Emily winced at the shrill ring of the phone. The screen flashed MrsMargaret Blythe. It was the third call of the morning from her motherinlaw. She inhaled deeply, gathered her resolve, and pressed the green button.
Hello, MrsBlythe, Im listening, she said.
Emily, why arent you answering? Margarets voice crackled with reproach. Im calling, Im calling!
I was making porridge for Poppy, my hands were busy, Emily replied, though the truth was she simply did not want to hear, once again, the criticism of her parenting.
Those porridge rituals again! I told you children need meat. My James grew up on steaklook how sturdy he is! Your Poppy is as pale as a ghost; the wind will blow her away, Margaret scolded.
Emily closed her eyes, counted to five. Poppy was only three; the paediatrician had said she was developing normally. Her slight frame was a family trait from Jamess side.
MrsBlythe, we do give her meat. Todays lunch will be meatballs, Emily said.
Good! Thats why Im calling. Ill bring a chicken broth on the bonesjust how James likes it. Ill also fry some cutlets using my own recipe. Your meatballs cant compare Margarets tone dripped with sarcasm, as if the cutlets were poison.
Dont worry, we have everything we need, Emily tried to protest.
Worry? Im just coming to see my grandchild. You wont refuse, will you? Margarets question left no room for a negative answer.
Of course, come, Emily surrendered.
The call ended and Emily pressed her forehead against the cool window pane. Outside, rare snowflakes swirled, settling on bare branches. November was damp and grey.
Mum, who were you talking to? Poppy peeked from her bedroom, clutching a tattered plush rabbit.
Grandma Margaret is coming today, Emily said, forcing a bright tone.
Is she going to say I dont eat enough again? the little girl frowned.
Emily felt a sting. Even the child sensed the constant scrutiny.
Grandma loves you very much and wants you strong and healthy, Emily soothed.
Poppy nodded reluctantly and returned to her toys.
Emily set to work. Though she and James preferred a creative mess, the flat had to sparkle before the motherinlaw arrived, lest she declare it a stable full of germs.
In two hours she scrubbed the floors, dusted the shelves, and even baked an apple crumblethe only dish Margaret ever praised.
James was due back from work at noon. Both worked from homehe a programmer, she a designerbut today he had an important client meeting and was heading to the office.
The doorbell rang precisely at two oclock. Margaret was punctual, like a Swiss watch.
Well, look who it is, my dear daughterinlaw! the short, plump woman with chestnutcoloured hair announced, laden with bags. Wheres my little princess?
Poppy peered timidly from the hallway.
Come here, darling! Grandmas brought treats!
The girl stepped forward and offered a hand for a kiss, a habit Margaret had taught herself, believing girls should grow up as proper ladies.
Only grownup girls get handkisses, Margaret said, wrapping Poppy in a hug. When youre sixteen youll be the one extending your hand to suitors. Grandmothers merely say hello.
Emily rolled her eyes, a move Margaret failed to notice. The contradictions in Margarets parenting were endless.
MrsBlythe, may I help with the bags? Emily offered.
Yes, bring them to the kitchen. Ive prepared a lot! James must eat properly, not just whatever he finds.
In the kitchen Margaret barked commands.
Emily, fetch a large pot. Not that plastic oneuse a proper metal one. And where is your bread? Do you keep it in the fridge? You cant! Itll go stale!
Emily complied, handing over pots and pans. Six years of marriage had taught her to expect Margarets unsolicited expertise.
Poppy looks so pale, Margaret noted, spreading an assortment of pickled vegetables. Do you take her for walks? Give her vitamins?
Yes, we walk daily if the weather permits, and we give her the supplement the paediatrician prescribed, Emily replied.
Paediatricians! What do those youngsters know? In my day
Emily sighed silently.
In my day we kept children outdoors from dawn till dusk and hardened them! I took James out in any weather. Look how robust he turned out.
Emily kept quiet, though she could have reminded Margaret that James suffered chronic bronchitis each winter and had a history of tonsillitis as a child.
Emily, Ive baked a crumble. Tea?
First lunch, then tea. And wheres James? Why isnt he here yet?
As if by magic the hallway lock clicked.
