The fruit basket sat on the kitchen table like an unspoken rebuke. I glanced over at it once more, sighed heavily, and heard the faint murmur of the telly from the next room my wife, Nora, was glued to a fishing programme. To her, it was nothing out of the ordinary.
Nora, love, you coming? The teas gone cold, I called from the sofa.
She winced. She still couldnt even hotreheat her own tea.
Im coming, she replied, rummaging for jam in the fridge.
Passing the hallway mirror she brushed a stray grey strand back into place. Time flies. It feels like only yesterday we tied the knot, and today were celebrating our daughter Emilys sixtieth birthday.
Just the thought of Emily tightened my chest. Its been a week since we argued, and she hasnt called. As usual, Im the one whos blamed for everything, even though I meant well.
On the table, beside my unwashed mug, lay a simple woodenframed photo of our wedding young, smiling, me in a suit, Nora in a flowing dress. Who would have thought that forty years later our lives would be reduced to routine, halfsaid words and lingering resentments?
You still stuck there? Georges voice crackled again from the TV.
Nora shook off the memory and carried a tray with tea and jam into the living room.
What, still stewing over it? I asked, eyes never leaving the screen.
And you, I see, are perfectly fine! she snapped. You could have called Emily, apologised.
For what? I finally turned to her. Because of that gift? Thats absurd.
She set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a dreadful gift, George. I know that now.
A plain tea set, I shrugged. Quite pricey, by the way. We spent about £150.
Its not about the money, she sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed never liked that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and handed it to her for her jubilee. She thought we were mocking her.
We werent mocking anyone! I snapped. We thought it was a lovely present almost a rarity.
Nora shook her head. Men never grasp the subtleties. Wed received that very set at our own wedding from distant relatives of mine. I remembered young Emily turning a cup over in her hands, muttering, Mum, what a dated trinket it looks more like a flowerbed than a cup. The set sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it to her for her birthday popped up.
Tastes have changed, I persisted. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipsters love anything oldfashioned.
Emily isnt a hipster! Nora protested. Shes a senior accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalist, not a grandmas china cabinet.
So she could have just said thanks and put it on a shelf, I grumbled. Instead she made a scene in front of all the guests.
I recalled the moment. Emily opened the box, stared at the set in silence for a few seconds, then finally looked up at us.
Is that the set from the sideboard? she asked quietly.
Yes, love! I answered cheerily, as I had on the day. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Emilys face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I hated it, and you both knew that, she said, voice tight.
See, youre exaggerating again, I mumbled, taking a sip of tea. Its just a gift. What else is wrong?
There is, she said, and its that we dont know our own daughter at all what she likes, how she lives.
I snorted. Dont dramatise. Shes just a bit difficult, thats all.
Before I could retort, the phone rang. Nora sprang up, hoping it was Emily.
Hello?
Nora? Its Maggie, a familiar neighbours voice said. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tablets, cant make heads nor tails of the instructions.
Ill be there straight away, Nora replied, hanging up.
Who was that? I asked.
Maggie Thompson. Im just stepping out to help her with her medication.
Your charity runs again, I muttered. Whos cooking lunch then?
Nora exhaled heavily. Theres a pot of soup in the fridge, just needs reheating.
She threw on a light cardigan and left. The stairwell smelled of fried fish from the flats below and a wisp of cigarette smoke from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Maggie lived alone; she let herself in at once.
Come in, Nora, come in, the old lady chirped. Ive baked a cake, lets have a cuppa.
Nora tried to decline, but Maggie was insistent. While the neighbour fussed in the kitchen, Nora glanced at the photos on the wall Maggie with her husband, daughter, grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows little Em? Maggie asked, setting a tray of tea down. She coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, Nora said evasively.
And her son? Kirills at university now, isnt he?
Yes, third year.
Maggie settled beside her, eyes softening. You look down today. Something on your mind?
Nora finally let it out: the cursed tea set, the fight with Emily, Georges stubbornness.
You know, Maggie said when Nora finished, you just need to talk to Emily, without George. Admit the gift was a mistake.
She wont pick up the phone, Nora sighed.
Then go to her, Maggie shrugged. She doesnt live far away.
Nora hesitated. Why not just visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that she and I have become two bewildered old folk who cant understand their own child?
Youre right, she admitted. Ill go today.
Good, Maggie approved. Now lets try that cake.
