Grandchildren, youll only see them on holidays, my daughterinlaw blurted out at the first family dinner.
Mrs. Thompson, stop adding salt! Youll ruin it!
Our neighbour Betty was at the stove, watching nervously as Margaret reached for the salt shaker over the pot of beef stew for the third time.
Come on, Betty, Im sure theres still room for a bit more, Margaret said.
Youre not feeling anything today, are you? You look so tense! Let me try a spoonful, Betty offered.
Margaret stepped back, wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. Betty was right her hands were shaking, thoughts were tangled, everything felt like it was slipping. How could she not be nervous? Today was a big day.
Her son Andrew was finally bringing his wife home for the first time, to meet his mother. Theyd married quietly a month ago at the registry office, no big ceremony. Margaret had been hurt that she wasnt even there at the registration. Andrew explained that Claire, his wife, wanted a lowkey affair, no fuss, no crowds.
Listen, Margaret, Betty said, tasting the stew. Its fine, actually lovely. Now go change, fix your hair. The guests will be here soon.
Betty, what if she doesnt like me? What if I make a bad impression?
Dont worry! Youre a wonderful motherinlaw. You dont meddle, you dont boss anyone, you keep to yourself. Whats the fuss about?
Margaret nodded and slipped away to the bedroom. Betty stayed behind, finishing the salads. Thank goodness the neighbour was helping; Margaret could never have done it alone.
In front of the mirror Margaret saw herself: sixtytwo, silver hair, laugh lines around her eyes. A typical older lady. Andrew had been a lateborn child hed been born when Margaret was thirtyfive, after many years of hoping. Her husband had died ten years earlier, and shed been living alone in a modest twobed flat on the edge of town.
Andrew had grown up to be a solid lad, finished university, landed a decent job as a software developer, earned well enough to rent a flat in the city centre. He visited his mum once a week, brought groceries, fixed anything that broke, and sent money when he could.
Then he met Claire. He spoke about her with such excitement beautiful, intelligent, a solicitor. He showed Margaret a photo on his phone. She was tall, slim, darkhaired, makeup bright, but her eyes seemed a bit cold.
Margaret put on her best dress a dark navy dress with a crisp white collar did her hair, even a dab of lipstick. She looked at herself in the mirror, thought not bad, decent enough.
The doorbell rang at six sharp. She dabbed the sweat from her palms onto the dress and went to answer.
Andrew stood in the doorway with Claire. Claire was even more striking than the picture a pricey coat, high heels, immaculate nails.
Hi, Mum, Andrew said, hugging her. This is Claire.
Hello, Claire replied, her handshake formal and cool.
Come in, come in! Margaret ushered them in, helped with the coat, offered slippers. Claire glanced around as if measuring the flat, her eyes flicking over the worn furniture, the faded carpet, the dated curtains.
What a cosy flat, she said with a faint smile.
Thanks, love. Its modest but tidy. Please, have a seat.
Betty was already setting the table. Seeing the guests, she beamed.
Oh, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Betty, the neighbour.
Claire gave a brief nod.
They all sat. Margaret ladled out the stew, offered salads. Andrew ate heartily, praised the food.
Mum, its as good as ever! Ive missed your stew, he said.
Enjoy, dear, enjoy.
Claire picked at the salad, taking tiny bites.
Do you watch your figure? Betty asked. Its wise at your age.
I just avoid fatty and fried stuff, Claire replied. Im watching my health.
Margaret felt a sting was her cooking too rich? Shed always made hearty meals, and Andrew loved them.
Mom, hows Aunt Vera doing? Is she better? Andrew changed the subject.
Shes improving, I think. I visited her last week and brought some biscuits.
Good to hear.
A brief, awkward silence fell. Claire set down her fork and looked at Margaret.
Mrs. Thompson, Andrew mentioned youre retired. What do you keep yourself busy with?
Oh, just the usual house chores, regular doctor visits my blood pressures a bit erratic. I chat with the neighbours, pop to the theatre when I can afford it.
And you dont plan on looking after grandkids?
Margarets heart leapt. Grandchildren! Shed always dreamed of that.
Of course! Id love that, she said, eyes shining.
Claire smiled gently. Actually, Im four months pregnant.
Bettys face lit up. Andrew blushed.
Andrey! Sweetheart, why didnt you say sooner?
I wanted Claire to tell you herself.
