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 mum? Two months with no day off! She gripped the wooden spatula, her knuckles turning white under the strain. A longstanding resentment hummed in her voice.
Julien froze in the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to step in. His wife stood by the stove, where meat patties his mothers favorite sizzled. The scent of grilled meat and onions made his throat tighten, perhaps from the heaviness of the argument that was about to unfold.
Amélie, why are you losing your temper? he said softly, trying to soothe. Mum is just used to homecooked meals. She cant eat processed food, you know provisions.
I know! Amélie thumped the spatula onto the counter loudly. I know everything! Her hypertension, her diet, her balanced meals. But why must I circle this kitchen every night like a hamster on a wheel? I have my own job!
Outside, the October day faded slowly. Shadows from the old apple tree outside the kitchen window danced on the walls, silent witnesses to their quarrel. Julien glanced at the clock his mother would soon return from her walk.
Maybe we should hire a cleaner? he suggested, uneasy, aware that Amélie detested the idea of bringing strangers into their home.
Amélie gave a bitter smile. Sure, and how will we pay her? With the rent savings? You know how much Moms medication costs.
She turned back to the stove, wiping nascent tears with a kitchen towel. Three months earlier, when Marie moved in after a minor stroke, it had been Amélie who had urged Julien to take her in. She had never imagined how disruptive their lives would become.
The front door slammed down the hall. Light footsteps announced Maries return from her evening stroll. Amélie quickly dabbed her eyes with the towel and began plating the meat patties. Julien remained rooted in the doorway, clueless about what to say or do.
A heavy silence settled, broken only by the clatter of dishes and the faint sizzle of the cooling pan.
Mom, how was your walk? Julien asked, eager for any escape from the tense conversation with his wife. Lately, he found himself avoiding disputes, burying himself in work, late returns, and endless urgent tasks.
Marie stood before the hallway mirror, slowly undoing the wool scarf a gift from her late husband. Her fingers, once deft at the sewing machine, now struggled with a simple knot. The tremor that had appeared after the stroke was worsening day by day.
Oh, that was nice, little Julien, she tried to smile, though it looked more like a grimace. The leaves were gathered in the park. Remember how you loved jumping into them when you were small? 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 face and the sweat on her forehead did not escape her sons observant gaze.
My blood pressure is acting up, Marie admitted. I think I walked too much today.
Ill fetch your meds, Amélie called from the kitchen. Though angry, she took her motherinlaws health seriously, perhaps a habit formed during years working in a clinic.
Dont rush, Amélie, Marie said, settling heavily on a stool and pulling a medication blister pack from her coat pocket. Im playing spy now, taking everything with me. Here are my assistants
Her eyes lingered on an old photograph on the wall her and her husband on their wedding day. It seemed a lifetime away. She had never imagined becoming a burden to her own son in his later years.
Julien hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water, almost knocking over a vase. As he passed his wife, he tried to meet her gaze, but Amélie 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.
Whats for dinner? Marie sniffed as she entered the kitchen. More patties? Amélie, why do you strain yourself so? A simple soup would have been enough
Its fine, Mom, Amélie thrust her fork into a patty with enough force to make it sizzle against the pans bottom. You like them, I remember.
Her tone made Marie jump, stopping at the kitchen threshold. In twenty years of watching her sons marriage, she had learned to detect the slightest tension in her daughterinlaws voice. It rang now like an overtightened string.
The elderly woman shuffled to the table, leaning on her sons arm. She sat, spreading a napkin on her knees a habit from her teaching days. Julien placed her plate and a glass of water before her, checking that the chair was properly positioned.
You know Amélie began, then halted as she saw Marie turning pale. Her temples throbbed with the words she was holding back. Lets just have dinner.
A heavy hush fell over the table. Only cutlery clinked against plates, and the wall clock a heirloom from Juliens grandmother ticked mechanically, marking each second of the uncomfortable silence. Marie barely touched her food, casting sidelong glances at her son and daughterinlaw.
In recent weeks she had often caught such looks, overheard fragments of conversation, noticed how the atmosphere shifted whenever she entered a room.
Maybe I shouldnt have agreed to come she thought bitterly. Yet aloud she managed only: The patties are delicious, Amélie. Almost like the ones my mother made
I cant take it anymore, Amélie suddenly blurted, her voice trembling as she set her fork down. Im done.
The clocks ticking grew deafening. Marie froze, spoon suspended inches from her mouth, while Julien paled, realizing his deepest fear one that had haunted him lately was becoming reality.
Every day its the same, Amélies voice hardened with each word. I get up at six, Im at work by eight. Noon Im at the pharmacy for meds, after work errands, cooking, cleaning When will I get to live? When can I rest?
My dear Marie began.
Im not your daughter! Amélie snapped, leaping up, her chair clattering against the wall. You have a son, let him cook. Im exhausted! Do you understand? Exhausted!
Julien made a tentative gesture. Amélie, but
What did I say thats so terrible? she shouted, almost crying. Its true! Youre always busy with work, and I should split myself between the hospital and the house? Your mother is your responsibility!
Marie gently set her spoon down, hands shaking more than usual. Im just a burden she whispered. 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 tried to wrap his arms around her, but she slipped away gently.
No, son, let me finish, Marie straightened, like she did when facing a rowdy class. I taught for forty years. Do you know what I learned? To listen. And I listen, Amélie, when you cry in the bathroom. I see your hands tremble after a long day
Amélie stood frozen by the stove, her fingers white from gripping the counter. Small tears streamed 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. Each day blended into a fog of work, cooking, injections, treatments. My husband at work, my son small I thought Id lose my mind.
Mom, why are you saying this? Julien whispered, confused, his gaze shifting between his mother and his wife.
Because youre wrong, son, Marie replied, rising from the table. Youre wrong to dump everything on Amélie. Tomorrow Ill call social services for a caregiver
How will we pay her? Amélie asked without turning.
Ill give my pension. We can even rent a flat thatll be extra.
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, straightening his shoulders. No caregiver. And we wont rent another place.
But how Marie started.
Starting tomorrow Ill talk to my boss about teleworking three days a week, Julien declared firmly. Well alternate cooking. Mom, could you teach me your famous patties?
Marie blinked, surprised. Of course, my son but will you manage?
Men can cook too, Amélie smiled for the first time that night. Just beware, your son loves to experiment. Remember his curry borscht?
At least it was original! Julien grinned, feeling the tension melt away gradually.
I can handle the cleaning, Marie offered suddenly. Vacuuming is hard, but dusting and tidying, I can do. Ive been ironing all my life, I can keep that up
Mom, Amélie interrupted, finally turning to the table. You dont have to do it
I want to! Maries eyes sparkled with that old teachers light. Do you think its easy to sit idle all day? I just watch TV and stare out the window. At least it gives me a purpose.
She burst into laughter, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Forgive us, children I saw how tired you were and kept silent. I feared saying too much.
Forgive me too, Amélie found herself kneeling beside her motherinlaws chair, resting her head on her knees as she once did with her own mother. I said terrible things I was angry.
Marie stroked Amélies hair, tears sliding down her cheeks. Its settled then. Julien will cook Tuesdays and Thursdays
And every other Saturday, added his son.
Every other Saturday, Marie agreed. Ill take care of the housework. And you, dear, she lifted Amélies chin, never hesitate to speak when things get hard. Were a family.
The wall clock ticked on, the patties cooled on the table, and outside the last October rays dimmed slowly. For the first time in months, genuine warmth returned to the home.
Do You Really Think I’m Going to Cook for Your Mum Every Single Day?
