14March
I was frying meatballs in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on the apron and went to answer it.
Mom, its for me, my daughter Emily called from the hallway, stopping me halfway to the door. Ill get it.
Alright, I didnt expect anyone I began.
Why are you still standing there? Keep frying those meatballs, Emily snapped, glancing back at me from the doorway.
Why your meatballs? I bought the mince myself
Mom, shut the door, she rolled her eyes.
Fine, Ill say it straight away, I muttered, stepping back into the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind me. I turned off the gas under the pan, slipped off my apron and left the kitchen.
In the hallway Emily was pulling on her coat. Beside her stood Ian Clarke, a friend of hers who always seemed to be watching her with a soft smile.
Hello, Ian. What are you up to? Would you like to join us for dinner? I asked.
Good evening, he replied, his grin directed at Emily.
Were in a rush, she answered, not looking at me.
Maybe youll change your mind? Everythings ready, I repeated.
Ian hesitated.
No! Emily snapped. Lets go. She took Ians arm and opened the front door. Mom, could you close it?
I walked over and left it ajar, listening to voices drifting in from the garden.
Why are you so harsh with her? It smells delicious, I could eat those meatballs right now.
Lets go to the café. Im fed up with her meatballs, Emily muttered.
They could never get old. I love your mothers meatballsI could have them every day, Ian said.
I couldnt make out what Emily replied. The voices on the stairs faded away.
I finally closed the door and slipped into the sitting room where Charles, my husband, was glued to the television.
Charles, lets eat while its still hot, I called.
Whats for dinner? he asked, rising from the sofa and heading toward the kitchen.
Rice with meatballs and a side salad, I replied, lifting the pan.
You know Ive told you I dont eat fried meatballs, he complained.
I added a little water, they turned out almost steamed, I said, holding the lid.
Fine, but this is the last time, he grumbled.
At our age, losing weight isnt advisable, I remarked as I placed a plate of rice and meatballs before him.
What age is that? Im only fiftyseven. A man at my age should be in his prime, Charles said, spearing a meatball and taking a bite.
Are you all conspiring against me? Emily ran off, refused to eat, and now youre acting like a child. Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without it. Do you think a café offers better, healthier food? I snapped.
Then dont cook. You could lose a few pounds yourself; youll soon be unable to fit through the door, he replied, shovelling another meatball onto his fork.
Is that what you think? That Im fat? Ive given everything, bought new jeans, a leather jacket, even a baseball cap, shaven my head to hide the balding. Who am I trying to impress? Certainly not you. Yes, Im heavy, but who am I supposed to compare myself to? I asked, my voice trembling.
Let me eat in peace, Charles said, pushing the rice away and reaching for the ketchup.
I fetched the ketchup from the fridge, slammed the jar on the table and walked out of the kitchen without a word. My plate remained untouched.
I retreated to my bedroom, sank onto the sofa and let the tears fall.
I thought, *I cook, I try my best, yet they never thank me. Charles is getting younger, looking elsewhere. Im the fat one, the servant. If Im retired, can they just walk all over me? Id still work if they didnt cut my hours. Experienced staff arent needed, they want fresh faces. What can the young offer?*
I get up before everyone else, even though Im not working, just to make breakfast. The whole day spins, theres never a moment to lie down. I know its my faultIve spoiled them, and now they lean on my shoulders like a heavy sack.
The tears trailed down my cheeks; I pressed my hands to my face, stifling a sob.
I always believed we had a good family. Not perfect, but better than most. Emily is at university and doing well. Charles doesnt drink or smoke, brings home a decent income. The house is tidy, the food tasty. What more could he want?
I stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door, examined myself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that big. The wrinkles are softer on my round cheeks. Ive always loved to eat, Im a good cook. They just dont need it anymore. When I worked, Id style my hair, curl it. Now I keep it short so it doesnt get in the way. I could still wear heels and do housework, but I should lose some weight, maybe dye my hair.
I sat back on the bed, lost in thought.
This morning I didnt get up early as usual. I stayed in bed, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I have the right to sleep in late. Let them make their own breakfast, I whispered.
The alarm buzzed, and I turned toward the wall.
Whats wrong? Are you ill? Charles asked, his tone void of sympathy.
Yeah, I replied, burying my face in the duvet.
Mom, are you sick? Emily popped into the room.
Just have breakfast yourselves, I croaked from under the covers.
Emily huffed and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle sputtered, the fridge door thumped, and muffled voices rose from the kitchen. I stayed hidden, playing the role of the ailing wife.
Charles entered, his expensive cologne filling the hallwayone Id bought for him years ago. He and Emily slipped out one after another, leaving a quiet hush. I pulled the duvet back, closed my eyes and drifted off.
An hour later I awoke, stretched, and shuffled to the kitchen. Unwashed mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. I wanted to clean up but thought, *Im not a maid.* I went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, then called an old school friend.
Eleanor! Its been ages, she answered, her voice unchanged. How are you? Still enjoying retirement?
I told her I missed getting out, that I hadnt visited my parents graves in ages, and asked if I could crash at her place for a few days.
Of course, youre welcome. When will you arrive?
Right now, Im heading to the station.
Oh dear, Ill bake a few pies then.
I packed a small bag, swept the crumbs to one side of the kitchen table, left a note saying Id be at my friends and didnt know when Id return.
At the station I hesitated. Surely they could manage without me; they never seemed to value my effort. Yet was it too bold to just leave? If there are no tickets, Ill come back, I thought, then bought a ticket, joined the queue and slipped in at the back.
