Oh, so you say you dont need much?
How convenient! Im pinching every penny for myself, living like a mystery, and now you want to splurge on a restaurant for your birthday? Isnt that a bit over the top?
Love, its a milestone. It should be memorable. You dont turn thirty every day, he retorted.
And a month ago I threw a pretend celebration, right? I marked the day at home just fine, and youll never notice if I skip a fancy dinner.
Grace stared daggers at James, hands planted on her hips. She was livid. It wasnt just that his idea would cost them a hundred pounds. The whole thing made her feel either a powerless servant or a cheap relative.
James only confirmed her suspicion.
You said yourself you didnt need a lot!
Grace froze, eyebrows raised. Yes, shed said that, but not from a place of plenty.
Right, she said slowly. I said I could do without a new dress, I could bake the cake myself, I could do my own manicure and pedicure. Because I actually want to move into my own flat, James! Not because I enjoy living like a pauper.
James pursed his lips, clearly not keen on digging deeper. He behaved like a petulant teen: I want it, end of story, and everything else can go to hell.
Youre only twentyeight. Youve got your whole life ahead. Im hitting a round number, and I want it to feel like a proper celebration, not just a quiet gettogether.
Grace dropped her gaze. A quiet gettogether exactly how it had been.
She remembered spending an entire week planning the menu for her birthday, ticking off ingredients one by one.
She bought veg on sale a few wilted, but still saladworthy. She hunted for coupons, compared prices across supermarkets The cake was a copycat recipe from a blog, with cream made from yoghurt and condensed milk. Not because homecooking is superior, but because it was cheaper.
Despite the scrimping, the birthday turned out fine. Guests smiled, praised the salads, devoured the homemade pizza. She smiled too, in an old dress with nails painted in budgetclear polish.
The cash gifts almost covered the costs. Grace pretended she was thrilled, but later, alone in the bathroom, tears welled up from selfpity, fatigue, and the endless need to improvise: dress, hair, family celebrations.
In the three years shed lived with James, thrift had become her second name. She knew how to wring extra cashback from a loaf of bread, bought cheap processed cheese instead of proper cheddar, and could spot a genuine discount from a sham.
Clothes? As long as theyre clean and holefree, who cares. All those looks, images and brands are for people who hunt for the cheapest toothpaste, not for those scrambling for a place of their own.
Yes, having my own flat is important, James said, trying to sound supportive. Then you wont be shunted aside at a whim, and you wont have to throw half your salary on rent.
Only thing is, Jamess contribution to the household budget was essentially hand over the paycheck. That was something, sure, but Grace was haunted by couples who kept separate finances and, worse, women who had to save for maternity leave on their own. James treated money like a teenager who could splash it on chips and soda.
Not surprising, Grace counted every penny for utilities, transport, food. She trimmed expenses to stash away a planned sum. She booked haircuts with apprentices just to stay within the limit. Sometimes it went wrong, but it was always cheap.
They inched toward their goal, but more like two people walking side by side than together. Grace never complained to James about the effort, never whined. She stayed quiet when he ordered a pizza for lunch, simply because he was too lazy to go to the canteen and wanted to treat himself.
You know, James I really dont need much, Grace looked away. Just a bit of basic human respect. I dont enjoy scrimping, but I do it because Im thinking about our future. Sometimes it feels like we have none at all.
I work, James snapped. I bring money home. What more do you want? Do I not have the right to a celebration?
Realising she wasnt up for compromise, he retreated toward the bedroom. Grace was left in her cheap robe, under the single flickering chandelier bulb, mulling over a mortgage they were unlikely to reach at this pace.
Her heart throbbed with both pain and doubt. Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe James was right?
The next day she met her friend Ruby for coffee, hoping for a sounding board.
I can see you didnt just come over to admire my linoleum pattern, Ruby said, noticing Graces gloom. Whats up?
Grace sighed, placed her hands on the table, and gave a brisk recap of yesterdays argument. She explained how painful it was when a shared dream was funded by only one partner, and how James placed his own anniversary above her birthday.
Youre a clever one, love, Ruby chuckled after Grace finished. So youre saving on yourself and expect him to carry you on his shoulders?
Were saving Grace began.
Yes, yes, Ruby cut in. Youre saving, and hes splurging. Does he ever have to deny himself anything? Does he ever thank you for all this?
Grace shrugged. James wasnt ungrateful; he just assumed this was how things should be, that domestic magic would sort itself out.
Does he know how expensive being a woman is? Ruby pressed on. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, cosmetics, decent underwear, not grannys bloomers And thats just the basics Ive mentioned. Are you his wife or his convenient mumtype in a threadbare robe who does all the counting, organising, and doing?
Stop Grace tried to protest, lacking conviction.
I wont stop. Want to know why hes so eager to splurge on a restaurant? Because he knows youll cave anyway. Youll wear out your shoes, stop dyeing your hair with that cheap kit, but youll still bend. And hell feel like a king. After all, its a milestone dinner, isnt it?
So what do I do? Grace was at a loss.
Stop being such a doormat. Find a lover with a flat that would solve everything.
Ruby!
All right, all right, just a backup plan. Stop cutting corners on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Fine, let him. But you need a dress, shoes, a suitable bag, a proper hairstyle, and a pair of gold earrings to match. If youre going out, dont show up in a tracksuit with stretchedout knees.
The dress is easy enough. I still have to squeeze into my schoolgirl gown
Grace, are you even listening? Enough with the selfdenial!
Grace exhaled. Switching gears wasnt easy, but she knew Ruby had a point.
Fine. Ill give it a try
That morning Grace told James she wanted to book a salon appointment manicure, haircut, styling. He was surprised, shrugged, and said okay.
Later she showed him a pair of shoes she liked.
Look, these are black, versatile. Theyll go with almost any dress, and I can wear them again later.
Eight hundred pounds?! Grace, I could upgrade my computers memory for that!
What can I do? Its my birthday, I have to look presentable. Its a restaurant, after all. Youll have to go without a gift, but your anniversary will be unforgettable. By the way, Ive already eyed a boutique; youll drive me there and well pick a dress together.
James grunted but didnt argue. Perhaps he hoped shed change her mind. She didnt. By evening she was already eyeing earrings while he watched.
How about these? Theyre lovely and cheap only twenty pounds. Others of the same weight cost thirty. Well need a clutch to match but thats after the dress.
James, pale and swallowing, muttered:
Maybe we should just skip the restaurant homes fine too.
Grace merely smiled. They settled on a quiet family celebration. Did they reconcile? Not entirely. Did he grasp anything? Perhaps. What Grace realised clearly was that until she respected herself, no one else would.