Congratulations! Margaret rushed over, hugging both son and daughterinlaw. Claires hug was polite but distant.
The dinner continued. Margaret was on cloud nine, already picturing herself holding a little one. Ill help any way I can Ill come over, look after the baby, cook for you both. You both work, itll be hard for you, she babbled.
Claire sipped water, then said, Mrs. Thompson, we have a few rules.
What kind of rules?
Ive read a lot about modern parenting, and Andrew and I have decided to raise our child using a specific system.
That sounds reasonable, Margaret replied, trying to be supportive. Im not against it. Youre young, you know best.
Exactly. So wed like you not to intervene in the upbringing. No oldfashioned advice, no extra cuddles, nothing.
Margaret felt a chill. I wasnt planning to interfere. I just wanted to help.
Help can take many forms, Claire said, wiping her lips with a napkin. Were happy to accept financial help, but the parenting will be our responsibility.
Andrew interjected, Claire, why so strict? Mum just wants the best for us.
Claire shot him a look. We agreed on this, remember?
Betty sat quietly, clenching her fists. Margaret sensed the tension rising.
Claire, I understand you have your own views, but Im a grandmother! How can I not be involved? Margaret pleaded.
You will be, Claire replied coolly. But youll only see the grandchild on holidays birthdays, Christmas thats enough.
Margarets stomach dropped. Only on holidays? Just a few times a year?
Thats unfair! she protested.
Claire snapped, Its sensible. I dont want you spoiling the child with rich food, excessive clothing, scary stories. Ill control that.
Grandparents always say theyll help, then do their own thing, Margaret muttered.
Andrew lowered his head, looking guilty. Margaret turned to him, eyes begging.
Andrew, tell her Ill be a good grandma! she whispered.
He lifted his eyes. Mum, weve thought a lot and decided this is best for everyone.
Margaret could barely believe it. The son shed raised was siding with his wife.
Youre serious? she asked, voice trembling.
Dont take it personally. Were not banning you completely. Just not every day, Andrew said.
So I wont be looking after the baby? Margaret asked.
Well hire a nanny. We can afford it, Claire replied.
Nanny? Im the family! Margaret flared.
Exactly why we need a professional we can fire her if needed, but we cant have relatives constantly stepping in, Claire said.
Betty finally spoke, Excuse me, but how can you speak like that! Mrs. Thompson is a wonderful person, shes been longing for grandchildren!
Claire turned to her. This is a family matter. Please leave us alone.
Betty, eyes flashing, grabbed her bag. Ill go back to my flat. If you need anything, you know where I am.
The room fell into a heavy silence. Margaret sat, hands clenched on her lap, tears brimming but not falling.
Ive spent my whole life dreaming of grandchildren, she whispered. I imagined pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Claire sighed. I get your feelings, but my priority is a healthy, happy child. That means a certain atmosphere, without extra people.
Am I extra?
Youre a grandmother, but a distant one.
Margaret stood abruptly. Leave.
Claire raised an eyebrow. What?
I said, leave my house. Now.
Mom! Andrew burst in, panic in his voice. What are you doing?
I dont want to see either of you, Margaret shouted. Get out.
Dont be like that! Andrew pleaded.
Im serious, she snapped, out.
Claire gathered her coat. As you wish. Well go.
When the door shut, Margaret slumped into a chair, sobbing openly, the sound raw like a childs.
Betty returned half an hour later, finding Margaret amid untouched dishes.
Gally, love, whats happened? she asked gently.
How could he agree to this? Margaret wailed.
Perhaps his wife persuaded him, Betty guessed. She treats you like an obstacle.
But shes his wife, his childs mother! How can she push a grandmother aside?
Betty hugged her, rubbing her back. Sometimes daughtersinlaw think mothersinlaw are the enemy.
I did nothing wrong! I barely even met her before today!
Betty sighed. She decided youd interfere, regardless.
Margaret wept for hours. Betty cleaned, made tea, sat with her in silence.
What now? Margaret asked.
Just keep living, Betty said. He hasnt turned his back on you, hes just being swayed.
Maybe hell change his mind, Margaret hoped.
A week passed with no calls from Andrew. Pride kept Margaret from reaching out. She drifted through her flat like a ghost, not eating, not sleeping, only thinking of the grandchild shed only see on holidays.
Betty visited daily, coaxing her to eat, chatting to distract her. Still, Margaret barely heard.