Lucy, a longtime friend, greeted me with a hug. We drank tea with stillwarm pies and chatted endlessly.
Good you came. Now tell me everything.
I wont hold back, I sighed, spilling every grievance.
Exactly. Let them feel it. Turn off your phone.
Is that too extreme? I asked.
Just right, Lucy replied. Tomorrow well go to a salon and give you a fresh look. Valentine works thereyou remember her from school, the one who never passed? Now shes the busiest stylist, bookings are full months ahead. Well make you a knockout, so Charles will be green with envy.
That night I tossed and turned, wondering if they were angry or relieved by my absence.
At the salon Valentine greeted us warmly, ushered me into a chair, and began reshaping my hair, tinting my brows, and giving me a new cut. I almost fell asleep with my eyes closed, the buzz of the dryer a lullaby. She insisted on a full makeup session; I wanted to refuse, but Lucy coaxed me to see it through.
When I finally looked in the mirror, a younger, striking woman stared back. My old self was gone. Valentine was already arranging a manicure.
No more for today, I cant handle any more, I pleaded.
Alright, well book you for eight in the morning. Dont be late, otherwise the queue will move on, she warned.
Lucy laughed as we left, Look at you now! Who would have guessed?
Another time? I asked, hesitant.
No, lets hit the mall now. You cant walk around in that old coat with that new hair, Lucy urged, dragging me into the shopping centre.
I emerged in loosefitting trousers, a light cardigan, and a sleek blouse, feeling surprisingly confident. In my arms I clutched bags containing a new dress, a stylish jacket, and a box of shoes. I felt younger, slimmer, and finally ready to face myself again. Thank goodness Lucy pushed me toward this change.
Outside Lucys house, a tall man with white hair and dark moustache approached. Hello, ladies, he said, admiring me. You havent changed a bitstill looking smashing.
Who are you? I asked, surprised.
Thats Paul Whitaker, Lucy whispered, smiling. He was a skinny lad back at school, now a retired colonel who survived a serious injury overseas. Hes back in town.
Lucy suggested we all go to her place for a celebratory drink. We sat around her kitchen table, sipping wine and swapping school stories. I flushed, half from the wine, half from the attention.
Hes still got a crush on you, Lucy, she teased as Paul left.
How long has it been? I asked.
Enough years, she replied. You still look like someone he could fall for again.
Does he still live nearby? I changed the subject.
No, hes retired, moved back two years ago after a war injury. He walks with a limp now. His wife left him, but hes managed to get on his feet again. Take your time to think, not rush into anything, Lucy advised.
Im married, you know, I protested.
Later that night I decided to head home, but Lucy wouldnt let me leave. You just arrived and youre already going? Show some backbone. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a few days, enjoy yourself. Paul even got tickets to the theatre. When was the last time you went?
The youth theatre for the Christmas play with Emily, I recalled.
Lucy laughed, The youth theatre, how quaint. Lets parade your new dress.
Three days later my phone rang.
Mom, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, Emily shouted.
My heart clenched. I rushed to get ready. Paul drove me to the station.
If you need anything, Im here, he said. Dont hesitate to call.
Thanks, Paul, I replied.
On the bus I called Emily. She told me she was shocked by my sudden disappearance, thinking Id be back the next day.
Dad? she asked.
Its hard to hear, but Ill tell you. Hes been cheating. I saw him leave the neighbours flat several times. He never came over when I was gone. Yesterday his other womans husband returned home after a night shift; there was a fight. Dad broke two ribs, but thats nothing. He also suffered a brain haemorrhage, but the ambulance arrived in time, Emily said, voice trembling.
I listened, stunned. I realized I didnt need to run away. By evening I was back home, though the hospital was already closed.
Mom, youve changed so much. I barely recognise you, Emily said, her tone now respectful, staying by my side all evening and sharing news.
I was scared you wouldnt come back, that youd find someone else, I confessed.
I didnt find anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped being seen as a person, she replied.
Sorry, Mum, but youre the one who retired and let yourself go. Youre turning into an old lady. Do you think Dad will be jealous? Will you forgive him? Emily blurted.
I scanned the room, feeling the comfort of home, everything familiar.
The next morning I rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Charles looked older, his beard now speckled with grey. Upon seeing me he broke down, apologised, and I fed him soup with a small spoon.
Two weeks later Charles was discharged. As we left the taxi, a man and a woman passed us; Charles flinched, turned away, and the woman avoided his gaze. I recognised her as my rivala slender, redhaired young woman. Charles slumped, his shoulders dropping, trying to disappear into the hallway.
Are you not leaving now? he asked.
Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight yet, I replied with a cheeky grin.
I asked for forgiveness. I was a fool. Fry those meatballs again, will you? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
I fried the meatballs, prepared a hearty dinner.
It smells amazing! Emily, now back from university, exclaimed as she entered.
We sat together at the table, just as we used to when she was still at schoolCharles never criticised my cooking, ate everything, and praised me. I was ready to spend endless hours at the stove just to please him.
I looked at my family and felt gratitude that they were all here, alive, mostly healthy, and that I still mattered.
Life in a family isnt always smooth. People come and go, especially as age creeps up. The body may not be what it once was, but the spirit can stay youthful. Its hard to accept, yet we strive to hold onto our old strengths.
Everyone learns their lesson. The important thing is were together. You cant change the horses at the crossing; you either ride the one you have or walk. A horse may be wild, but the journey continues.
A good wife, a warm homewhat more does a person need to face old age?
