My mother halted in the doorway, nearly dropping the cake I had just set on the table. Margaret stared at me with a disapproving look, as if I had somehow committed a crime.
Mother, what are you on about? I asked, steadying the cake. What does Michael have to do with this?
Its the fact that hes already in the seventh year of primary school and still at a ordinary school! she snapped, raising her voice. No special streams, no advanced programmes. How does he expect to get into a respectable university? How will he ever achieve anything?
I bit my lip. The conversation had fallen into its familiar pattern, and a hot flash of injustice rose in my chest.
Mother, Michael does well at school. He gets Agrades in most subjects. He has a maths tutor and wants to go into software development, just like his father. I tried to keep my voice even.
Thats exactly it! she flared, waving her hands. Software development! Sitting behind a computer like your Thomas. A dull job, a modest salary. And you? A teacher! A tutor! You scrape a few pennies. Do you even feed your child properly?
Her words cut straight to the heart. Yes, Thomas and I were never rich; every penny was counted. Yet Michael grew up a happy boy.
Our life is fine. And Michael is happy, I replied.
Happy! Margaret sneered, moving to the window. Take Victors son, for instancenow thats a real treasure. Anthony is at a school that offers an intensive English programme from the first year. He already speaks fluently. Victor and Helen are brilliant parentsthey spare no expense for their child.
I listened in silence. My brother had always been the favourite. Hed opened a modest business, bought a larger flat, and his wife Helen stayed at home, looking after the house and their son. Every chance Margaret got, she set him against me.
Anthony is a gifted lad, she continued, her tone softening. Hell surely make something of himself. Victor says they plan to send him abroad for a language course at thirteen! Thats foresight, thats a future. Not your ordinary school.
I stepped closer, seeing the tension in her shoulders and the stern set of her face.
Mother, I know you want your grandchildren to succeed. But Michael isnt worse than Anthony. They simply walk different paths.
Different paths! she snapped, turning sharply. One leads up to success, the other drifts in poverty and gloom. Is that what you want for your son? To live in want?
Something inside me tightened.
Were not poor, Mother. We live within our means. Michael will grow into a good mansmart, kind, hardworking.
Hardworking! Margaret huffed. That wont cut it in todays world, dear. You need connections, money, a prestigious education. And what does Michael have? An ordinary school and a motherteacher who can barely make ends meet.
I turned away. In front of me sat the berrytopped cake Id baked with love, now seeming pointless.
Mother, I dont wish to argue. We raise our son as we see fit, and he is happy.
The future is what matters! she pressed, moving nearer. Youre ruining your child with your carelessness. Victor understandshe does everything to make Anthony someone of note. You just go with the flow.
I shook my head. Arguing was futile; she would not budge.
Very well, Mother. Lets just have lunch. Thomas and Michael will be here soon.
As expected, the meal passed under a strained atmosphere. Margaret boasted about Anthonys progress, about Victors pride. Michael ate quietly, eyes flicking toward his grandmother. I forced a smile, trying to reassure her that all was well.
After that lunch I realised I would have to keep my visits to Mother to a minimum. Her constant comparisons were a knife to the heart. I phoned Margaret and Victor on holidays, sent polite greetings, but stopped arranging family gatherings. Mother took offence, yet I held my ground. I needed to shield my son from that relentless negativity.
Years slipped by. Michael grew, studied, and fell in love with coding. I heard occasional updates from Mother about Victors side of the family. Anthony graduated with a gold medal, entered a prestigious university aided by his fathers connections.
Michael also finished school, secured a place at a reputable technical college on a scholarship, no nepotism involved. He passed his exams honestly. By his third year he was working at a small IT firm. Thomas beamed with pride, and I felt a quiet satisfaction that Mother never acknowledged.
More years passed. The children were approaching their thirties. For Mothers birthday, the whole family gathered. Victor and Helen arrived, and Anthony came tootall, goodlooking, with a careless mop of hair. After university he had quit his job to chase a music career, forming a band. Victor funded the equipment. Two years later the band was still unheard of, and Anthony lived with his parents, unemployed.
I watched Mother glow as she hugged Anthony, asked about his gigs, and smiled at his lazy responses. She saw only a golden grandson, oblivious to his indifference.
Michael sat beside his wife, Anne, who was in her fourth month of pregnancy. He now worked for a large tech company, earned a solid salary, rented a flat and was saving for his own house. Yet Mother seemed blind to his achievements.
I saw Thomas tense, his jaw clenched. Anne looked at her husband with worry, but Michael kept a steady grin, stroking her hand. The evening stretched long as Mother regaled the guests with stories of Anthonys destined fame. Anthony nodded halfheartedly. I kept my silence.
At last the night drew to a close. Thomas, Michael and Anne were the first to leave, promising to wait by the car. I was tying a scarf in the hallway when Mother approached.
Emily, wait. I have something to tell you, she said quietly, but with a seriousness that made my skin prickle.
Your Michael is so dull, Emily. Grey, ordinary. Just like you and Thomas. No spark at all. Anthony, on the other hand, is a genius, a star. Hell prove it to the world. Your son merely lives, works, gets married, will have a child. Theres nothing special about that. Hes just another face in the crowd.
I stood there, Mothers words cracking something inside me. I exhaled slowly, met her gaze.
You know, Mother, Ive thought about this for a long time. I believed you wanted me to be a better mother, to invest more in Michael, to push him harder. I thought your criticism came from a good place, a way to spur me on.
She furrowed her brow, but I lifted my hand.
It turned out to be something else. You never truly loved my son. All this time you showed it through endless comparisons, through praise of Anthony, through criticism of me. You didnt want him to be better; you just wanted me to hear that he wasnt good enough for you.
Her face went pale. I buttoned my coat calmly.
But you know what? My son is the best. Hes smart, kind, hardworking, decent. Hes grown into a wonderful man. Hell soon be a father and will be an excellent one, because I never allowed him to feel the poison of your disapproval. I protected him from your venom, Mother. I did everything to let him grow happy.
She stared, eyes wide and silent. I gathered my bag.
And any opinion you have of me, Thomas, or our son can stay with you. I no longer care. Ive wasted too many years trying to earn your love. Im done. Live as you wish, love whom you will. I wash my hands of this game. Soon Ill have a grandchild of my own, and Ill love him as a grandmother should.
I left the flat, closed the door behind me, and descended to the car where my husband, Thomas, and Michael waited. Thomas embraced me, Michael smiled. I slipped into the passenger seat, leaned back, and felt a strange, unfamiliar peace settle over me, as if a great weight had been lifted. No more pretending, no more trying to prove anything.
It had taken many years, but at last I freed myself from my mothers judgment. I have what truly mattersa real family. What more could a person ask for?
