23April
Im exhausted, but I need to get this down before the thoughts overwhelm me again. This morning began with Margaret, my motherinlaw, barging into the hallway the moment I opened the wardrobe door. Youve put my boots on again? she snapped, eyes narrowed in that imperious stare she reserves for me. I felt the heat rise in my chest. I asked you not to touch my things, I reminded her, trying to keep my voice steady.
Margaret, adjusting her scarf in front of the mirror, replied with a sigh. Darling, look at this weathermud everywhereand Im only wearing my fancy party shoes. Isnt it a pity? She pretended concern, but I sensed the undercurrent of entitlement.
Its not about pity, I said, crossing my arms, feeling irritation bubble up. Its about respecting personal space. I dont wander into your room or take your belongings without permission.
She pursed her lips, giving me that regal, slightly condescending smile that makes my skin crawl. How delicate we are, she murmured. In my day eight people could share a single room and nobody complained about privacy.
I managed a dry retort. Perhaps you didnt mind back then, but times have changed.
She leaned forward, feigning ignorance. What are you whispering about? Speak up, Im not getting any younger.
I inhaled deeply, forcing calm. Living with Margaret for the past three months has been a trial of patience. We had to give up the flat wed shared because the mortgage on a new house ran overdue, and the construction delays forced us into her twobedroom flat.
Im heading out to the shop to buy you a pair of rubber boots, I said, forcing a smile. So you wont suffer.
Oh, no need! Margaret waved her hands. My shoe cupboard is bursting at the seams. Better buy yourself a pair, then I wont have to feel sorry for you.
Her choice of the word mine lingered in my mindshe wasnt talking about old or everyday boots, but about ownership, as if deciding whether to share or not was something she could dictate.
Fine, Margaret, I replied. Im off to work now. Ill be late, I have a meeting.
She shook her head. Again? Alex will come home tired and hungry, and you wont be there.
Alex is a grown man, he can heat his own dinner, I muttered, pulling on my coat. Everythings already in the fridge.
Stepping out into the damp spring air, the rain had stopped but the slush underfoot had turned into a grey mush. I told myself, Yes, she really does need boots.
At the office the day crawled. Im a designer at a printing firm, usually lost in colours and layouts, but today my mind kept looping back to the morning argument, to the missing packet of expensive tea, and to the time Margaret accidentally washed my favourite sweater in hot water.
You seem on edge today, Nat, a colleague, said over lunch. Motherinlaw again?
I managed a weak smile. Its obvious, isnt it?
She patted my hand sympathetically. Tell me whats happened this time.
Just the usual petty things, I waved her off. They pile up.
What about Alex? she asked.
He loves his mother, I get that, I sighed. He tries to stay neutral.
Nat shook her head. Neutrality wont work forever. Sooner or later someone has to pick a side. Hed better choose yours, otherwise
What otherwise? I asked, hoping not to sound melodramatic.
Otherwise what? Nat pressed. Youll leave him because of his mum?
Its not the mum, its his stance, Nat corrected. Ive been there. My first marriage fell apart after five years, largely because my husband always sided with his mother.
Well manage, I said with more conviction than I felt. The new flat will be finished in a couple of months, and everything will settle.
Nat let out a weary sigh. I hope so.
That evening I decided to surprise Alex with the ingredients for his favourite carrot cake. Tomorrow is Saturday; I could get up early and bake. I thought it would be a nice treat for the whole family.
The flat was quiet, only the kitchen light glowed. I slipped off my shoes and paused at the doorway. Margaret was already at the table, tucking into a casserole Id made for breakfastenough for three.
Victoria! she exclaimed, startled. Back already? I thought youd be later.
The meeting got cancelled, I said, glancing at the almostempty casserole dish. Wheres Alex?
Hes out with friends, said not to wait for him, Margaret shrugged. Im having dinner. The supermarket chicken didnt appeal to me, so I tried your casserole. Its lovely, by the way.
I placed the grocery bags on the table, silently cursing the thought of having to rise an hour earlier to make a new breakfast. I wanted to sleep in on Saturday, after all.
Margaret, I began, trying to stay calm, that casserole was meant for breakfast, for everyone.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! she flapped her hands, though I saw no genuine remorse. I thought it was just sitting there. Ill make something else tomorrow. Youre such a good cook!
She clearly knew the casserole was for breakfastId mentioned it at dinner the night before while planning the weekend menu.
Alright, I said, Ill just change.
While unpacking the groceries I realised a bar of chocolate was missing. Id bought two bars for the cake.
Margaret, have you seen the chocolate? I asked, stepping back into the kitchen.
She winced a little smile. Oops, Victoria, I took a piece for my tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A wave of outrage rose inside menot about the chocolate itself, but about the relentless disregard for my boundaries.
It was for Alexs cake, I replied shortly.
Buy another tomorrow, she said, shrugging. The shops just across the road.
I nodded, holding back the sting of anger. I didnt want a scene, and it seemed pointless; she would simply pretend not to understand why it mattered.
Alex arrived late, finding me in bed with a book, trying to distract myself.
