
I wont cook for you every day or wash your shirts, she warns.
On the restaurants second anniversary, Simon arrives with the boys. Seeing Emily in a sleek business suit, receiving compliments from local celebrities, they are stunned.
Mom, you youve changed, Dan mutters.
Youve become beautiful, Max adds.
Ive become myself, Emily corrects.
Simon spends the evening silent, casting amazed glances at his former wife. When the guests leave, he approaches her.
Im sorry, Emily. I never understood
What?
That youre a person, with talent, dreams, needs. I treated you as part of the household, not as an individual.
Emily nods. Theres no anger, only sorrow for the lost years.
Shall we start over? he asks.
No, Simon. My life is different now.
Today Emily is fifty. She runs a chain of restaurants, hosts her own cooking show on Irish television, and has a bestselling recipe book. She is married to a man who values her as a person, not as unpaid help.
Her sons call sometimes, telling her theyre proud, that they want to visit. She enjoys hearing them, but no longer feels guilty for living for herself.
Sometimes she stands in the kitchen of her flagship restaurant, watches the chefs prepare her signature dishes, and wonders, What if I hadnt taken that step? What if Id stayed in my old dressing gown?
She quickly pushes the thought away. Not everyone gets a second chance; she was lucky, and she used it.
Starting over at fortyeight is terrifying, but its the only way to truly discover who you are.
