28March
I sat at the kitchen table, watching Margaretmy motherinlawslice apples for an apple sponge cake, her voice bubbling with stories. I barely heard a word; my mind was fogged by the past month of her staying with us. My marriage to Harry has been five happy years, yet lately a quiet doubt has settled in my chesthave I made the right choice marrying my mothers son?
Emma, youre not listening to me! Margaret snapped, pausing her tale and pursing her lips. Im telling you Harry needs a new job. That firm he works for is a joke! I spoke to a friend who can take him into her building firmbetter pay, clearer prospects, a promotion within a year. And you could stay at home, no need to work.
I inhaled deeply, trying to keep my irritation in check. Margaret, Harry decides where he works. Hes an adult.
Of course hes an adult, but youre his wife! You should steer him, advise him. Design work and sketches arent proper mans work! she protested.
Hes a designerarchitect and he loves his job, I replied, my patience fraying. The firm is reputable and he enjoys what he does.
Enjoys? What about the money? Hes earning peanuts! And children? When will you raise a family? she asked, waving her hands.
Were not planning kids yet, I whispered, though wed discussed it countless times. We have enough saved.
Not planning? Margaret set the knife down, turning to me. I thought youd already had children by now! I raised Harry at your age!
I fell silent. I do want children, but not nowIve just defended my doctoral thesis and been promoted to senior lecturer in the department. Harry and I agreed on a threeyear plan: first cement my academic footing, then think about a family.
Margaret, assuming my quiet meant consent, pressed on. Look at Lily, my friends daughtershe already has three kids, and her husband, a builder, put a solid roof over their heads.
Well decide for ourselves, Margaret, I said, trying to steady my voice. I respect you, but.
What do you mean decide for ourselves? she snapped. Im his mother; I know whats best for both of you. Youre still so young and inexperienced. A mother never gives bad advice.
I shook my head and left the kitchen. Arguing was futile. I retreated to the upstairs bedroom of our modest yet cosy terraced housebought two years ago with a mortgageand lay down, eyes closing. The fatigue from lecturing, grading, and Margarets relentless meddling was crushing.
That evening Harry came home, tired but smiling. You wont believe itIve been appointed lead designer on a new project! he announced, planting a kiss on my cheek.
Congratulations, love! I said, genuinely thrilled.
Mom, whats the project? How much will they pay? Margaret interjected before I could answer.
Its a highend residential development, Harry said buoyantly. The salary will rise accordingly.
By how much? she pressed. Do we even have enough for the mortgage? The car? Your old hatchback is on its last legs!
Harry winced. Mom, its not about the exact figure. Well manage.
Later at dinner Margaret continued her lecture, while Harry kept mostly silent and I felt a growing knot of irritation. When the plates were cleared and we were alone, I finally snapped.
Harry, I cant take this any longer. Your mother is in every part of our liveswork, plans, the house! When is she leaving?
Its only temporary, he sighed. Shes staying while her flat is being renovated.
Renovated? Shes been renovating a onebedroom flat for weeks now!
He tried to soothe me. You know how Mum isshe wants everything perfect. Just a little more patience?
I nodded, realizing there was no way to ask her to leave. My patience was wearing thin.
The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, Margaret appeared at the bedroom door. Emma, I need to talk, she said, perching on the edge of the bed.
Im in a rush, perhaps this evening? I tried to deflect.
No, its urgent. You must quit your job.
My what? Why?
Because you need to have children! You cant postpone forever. I spoke to Harry yesterday; he wants a baby too.
Harry? Did he actually say that?
I didnt hear it word for word, but I can see it in his eyes. He dreams of a son!
I set my hairbrush down, meeting her gaze. I appreciate your concern, truly. Harry and I have already decided well try for a child in three years. Its not the right time now.
Not the right time? she flared. When will it be? When youre forty? I was your age and I raised Harry then.
I know you raised him, but times have changed, I replied. Career is still a priority for many of us.
She shook her head. Exactly! In my day the family came first. Now everyone chases a career! Oh, the youth today
I glanced at the clock. I have to go. Well finish this conversation with Harry tonight.
The day slipped by in lectures, tutorials, and a department meeting. My thoughts kept drifting back to Margarets wordswhat if shes right? What if Harry truly wants a child now but is too scared to say it?
When we got home, Margaret had prepared a celebratory dinner and announced, Were having a family council today! I braced myself; I knew the agenda.
She poured wine and declared, Ive spoken to Ms. Gillian Parker, and shes ready to hire you, Harry, as head of design in her construction firm!
