A bowl of fruit sat on the kitchen table like a silent rebuke. I glanced at it once more, let out a heavy sigh, and turned my attention back to the television buzzing in the next room. My husband, Stephen, was glued to a BBC angling programme, the way he always does when he wants to forget everything else.
Emily, are you coming? he called from the sofa. The teas getting cold.
I winced. Even the kettle was left to its own devices.
Coming, I replied, rummaging in the fridge for a jar of jam.
Passing the hallway mirror, I brushed back a stray silver strand. Time has a way of slipping by unnoticed. It feels as though only yesterday I walked down the aisle with Stephen, and today were celebrating our daughters sixtieth birthday.
Our daughter, Gwen, just thinking of her makes my heart tighten. Its been a week since we quarrelled, and she hasnt called. As usual, Im the one who feels at fault, even though I meant well.
On the table, next to Stephens unwashed mug, lay a modest wooden frame holding a photo of our wedding. Young, grinning, me in a flowing dress, Stephen in a smart suit. Who could have guessed that, forty years later, our lives would settle into a routine of halfspoken grievances?
You stuck in there? Stephens voice rose again.
I brushed the memory aside and carried a tray of tea and jam into the living room.
What, still stewing over it? Stephen asked without turning from the screen.
I cant help it, I snapped. You should have called Gwen, apologised.
For what? Stephen finally looked up. Because we gave her a gift? Thats absurd.
I set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a terrible present, Stephen. I know that myself.
Just a tea set, he shrugged. It was pricey, too we spent about thirty pounds.
Its not about the money, I sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. She hated that set thirty years ago, yet we dusted it off and gave it to her for her jubilee. She thought we were mocking her.
We werent! Stephen snapped. We thought it was a lovely gift. Almost a vintage piece, actually.
I shook my head. Men often miss the subtleties. That tea set had been a wedding gift from Stephens distant relatives. I remembered Gwen, as a girl, twirling a cup in her hand and saying, Mum, this looks like an antique gardenfull of flowers, not a proper cup. Since then the set had sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it to her resurfaced.
Peoples tastes change, Stephen persisted. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipsters are always hunting for oldfashioned things.
Gwen isnt a hipster! I retorted. Shes a senior accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalistic, not a grandmothers china cabinet.
Then she could have just said thanks and put it on a shelf, Stephen muttered. Instead of making a scene in front of the guests.
I recalled the moment. Gwen opened the box, stared silently at the set for a few seconds, then looked up at us.
Is this the same set from the sideboard? she asked quietly.
Yes, love! I had replied brightly. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Gwens face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I hated it, and you both knew that, she said.
Ah, there you go again, blowing things out of proportion, Stephen sipped his tea. Its just a gift. We have bigger problems, dont we?
Yes, we do, I said. The biggest one is that we dont really know our own daughter. We have no idea what she likes or how she lives.
Stephen snorted. Dont dramatise. Shes just a stubborn one, thats all.
I was about to argue when the phone rang. I answered, hoping it was Gwen.
Hello?
Emily? Its Margaret, a familiar neighbours voice said. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tablets the instructions are impossible.
Ill be right there, I replied, hanging up.
Who was that? Stephen asked.
Margaret Jones. Ill be in next door for a bit; she needs a hand with her meds.
Again with your charity runs, Stephen grumbled. And whos cooking lunch?
I exhaled heavily. Theres borscht in the fridge, just needs reheating.
I slipped on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell was scented with fried fish from downstairs and cigarette smoke drifting up from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Margaret lived alone, and she opened the door the moment I arrived.
Come in, Emily, come in, she chattered. Ive baked a cake, lets have a cuppa together.
I tried to decline, but she was insistent. While she fussed in the kitchen, I looked at the family photos lining her walls Stephen and I, her husband, their children, grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows little Gwen doing? Margaret asked, placing a tray of tea on the table. She coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, I answered evasively.
And her son? Simons at university, right?
Yes, third year.
Margaret settled beside me, eyes softening. You look down today. Something happen?
I poured out everything the cursed tea set, the fight with Gwen, Stephens stubbornness.
You know, Margaret said after I finished, you just need to talk to Gwen. No Stephen. Apologise sincerely for the gift.
She wont pick up the phone, I sighed.
Then go to her, Margaret shrugged. She doesnt live far away.
I thought about it. Why not just visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that weve become two clueless old folk who cant understand our own child?
Youre right, I said finally. Ill go tomorrow.
