Do you really expect me to cook for your mother every single day? the woman snapped.
How long is this supposed to go on? Amélie slammed the pan onto the stove. You think I was hired as a housekeeper for your mom? Two months with zero days off! She gripped the wooden spatula, her knuckles turning white under the strain. An old resentment rang in her voice.
Julien lingered in the kitchen doorway, uneasy about stepping inside. His wife stood by the burners, where meat patties his mothers favorite sizzled. The scent of grilled meat and onions made his throat raw, perhaps more from the looming argument than the aroma itself.
Amélie, why are you getting so worked up? he said gently, trying to calm her. Mum just prefers homecooked meals. She cant eat processed food, you know that
I know! Amélie slammed the spatula onto the counter. I know everything her hypertension, her diet, her balanced meals. But why must I keep running in circles here each night like a hamster on a wheel? I have a job too!
Outside, the October day faded slowly. Shadows from an old apple tree outside the kitchen window danced across the walls, silent witnesses to their quarrel. Julien glanced at the clock his mother would be back from her walk soon.
Maybe we should hire a housekeeper? he suggested tentatively, aware that Amélie detested the idea of strangers in their home.
Amélie managed a bitter smile. Sure, and how are we going to pay her? With the rent savings? You know how much Moms medication costs.
She turned back to the stove, hiding fresh tears behind a kitchen towel. Three months earlier, when Marie moved in after a minor stroke, it had been Amélie who pushed for her stay. She never imagined how much their lives would be upended.
The front door slammed in the hallway. Light footsteps Marie returning from her evening stroll echoed. Amélie quickly dabbed at her eyes with a towel and began plating the meat patties. Julien remained rooted in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do.
A heavy silence settled, broken only by the clink of dishes and the faint hiss of the cooling pan.
Mum, how was the walk? Julien hurried into the hallway, relieved to find a distraction from the tense conversation. Lately he had been avoiding fights, burying himself in work, late returns, endless urgent errands.
Marie stood before the hallway mirror, slowly loosening the woolen scarf a gift from a husband now gone. Her oncesteady fingers, adept at the sewing machine, now struggled with a simple knot. The tremor that had appeared after the stroke worsened each day.
Oh, that was nice, little Julien, she tried to smile, though it came out more as a grimace. The leaves were gathering in the park. Remember how you loved jumping into them as a kid? Id always tell you, Stop that, youll catch a cold! and youd laugh
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. The pallor of her skin and the sweat on her forehead did not escape Juliens watchful gaze.
I feel my blood pressure acting up, Marie admitted. I think I walked too much today.
Ill get you your meds, Amélie called from the kitchen. Despite her anger, she took her motherinlaws health seriously, perhaps a habit from years working in a clinic.
Dont rush, Amélie, Marie said, settling heavily on a bench and pulling a blister pack from her coat pocket. Im playing the spy now, taking everything with me. Here are my assistants
Her eyes lingered on an old wedding photo on the wall her and her husband on their wedding day. Everything seemed distant now. She had never imagined becoming a burden to her own son in his final years.
Julien rushed to fetch a glass of water, nearly toppling a vase. He tried to meet Amélies gaze as he passed, but she turned sharply toward the stove where the patties still crackled. The smell of grilled meat made him nauseous she hadnt eaten all day, juggling work, errands, and cooking.
What are we having for dinner? Marie sniffed as she entered the kitchen. More patties? Amélie, why push yourself so hard? A simple soup would have sufficed
Its fine, Mum, Amélie thrust a fork into a patty, forcing it to scrape the pans bottom. You like them, I remember that.
The tone of her voice startled Marie, who froze at the kitchen threshold. In twenty years of watching her sons marriage, she had learned to catch the slightest tension in Amélies voice, and now it rang like a stretched string.
The elderly woman shuffled to the table, leaning on her sons arm. She placed a napkin on her lap a habit from her teaching days. Julien hurriedly set her plate, a glass of water, and adjusted the chair.
You know Amélie began, then stopped as she saw Maries complexion turn pale. Her temples throbbed with the words she was holding back. Lets just have dinner.
Around the table, a heavy silence fell. Only the clatter of cutlery and the relentless ticking of the wall clock a heirloom from Juliens grandmother marked the passing seconds of the awkward stillness. Marie barely touched her food, glancing sideways at her son and daughterinlaw.
