Mom, I didnt sign up to be your maid, I tell her on the phone.
Listen, Mum, weve got a problem. The landlady wants us out of the flat immediately. Clear out as much space as you can in my room. Were coming over today with the whole family, my son Alex says.
Are you serious? I gasp. Ive heard you cant evict someone in winter without a proper tenancy agreement. They should at least give us time to find somewhere else.
They wont give us any time, Alex snaps. Natalie had a row with the landlady yesterday and thats why shes furious.
Right, so Natalie needs to learn to keep her mouth shut and show a bit of respect, I remark.
Dont start, Mum! Alex grumbles, ending the call. I hear the brief buzz of the line and slump onto the floor, bewildered. Yesterday at work was a nightmare: two new hires arrived, my boss demanded I show them everything, I had to finish two reports for senior management and a heap of other tasks. By evening Im not back Im crawling home from the office to my flat.
I had big plans for the weekend. I wanted to sleep in on Saturday, then stroll through the park in the evening. On Sunday I intended to meet a friend for a shoprun. And now?
I cant picture four people living in my tiny twobedroom flat me, my son, his wife Natalie, and my sevenyearold grandson Oliver. My weekend ambitions crumble. I must clear out Alexs former bedroom, shift some things, then hit the supermarket and cook dinner before nightfall.
The prospect doesnt thrill me. Its not that I dont love my son or grandson; its just that things are strained with Natalie. I always try to treat her politely to keep the peace and spare Alex any embarrassment, but the tension flares regularly.
Despite the ruined plans and sour mood, I start cleaning. Afterward I head to the shop and whip up dinner.
By evening everythings ready. When Alex arrives with his family the flat gets noisy and, frankly, chaotic. I decide to retreat to my room early. Alex and Natalie linger at the table while Oliver watches cartoons.
Good night then. Youll clear the table yourselves, right, Nat? I say, leaving the kitchen.
Yeah, Natalie mumbles without looking up from her phone.
Halfasleep I hear laughter and footsteps, but I ignore it, assuming theyll be gone soon. In my mind the visit is only temporary; they need a place to crash while Alex looks for a new flat. Natalie, however, keeps stirring up drama. Ive told her repeatedly that people need to negotiate and show respect, yet she either brushes me off or launches another fullblown argument.
The next morning the alarm jolts me awake. I walk into the kitchen and stare in disbelief: halfempty tea cups, a mountain of candy wrappers, apple cores, and a sink piled with dirty dishes.
Mom, whats for breakfast? Alex shouts, still stuck in traffic, as I scramble to tidy the aftermath of last nights dinner.
Make some toast and tea. Im only having coffee, I reply.
Mom, Ill starve if its just toast, he mutters.
Then the blames on your wife. She should spend a few minutes in the bathroom and make you breakfast. I didnt sign up to be your servant, yet Im still washing dishes because you didnt clean up yesterday.
Before I finish, Natalie appears, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
So I knew it. Margaret, its barely eight oclock and youre already complaining.
Im not complaining, Natalie, Im speaking to Alex. Could you at least make him breakfast? I cant keep washing and cooking for you all.
Sure, she says, still glued to her phone.
The next five days pass with a palpable strain. I hold back as best I can, hoping Alex will sort out a new flat within the week so I can get my life back to normal.
Friday night brings no sign of them moving out. I think Alex simply doesnt want to drag me into his mess. Saturday morning Alex and Natalie sleep in, exhausted. By lunchtime Alex finally emerges from his room, and I realise theres no move planned at all.
On Sunday I ask him straight out, Alex, have you found a place?
Been looking. Everythings either too pricey or too far. Well probably stay with you another week.
Fine, I sigh. I cant force them onto the street, so I endure another week, which is still better than a fullblown fight.
But nothing changes. A week, two weeks later, theyre still settled in my flat, not even looking for a new place. Natalie makes no effort at housework; she tosses dirty plates in the sink and collapses on the couch. She drops laundry in a basket, leaving me to wash, iron, cook, and clean all weekend.
Natalie, Im heading to the shop, could you please mop the floor?
Margaret, Im the one who lives here. Ill do it later, maybe tonight.
Its only fair you pitch in, since you live here too, I point out.
What? My head hurts! Enough! she shrieks.
This is ridiculous, I snap back.
Exactly! You made it happen! she snaps back without a hint of remorse.
I give up the argument, go to the shop, finish the cleaning, then sit down with a cup of tea to rest.
A sudden, relentless rattle wakes me Olivers been playing ball inside.
Oliver, you need to play outside, not in the flat. Its evening, the neighbours can hear, I warn.
But Grandma I want to play now, Mum and Dad wont take me out, he replies, bouncing the ball off the floor.
Stop it, I say sharply.
Alex rushes out of his room.
Alex, tell Oliver to stop, I demand.
Mom, he always plays inside he begins, but Natalie cuts in.
Exactly! Youve been nagging me all morning, now youre attacking the kid. What do you want, to throw us out? she yells.
Natalie, if you cant respect my house rules, perhaps you should find somewhere else to live, I reply.
A tense silence hangs.
Fine! Youre kicking us out! By the way, Im pregnant and cant be stressed! Natalie screams, storming off.
Mom, shes really pregnant Alex whispers.
First, I didnt know. Second, Im not asking for miracles; I just want my own home, I explain.
That evening Natalie packs her things, declares she and Oliver will move to her parents house in the neighbouring town while Alex continues his flat hunt.
Im left reeling, having tried to reason with her, only to watch her theatrically sob and march off with her suitcase.
Three days later Alex finally secures a new flat and moves his family out. I give the flat a deep clean, take a week off, and life settles back into its usual rhythm. The sour aftertaste lingers, though.
Now my relationship with Alex is so thin that I hear about my granddaughters birth from mutual acquaintances. Its awkward that such a rift exists between family, but theres little I can do.
I live for myself now. I travel to a spa resort twice a year, send a little money to my grandchildren on their birthdays, and Alex calls only on my birthday to wish me well.
No spa or personal space can replace real contact with my grandkids, but happiness first comes from within. Thats the conclusion I draw, and I regret nothing. Im ready to reconnect with my grandchildren whenever they wish, but whether that happens is entirely Natalies decision. The responsibility for that choice rests only on her shoulders.