Good thinking, Margaret smiled. Now, lets try that cake.
When I got back, Stephen was still glued to the TV.
Stephen, Im heading to Gwens.
Why?
To apologise for the gift.
Here we go again, he snapped, turning to face me. Its just a set. Shell get over it.
It isnt about the set, I said. Its about us not hearing each other, not hearing our daughter.
Fine, he grudgingly agreed. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think the gift was fine.
I only shook my head. Forty years together and his stubbornness hadnt budged an inch.
Gwen lived in a new development, a sleek highrise. I caught the bus, watching the passing suburbs, thinking how hard it is to communicate with those you love most.
The front door opened and my grandson, Kirk, greeted me.
Grandma? he asked, surprised. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise, I replied, handing him a bag of scones. Mum at home?
Shes in her office, Kirk said, taking the bag. Come in, Ill get her.
I walked into the living room. Gwens flat always gave me mixed feelings admiration mixed with a hint of sadness. Everything was modern, minimalist, bathed in pale light. No sideboard, no floral china, no tapestries a different era, different values.
Gwen emerged from her study, a tight expression on her face.
Mum? Something wrong?
Nothing, I said calmly. I just came to talk.
She glanced at her watch. In half an hour I have a video call with London.
Ill be quick, I said, settling on the sofa. Gwen, Im sorry for that gift. You were right it was foolish.
She raised an eyebrow. Youre sorry for the tea set?
Not just the set, I clasped my hands. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Gwen sank into the armchair opposite me.
Mum, its not the set. Its it felt like a symbol that you dont know who I am, what I do, what I love, she said slowly. It showed Im still that little girl you remember.
Its true, I whispered. Were stuck in yesterday. To us youre still the child who once lived with us.
She sighed. What hurts most is that you never try to find out the real me. In all these years you never asked what music I listen to, what books I read, what films I enjoy. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, I felt a lump form in my throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Thats exactly it! Gwens tone lightened a bit. Im also at fault. I never ask what youre doing, what matters to you. I just drop in once a month, bring groceries, and leave, as if Im doing a duty.
Were all at fault, I said, a small smile breaking through tears. But its not too late to fix it, is it?
Not at all, she replied.
So, what music are you listening to these days? I asked.
She laughed. Seriously?
Very seriously, I nodded. We have about twenty minutes before your call, then Ill head out so I dont bother you.
Alright, she thought for a moment. Im into jazz, especially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals for work, but for fun Im into detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I dream of going to Barcelona.
I listened, feeling as if I were meeting a new person for the first time. How much Id missed over the years.
What about your love life? I asked gently. Its been three years since the divorce
She smiled shyly. There is someone. I havent mentioned him because hes seven years younger than me. I was afraid you and Stephen wouldnt understand.
Were oldfashioned, but not out of touch, I said. The important thing is hes a good person.
Hes good, Gwen affirmed. He teaches history at the university. Kirk likes him.
Then bring him over for dinner, I suggested. Well meet. And I promise no more sideboard gifts!
We both laughed.
You know, Gwen said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually quite pretty, a proper Provençal piece. Vintage is in demand now.
Dont try to excuse me, I shook my head. It was a dreadful gift.
No, really! she exclaimed. Im even thinking of putting it in the summer house. We bought a plot last year, didnt I tell you?
No, I felt a sting of shame. See how little we know each other?
Lets catch up, she said, glancing at the clock. I have to get ready for the call, but you should visit this weekend, bring Stephen. Ill show you the cottage.
We embraced, and I felt something important return to my life, something I had almost lost through my own blindness.
On the way back home I stopped at the store, bought a decent bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. Stephen met me at the door, looking worried.
How did it go? he asked.
We made up, I said, handing him the bag. And guess what? Gwen now likes the set; she wants to put it in the cottage.
See? I told you it was a good gift! Stephen declared triumphantly.
I just smiled. Let him think he won. The real victory was that our familys peace mattered far more than any porcelain.
Stephen, I said as I moved into the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and wants to go to Barcelona?
No way! he replied, genuinely surprised. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt end at sixty, I said, pulling out the glasses. And neither does ours. Perhaps we should learn something new too.
He looked at me skeptically. Like what?
Like listening to each other, I answered, pouring wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not from the sideboard.
Deal, he raised his glass. To a new chapter.
The fruit bowl still sat on the table, but now I looked at it with fresh eyes. Sometimes even the worst gift can spark something truly important and real.