In recent weeks she had often caught fleeting looks, overheard snippets of conversation, noticed how the houses atmosphere shifted whenever she entered a room.
Maybe I shouldnt have agreed to move in she thought bitterly. Yet out loud she managed only, The patties are delicious, Amélie. Almost like the ones my mother made
I cant take this anymore, Amélie suddenly blurted, her voice trembling as she set her fork down. Im done.
The clocks tick grew deafening. Marie froze, spoon inches from her mouth, while Juliens face went ashen, fearing the worst he had dreaded these past weeks.
Every day its the same, Amélies voice hardened with each word. Im up at six, at eight Im at work. Noon Im at the pharmacy for meds, after work shopping, cooking, cleaning When do I get to live? When can I rest?
My dear Marie started.
Im not your daughter! Amélie snapped, rising abruptly, her chair clattering against the wall. You have a son; let him handle the cooking. Im exhausted! Do you understand? Exhausted!
Julien tried to intervene. Amélie, but
What did I say thats so terrible? she shouted, almost pleading. Its true! Youre always busy with work, and I should tear myself between hospital and home? Your mother is your responsibility!
Marie laid her spoon down gently, hands shaking more than usual. Im just a burden she whispered. You know, Amélie, I get it. Do you think I dont see how tired you are? How angry? I pray every night for the strength to manage on my own
Mom, stop, Julien attempted to wrap his arms around her, but she slipped away.
No, son, let me finish, Marie straightened, recalling how she faced a rowdy classroom. I taught for forty years. What did I learn? To listen. And I hear you, Amélie, when you cry in the bathroom. I see your hands tremble from fatigue
Amélie stayed frozen by the stove, fingers white from gripping the counter. Small tears tracked down her cheeks.
I was young once, too, Marie continued. I dreamed of my own life. Then my motherinlaw fell ill I cared for her ten years. Every day blended into a fog of work, cooking, injections, treatments. My husband at work, my son a child I thought Id lose my mind.
Mum, why are you saying that? Julien whispered, confused, eyes flicking between his mother and wife.
Because youre wrong, son, Marie said, standing. Youre wrong to put everything on Amélie. Tomorrow Ill call social services for a caregiver
With what money? Amélie asked, not turning.
Ill use my pension. We can even rent another apartment thatll be another expense.
Julien watched the two most important women in his life, feeling his world turn upside down. All these years hed hidden behind his job, pretending nothing had changed.
No, he stood, shoulders straightening. No caregiver. And we wont rent another place.
But how Marie began.
Starting tomorrow Ill talk to my boss about teleworking three days a week, Julien declared firmly. Well rotate cooking duties. Mom, could you teach me your famous patties?
Marie blinked, surprised. Of course, my son but will you manage?
Men can cook too, Amélie managed a small smile for the first time that night. Just watch out, your son loves to experiment. Remember his curry borscht?
At least it was original! Julien grinned, feeling the tension ease.
I can take care of the cleaning, Marie offered suddenly. Vacuuming is hard, but dusting and tidying I can do. Ive been ironing my whole life, I could keep on.
Mom, Amélie interrupted, finally turning to the table. You dont have to do that
I want to! Maries eyes sparkled with that old teachers fire. Do you think its easy to do nothing all day? I just watch TV and look out the window. At least it gives me purpose.
She burst into laughter, covering her mouth. Forgive me, children I saw how tired you were and said nothing. I was afraid to speak too much.
Sorry too, Amélie surprised herself by kneeling beside her motherinlaws chair, resting her head on her knees as she once did with her own mother. I said horrible things I was angry.
Marie stroked Amélies hair, tears streaming down her cheeks. So its settled. Julien will cook Tuesdays and Thursdays
And every other Saturday, Julien added.
And every other Saturday, Marie agreed. Ill handle the cleaning. And you, dear, she lifted Amélies chin, never hesitate to speak up when things get tough. Were family.
The wall clock ticked on, the patties cooled on the table, and outside the last October rays faded slowly. For the first time in months, genuine warmth returned to the house.
Do You Really Think I’m Going to Cook for Your Mum Every Single Day?