Then her old school friend Nina called. Theyd known each other since they were girls.
Gally, I heard youre expecting a new baby! Andrew got married, right?
Yes, Margaret replied, halflaughing, halfcrying.
Is the daughterinlaw nice?
Not at all, she confessed.
Nina laughed. Sounds like a nightmare! What do you do?
Do nothing. Just disappear. Pretend I dont care, Margaret said.
Dont. If you ignore them, theyll think you dont care. Let them think youll beg, and theyll keep you at arms length. Its a power play, Nina advised.
Margaret mulled it over.
A month later, Andrew finally knocked. He looked older, weary.
Hi, Mum, he said.
Hi.
Can I come in?
Come on in.
They sat at the kitchen table. Andrew looked downcast.
Im sorry, Gally. Claire was harsh that night. I shouldnt have let it happen.
You let it happen, Margaret replied.
I know. I feel ashamed. Claire truly believes this is best for the child.
What do you think?
Andrew stared at the floor. I love you, Mum. I love you both. But Claire is my wife, the mother of my child. I have to support her.
Even if shes wrong?
Even then.
Margaret nodded, understanding his dilemma. Alright, Andrew. Do what you think is right. I wont get in your way.
He sighed, relief flickering. Thanks, Mum. Were not banning you completely. Just… not everyday.
Got it, she said, feeling the sting of his acceptance.
He left, and Margaret was left alone again.
Two months later, winter came. Margaret bought a Christmas tree, decorated the flat, hoping Andrew might invite her for the festivities. He never did.
On New Years Eve, she and Betty sat together, poured a bit of bubbly, and toasted. Heres to a better year, Betty said.
Margaret forced a smile, but the hope was thin.
In February, Claire gave birth to a boy Max. Andrew sent a photo. The little lad had dark curls and chubby cheeks. Margaret stared at the picture and broke down, tears streaming.
A week later Andrew called. Mum, Id like you to come over Sunday, meet Max.
Sure, she replied, heart racing.
She packed a bag of presents onesies, soft toys, a tiny blanket, and donned her best dress.
Andrew arrived in his car, silent as they drove. Margarets nerves fluttered would Claire let her in? Would she be turned away again?
Claire opened the door with a polite smile. Hello, Mrs. Thompson, she said.
Hello, dear, Margaret replied.
The flat was spacious, modern, with sleek furniture. A nursery held a tiny cot with Max asleep.
May I hold him? Margaret whispered.
Claire shook her head. Hes sleeping. Waking him will upset him.
Ill be very quiet Margaret pleaded.
Claire held firm. Please, no.
Margaret stepped back, heart heavy but grateful he was there.
They sat in the living room, sipping tea. Claire talked about the birth, the first days with the baby. Margaret listened eagerly, soaking up every detail.
Are you breastfeeding? she asked.
Were on formula. I dont want to gain weight, Claire replied.
Margaret swallowed her thought about the benefits of breastmilk, knowing it would be unwelcome.
Max woke, wailing. Claire brought him over. Can I hold him?
Just a minute, Claire said, passing the baby to Margaret.
Margaret cradled Max, feeling his warmth, the faint scent of baby powder. What a beautiful little thing, she murmured.
Claire snatched him back. Hes hungry now.
Later, Andrew drove Margaret home.
How was it? he asked.
Wonderful, she replied, eyes bright.
I know its hard for you. Claire has the right to decide how to raise him, Andrew said gently.
I understand, Margaret answered, trying to keep the smile from cracking.
Claire later approached. Mrs. Thompson, I wanted to apologise. I was too rigid about the visits. It was selfish.
Margaret waited, breath held.
I see how much Max loves you. Im sorry for keeping you away, Claire said, eyes softening.
Thank you, Margaret whispered. It means a lot.
From then on, Margaret visited the flat once a week. She walked with Max in the park, read him stories, played with his toys. Claire warmed up, letting her stay longer on occasion.
Max grew, turning two, then three. Hed call out, Grandma! each time he saw her, hugging her tightly. Claire would sometimes sigh, but she never stopped inviting her.
Andrew was relieved. Mum, Im glad you and Claire have sorted things out.
Me too, love. Better late than never, Margaret said, feeling life return its colour.
The lost years could never be regained, but the moments ahead were now filled with the laughter of grandchildren shed finally embraced.