There he is! Margaret exclaimed.
James entered, eyeing the shoes piled by the door.
Mum? Why didnt you tell me you were coming?
How could I not? I called Emily this morning! Margaret retorted.
Emily offered a guilty smile; she had forgotten to text James about the visit.
Hi, Mum, James said, hugging his mother. How are you feeling?
I feel fine blood pressure spikes, my legs swell by evening, but I dont complain. We manage ourselves, dont burden anyone, Margaret replied, a rehearsed line that always came with a litany of ailments.
Undress quickly, Im heating lunch. Ive been at the stove since morning, preparing your favourite dishes, she added.
James shot a guilty glance at Emily, knowing how stressful these visits could be.
At lunch Margaret launched into stories of Jamess childhood brilliance.
At four he could read! The poems he recitedlisten! Poppy, do you know any verses?
The little girl poked at her plate with a fork, silent.
She knows many poems, Emily interjected. Poppy, tell Grandma about the bear.
I dont want to, Poppy muttered, scowling.
See, James? The child is withdrawn. She should go to nursery, mix with other kids, Margaret urged.
Mom, weve already discussed this, James intervened. Well wait until shes four. No need to rush.
Rushed? I handed my son over at two, and he turned out fine! Your girl is a shy little thing, eats nothing
Poppy pushed her plate away, her lips puffed.
May I go play? she asked.
No, not until you finish, Margaret declared.
Finish your cutlet, sunshine, Emily encouraged, though inside she felt a boil.
Poppy forced a bite of the cutlet.
Much better, Margaret said, satisfied. Youre spoiling her. A child needs routine, discipline. When I raised James
After the meal Margaret insisted on a midday nap for Poppy.
A child must nap! Its essential for the schedule, she proclaimed.
Emily wanted to argue that Poppy no longer napped and that forcing it would ruin her nights sleep, but James shook his head, preferring peace over conflict.
Let her rest a bit, he whispered.
While Margaret wrestled with the stubborn girl, Emily brewed tea and sliced the crumble.
Useless, Margaret returned half an hour later, Shes completely untethered. In our day children always obeyed!
Emilys tongue almost slipped, In your day they even, but she held back.
She just isnt tired yet, James said, conciliating. Mum, try the crumbleEmily made it especially for you.
Margaret eyed the piece suspiciously.
Hope its free of artificial additives. Those store mixes are terrible
Its all naturalflour, eggs, apples from our garden, the same ones you gave us, Emily assured.
Thats better, Margaret admitted. Youve finally learned. I remember when you first married you couldnt even fry an egg properly.
Emily stayed silent, though she could have reminded Margaret of her ten years living independently before marriage, cooking competently in her own way.
James, Margaret leaned toward her son, could you pop over next week? The tap in the bathroom leaks, the cupboard lights out. Im terrified of using a ladder; I might fall.
Yes, Mum, James said, apologetic. Wednesday work?
Wednesday I have MrsNina visiting maybe Tuesday?
Tuesday I have a client meeting, James replied, spreading his hands.
Fine, Ill just sit with the faulty tap thenthis isnt the first time, Margaret sighed.
Emilys lips tightened. The same thinveiled blackmail, the endless reproaches.
I can go with you, check the tap, James offered, unable to bear another sigh.
Margarets face brightened.
Excellent! And while youre at it, look at the hallway wallpaper. Im thinking of changing it; its been five years, quite shabby now.
Wheres Poppy playing? Its quiet, Emily asked suddenly.
In her room, looking at books. I told her not to scatter her toys, Margaret answered.
Emily peered into the nursery and froze. Poppy was carefully cutting pictures out of a brandnew picture book they had bought just yesterday.
Poppy! What are you doing?
The girl looked up, unashamed.
Grandma said I could cut pictures and make an album. She gave me scissors.
Emily seized the ruined bookan expensive, beautifully illustrated volume James had ordered online just days before.
This was a brandnew book! We only started reading it yesterday!
Tears welled in Poppys eyes.
Grandma said she sniffed.
Emily breathed deeply, steadying herself.
Its alright, love. Next time you want to cut something, ask Mum or Dad first, okay?