Harry sputtered, What? Mom, what are you talking about?
Your new job! she beamed. The salary will be twice what you earn now!
Im happy where I am, Harry said firmly.
But this is a chance you cant miss! Margaret insisted, sliding a brochure across the table.
Harry pushed the papers away. Im not changing jobs.
Think of the future! Think of the children! she cried, eyes darting to me. You said youd leave work, Emma?
No! I shouted, stunned. I never said that.
Margaret seemed genuinely surprised. But you said youd consider my offer earlier this morning!
I said wed revisit it tonight, I corrected. And were not having children for at least three years.
Harry nodded, though his face was tight. The tension was palpable.
Three years? Youre already thirty! In three more youll be thirtythreedangerous! Margaret exclaimed.
Many people have children after thirty, Harry tried to calm her. Its possible.
Its not right! she insisted. I had you when I was twentytwo; that was perfect! I just want the best for you both.
Harry replied gently but firmly, We understand, Mum, but this is our life and our decision.
She pressed on, Your life! I just want you happy! Emma, career isnt everythingfamily is.
I took a deep breath. Margaret, both career and family matter to me. I want to be a good lecturer and, one day, a good mother. Just not yet.
Dinner ended in awkward silence. Margaret withdrew to her room, and Harry stared at his plate.
Harry, I whispered later, do you really want a child now?
He met my eyes. No, love. Weve agreed on three years. Im just upset about Mums constant pressure.
Maybe we should talk to her, I suggested.
I will, tomorrow. Tonight she wont listen.
The next day Margaret acted as if nothing had happened, asking about my plans and preparing breakfast. In the evening, I found her at the computer, typing furiously.
Good evening, I said, entering the kitchen. What are you doing?
She flinched, closing the browser. Oh, Emma! Just writing to a friend.
I caught the page title: How to persuade your children to have a baby.
Margaret, can we talk? I asked.
About what, darling? she feigned surprise.
The boundaries youre crossing. Youre trying to control our lives.
Control? Im only helping! Im a mother!
Yes, youre Harrys mother, not mine. Were both adults and make our own choices.
She sighed, I just want whats best for you. In my day, mothers knew better.
Perhaps, I said, but the decisions belong to us.
At that moment Harry returned, looking uneasy.
My director called me, he said, sitting down heavily. Someone asked about my salary and prospects.
What? I asked, startled.
Apparently a woman called my boss asking about me, Harry explained, his fists clenched. Mum, youve gone too far.
I was only trying to make sure youre okay! Margaret protested, waving her hands.
You called my boss? Harry asked, stunned. Why?
To check that youre doing well, she repeated. And what did he say?
He said it was odd. This crosses a line, Mum.
There are no lines between a mother and her son! she exclaimed.
There are, Harry said calmly, and we need them. We have the right to a private life.
Private life? From your mother? she looked hurt. Ive spent my whole life raising you!
Yes, Mum, but we also have the right to make mistakes, even if theyre ours.
The room fell quiet. I looked at Harry with gratitude; finally he had spoken his truth.
Shall we have some tea? I suggested, trying to ease the tension.
Tea sounds lovely, Harry agreed.
Margaret nodded, still looking upset but beginning to understand.
The following morning she announced she was moving back to her flat now that the renovation was finished. I felt a mix of relief and melancholyrelief at regaining space, sorrow for the woman who truly believed she was doing right.
Before she left, I said, Margaret, youre always welcome to visit. Just please dont interfere with our lives.
She smiled faintly. Ive learned that best is when each of us decides whats right for ourselves.
She gave me a hug, and for the first time in months I felt a genuine connection.
When she finally left, our house was quiet. Harry and I enjoyed the peace, discussing our future without fear of unsolicited advice. As we had planned, three years later we welcomed a daughter. Margaret, now a proud grandmother, held the baby in her arms and whispered, Shes beautiful. You made the right choice.
Harry and I exchanged a smile; the journey had been tough, but it brought us here.
Now we often gather as a family. Margaret visits, plays with the child, and no longer tries to steer our decisions. She has learned to listen, and we have learned that her love, though sometimes overbearing, came from a place of genuine care.
Sipping tea together one afternoon, she said, Ive realized the best thing is when people live their own lives.
Indeed, Mum, Harry replied, smiling. And we value that.
Exactly, I added. Its not about what we wanted, but what we achieved together.
Looking around at my husband, our little girl, and my motherinlaw, I finally feel that the family I always wanted is herejust a little different from the one I imagined, but perfect in its own way.