Back home, I was still glued to the television. Nora walked in, tray in hand.
George, Im heading to Emilys.
Why? I asked, surprised.
To apologise for the gift.
Again with your stubbornness! I turned to her. Its just a set. Shell get over it.
Its not about the set, she said, sitting down. Its that we dont hear each other, we dont hear our own daughter.
Fine, I said reluctantly. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think it was a good present.
She only shook her head. Forty years together and the obstinacy hadnt faded a gram.
Emily lived in a new estate, a sleek block of flats. Nora boarded a bus, watching the passing countryside, thinking how hard it can be to communicate with those you love most.
The flats door opened and her grandson, James, stood there.
Grandma? he asked, surprised. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise visit, Nora smiled, handing him a bag of scones. Mum at work?
Shes in the office, James replied, taking the bag. Come in, Ill get her.
Nora followed him into the living room. The flat was a study in modern minimalism bright, clean, no china cabinets, no floral carpets. A different era, different values.
Emily emerged from her home office, a tense look on her face.
Mum? Something wrong?
Nothing, Nora said calmly. I just came to talk.
Emily glanced at the clock. I have a video call with London in half an hour.
I wont be long, Nora sat on the sofa. Emily, Im sorry about that tea set. You were right; it was thoughtless.
Youre apologising for a tea set? Emily raised an eyebrow.
Not just the set, Nora folded her hands. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Emily sank into the armchair opposite.
Mum, its not just the set. Its a symbol. It shows you have no idea who I am, what I do, what I love.
Thats true, Nora whispered, feeling a lump in her throat. Were stuck in the past. To us youre still the little girl who lived with us.
Emily sighed. The worst part is you never try to know the real me. 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, Nora said, tears prickling. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Exactly! Emily exclaimed. Im partly at fault too. I never ask what youre up to, what matters to you. I just drop in once a month, bring groceries, and leave, as if its a duty.
Were all to blame, Nora managed a smile through the tears. But its not too late to fix things, is it?
Not at all, Emily agreed.
So, tell me, what music are you listening to now? Nora asked.
Emily laughed. Seriously?
Dead serious, Nora replied. Weve got twenty minutes before my call, then Ill head out so I dont disturb you.
Alright, Emily said after a pause. Im into jazz, especially the 50s stuff. I read professional journals for work, but for fun I devour detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I want to go to Barcelona.
Nora listened, feeling as if she were meeting a new person. She realised how much shed missed over the years.
What about your love life? she ventured gently. Its been three years since the divorce
Emily smiled shyly. There is someone. Hes seven years younger, so I was scared youd disapprove.
Were oldfashioned, but not clueless, Nora said. As long as hes a good man, thats all that matters.
Hes good, Emily nodded. He teaches history at the university. James likes him.
Bring him over for dinner sometime, Nora suggested. Well get to know him, and I promise no more tea sets.
Both burst into laughter.
You know, Emily said, maybe I was too quick to reject the set. Its actually pretty, very Provencestyle. Vintage pieces are popular now.
Dont try to defend me, Nora shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Emily insisted. I might even put it in the weekend house. We bought a plot last year, didnt I tell you?
No, Nora felt a sting of embarrassment. See how little we really know each other?
Lets change that, Emily said, checking her watch. I have to get ready for the call, but youre welcome to visit this weekend, and bring dad. Ill show you the cottage.
They hugged, and Nora felt something important return to her life something she had almost lost through her own blindness.
On the way back, Nora bought a bottle of decent red wine and a box of chocolates. I met her at the door, looking uneasy.
Howd it go? I asked.
Fine, she said, handing me the groceries. Emily actually likes the set now; she wants to put it in the cottage.
See? I told you it was a good gift! I shouted triumphantly.
Nora just smiled. Let him think he won. What mattered was that the family peace mattered more than any tea set or petty grudge.
George, she said as she moved to the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and wants to go to Barcelona?
No way! I exclaimed. Why Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, Nora replied, pulling out the wine glasses. And neither does ours. Maybe we should learn something new ourselves.
What, like what? I asked, skeptical.
Like listening to each other, she said, pouring wine. And picking gifts with a bit of heart, not just from the sideboard.
Deal, I lifted my glass. To a new chapter for us.
The fruit basket still sat on the table, but now I looked at it differently. Sometimes even the worstchosen present can spark something genuine and worthwhile.