She returned to the kitchen where Margaret was animatedly recounting a neighbours scandal on the fifth floor.
MrsBlythe, Emily interjected calmly, Did you give Poppy the scissors?
Yes, what of it? Children should learn handiwork. We glued and cut all the time when we were young. Now they stare at screens
But she ruined a new bookthe very one we just received from the online shop.
Books are just paper! Itll make a lovely album. It nurtures creativity, Margaret brushed off.
James found himself caught between a rock and a hard place.
Mum, could you have asked us first? he asked gently.
Oh, so now I must ask permission to play with my own grandchild? Who am I, an outsider? Margaret snapped.
No one talks like that, James tried to smooth things over.
Yes, exactly thats what we say! Margaret rose, flinging her arms. I see Im the extra person in this house. I come, I cook, and all I get are criticisms!
MrsBlythe, Emily stood as well, No one is criticizing you. There are boundaries, you know.
Boundaries? Margaret retorted. What boundaries between a grandmother and a grandchild? I raised James alone! I know how to bring up children, unlike some who cant even make a decent lunch!
Mum! James shouted, his voice rising. Stop this right now!
Silence fell. Poppy slipped out of the nursery, eyes wide with alarm.
Grandma is shouting, she whispered.
Margaret instantly softened.
Come here, my golden girl. Im not shouting, just adults talking. Lets finish our album together, alright?
No, Emily said firmly. No more cutting. Poppy will watch a cartoon with Dad, and well have a word with you, Margaret.
Margaret opened to argue, but James already took his daughters hand.
Shall we watch Frozen? he asked.
As they left, Emily invited Margaret to sit.
MrsBlythe, I know you love Poppy and want the best for her. James and I have our own way of raising her, and we ask you to respect that, Emily said.
So I must stay silent when I see a child being raised the wrong way? Margaret pressed her lips together.
You may suggest, you may advise, but the final decisions are ours. And please, dont tell Poppy she can do things we normally forbid.
For example? Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes.
For example, cutting books. Or napping in the afternoon. Or eating sweets before lunch.
So Im not allowed to spoil my grandchild? Then whats the point of grandmothers? Margaret sniffed.
Emily sighed. They were speaking different dialects.
Spoiling is fine in moderation, as long as you discuss it with us first.
Margaret pursed her lips, gathered her bags, and declared, If thats how it is, Ill go. Theres nothing for me here if I cant even have a proper chat with my granddaughter.
Dont dramatise it, Emily said wearily. Just, please, lets respect each others space.
Thirty years teaching, raising my son alone, and now I have to ask permission to let my granddaughter cut pictures! Margaret muttered, pulling on her coat.
James emerged from the hallway, hearing the commotion.
Mum, youre leaving? he asked.
Im off, dear. Your wife doesnt like how Im with Poppy.
Mum, dont start, James winced. Let me give you a ride and check the tap?
Margarets face brightened a fraction.
Alright, if its not a bother bring a screwdriver; the cupboard hinge is squeaking.
They departed. Emily collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. Poppy slipped into the room, climbed onto her lap.
Mum, I wont cut books anymore, she promised solemnly. I didnt know it was wrong.
Of course, love, Emily hugged her. Youre not at fault. Next time Grandma suggests something, ask Dad or me first, okay?
Poppy nodded, nestling against her mother.
James returned an hour and a half later, tired but satisfied.
The taps fixed, the bulbs in, the cupboards tightened. Mum sends her apologies and says she wont meddle with the parenting any more.
Should I believe that? Emily smirked.
James sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her.
No, but at least well have a week of peace.
They laughed. Perhaps one day their relationship with Margaret would smooth out, perhaps not. For now they had their little family, their home, their rules, and they would guard them fiercely.
A week later Margaret called, as if nothing had changed, offering to teach Poppy how to bake pies. Its time the girl learns a proper womans skill, she declared, or shell turn out like modern youths, good for nothing. Emily exhaled, exchanged a glance with James, and saw in his eyes the same weary understanding: this cycle would never truly end. Yet they would manage, because beneath the tension lay a genuine desire from Margaret to do what she thought was best. It just wasnt the best they needed.