Hey, sunshine, he whispered, kissing me. How was your day?
Fine, I said, setting the book aside. And yours?
Great! Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Its been ages.
I hesitated, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and missing chocolate. I didnt want to seem petty.
Is Mum still up? Alex asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her room watching TV.
Ill pop in to say hello, he said, heading out.
Through the thin walls I could hear Margarets muffled laughter. I wondered if shed told Alex the whole story about the casserole, probably embellishing it to look better.
He returned about twenty minutes later, looking relaxed.
Your mum loved the casserole, he said, slipping under the covers. Said it was fingerlicking good.
Yes, I know, I replied dryly. It was for breakfast.
What now? he asked, turning to face me. Make something else? At least Mum appreciated your cooking.
I looked at him.
Alex, it isnt about the casserole. Its about your mother constantly taking my things without asking, eating food I set aside for special occasions, ignoring my opinions.
Come off it, Alex waved his hand. Its just a casserole. Mum was hungry.
And the chocolate for your cake? She ate that just because.
What chocolate? he frowned.
The bars I bought for the cake. I wanted to surprise you tomorrow.
And what? She stole it for tea?
Yes! She deliberately does this, testing the limits, showing who runs the house.
Thats nonsense, Alex snapped, sitting up. Youre overreacting. Mum just wanted a bite.
Its not the bite, I felt tears prick my eyes. Its the patternyesterday the casserole, the day before my tea, the day before that my boots. Always without permission.
Alex stared at me, bewildered.
Do you really think every little thing matters? You split everything into mine and hers. Were a family!
Family means respecting personal boundaries, I said quietly. It means asking before you take something, not trampling over whats yours.
You should be grateful my mum eats your food, he shouted now, his voice rising. Its a compliment! She likes what you make.
I froze, eyes wide. He truly didnt see the problem.
A compliment? I echoed. So if I cook a dinner and your mum eats it while were out, thats a compliment and not disrespect?
Enough drama! Alex snapped, throwing the blanket aside. Im exhausted. Had a rough day, and youre making a mountain out of a molehill.
He got up, grabbed a pillow, and plonked himself on the sofa. Ill be in the hall tonight. Ive got to get up early tomorrow. Goodnight.
I sat alone, tears sliding down my cheeks. I hadnt expected such a reaction. I had hoped hed understand, would stand by me, but he chose his mothers side without even trying to see my side.
Morning rose with the smell of pancakes. Margaret was in the kitchen, Alex sitting at the table, smiling as if yesterday never happened.
Morning, love, he said, beaming. Mum decided to treat us. Have a seat.
I reluctantly sat down. Margaret placed a plate of pancakes before me.
Eat up, dear. Ive also made some scrambled eggs, coming right up.
Thanks, I whispered, only asking for coffee, not hungry.
How can you not be hungry? Margaret exclaimed, hands waving. Ive made so much! Would you mind if I didnt eat?
Alex watched, waiting to see my reaction, as if any refusal would be a declaration of war.
Fine, I said, taking a fork. Ill have a little.
Good girl! Margaret cooed, patting my head. Youre looking a bit skinny, better eat.
Alex snorted, but said nothing. I chewed mechanically, thinking this place might not be my home any longer.
When Margaret left for the shop, I decided it was time for a serious talk with Alex. I couldnt put it off any longer.
Alex, we need to talk about your mum, I began, sitting opposite him on the sofa.
Again? he grimaced. Everythings fine. She even made us breakfast.
Its a nice gesture, I agreed, but the issue is the lack of respect for my boundaries. I feel like a guest here, not a family member.
He sighed. Victoria, Mum is used to being the lady of the house. Itll take time for her to adjust. Hang in there; well move soon.
What will happen when we move? I asked quietly. Will she still come over and help herself to my things? Will she eat what Ive set aside for everyone?
He looked away. Shell visit, of course. Shes my mum.
You dont see the problem? I pressed. Im not against your mother; Im against the disregard for my space. And you dont seem to get that.
Im worried youre dividing everything into yours and hers, Alex retorted. Were a family; we share.
Sharing, yes, but with consent, I replied. Not because someone takes without asking.
We stared at each other, and it was clear Alex still didnt grasp the core of my frustration. To him, his mother would always be untouchable, beyond criticism.
You know what, I said finally, Im going to stay at Nats cottage for the weekend.
What? Over a casserole? he asked, eyebrows raised.
Its not about the casserole, I said, shaking my head wearily. Its about you not hearing me. I need time to think.
I got up and began packing. He stayed on the sofa, looking into nothing.
When I grabbed my bag, he asked, What should I tell Mum?
The truth, I said. That Ive left to think about our future, and you should do the same.
I left the flat feeling a strange lightness. The decision was impulsive, perhaps, but it felt right. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
My phone buzzeda message from Nat confirming the cottage key is with the neighbour. I inhaled the cool spring air, grateful for the quiet that awaited me. The weekend will be a chance to breathe, to sort my thoughts, and eventually to have that hard conversation with Alex about what a family truly meansmutual respect, even over something as small as a breakfast casserole.
