A wicker basket of fruit sat on the kitchen table, a mute rebuke to Dorothy Evans. She glanced at it again, sighed heavily, and the low murmur of the television drifted from the next roomGeorge Clarke was glued to a fishing programme, completely oblivious.
Darling, you coming? The teas getting cold, George called from the sofa.
Dorothy grimaced. Even he couldnt bother to reheat his own tea.
Im coming, she said, pulling a jar of jam from the fridge.
As she passed the hallway mirror, she brushed the silver strands of hair back into place. How quickly the years had flown. It seemed only yesterday shed walked down the aisle with George; today they were watching their daughter Imogens sixtieth birthday approach.
The thought of Imogen tightened her chest. They hadnt spoken for a week, and Imogen hadnt called. As usual, Dorothy felt she was to blame for everything, even though shed tried her best.
On the table, beside Georges unwashed mug, lay a modest wooden frame holding a wedding photoyoung, radiant, Dorothy in a flowing dress, George in a crisp suit. Who could have guessed that forty years later their lives would dissolve into routine, halfspoken grievances and lingering resentment?
Are you still stuck in there? Georges voice broke the silence again.
She brushed away the memory and carried the tray of tea and jam into the living room.
Still moping over it? George asked without turning from the screen.
Not you, I see, Dorothy snapped. If youd called Imogen and apologised
For what? George finally turned, eyebrows raised. For the gift we gave her? Thats absurd.
Dorothy set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a dreadful gift, George. I know it myself.
Just a plain tea set, he shrugged. Expensive, mind you. We spent thirty pounds on it.
Its not about the money, Dorothy sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed hated that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and gave it to her for her birthday. She thought we were mocking her.
We werent! George snapped. We thought it was a lovely presentalmost a vintage piece.
Dorothy shook her head. Men never grasp the subtleties. That set had come to them as a wedding gift from Georges distant relatives. She remembered young Imogen twirling a cup in her hands, complaining, Mum, this is such an oldfashioned eyesoreeverythings covered in flowers, it looks more like a garden than a cup. The set had sat untouched in the china cabinet until someone suggested it as a birthday present.
Times have changed, George persisted. Vintage is all the rage now. Those hipsters love old things.
Imogen isnt a hipster! Dorothy shot back. Shes the chief accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalist, not some grannys cabinet.
Then she could’ve simply said thanks and put it on a shelf, George muttered. Instead she made a scene in front of all the guests.
Dorothy recalled the moment. Imogen stared at the set in silence, then looked up at them.
Is this the same set from the cabinet? she asked softly.
Yes, love! Dorothy had replied brightly. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence fell. Imogens face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I could never stand it, and you both knew that.
So youre exaggerating again, George sipped his tea. A gift didnt please herwhats the big deal?
Theres a bigger problem, George, Dorothy said, voice trembling. We dont know our own daughter anymore. We have no idea what she likes or how she lives.
George scoffed. Dont dramatise. Shes just a difficult character, thats all.
Before Dorothy could retort, the phone rang. She hurried to answer, hoping it was Imogen.
Hello?
Dorothy? Its Margaret, a familiar neighbours voice crackled. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tabletscant make heads or tails of the instructions.
Ill be right there, Dorothy replied, hanging up.
Who was that? George asked.
Margaret Jones, from next door. I need to help her with her medication.
Your charity work again, George muttered. Whos cooking dinner?
Dorothy exhaled. Theres a pot of borscht in the fridgejust needs reheating.
She threw on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted her with the smell of fried fish from the downstairs flats and cigarette smoke wafting from a young couple on the fifth floor.
Margaret opened the door immediately.
Come in, Dor oh, Ive baked a cake! Lets have a cuppa together, the elderly woman chirped.
Dorothy tried to decline, but Margaret was insistent. While the neighbour bustled about in the kitchen, Dorothy examined the photos on the wallMargaret with her husband, her daughter, her grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows Imogen? Margaret asked, placing a tray of tea on the table. She coping after the divorce?
Coping, Dorothy answered evasively.
And her son? Kirills at university now?
Yes, third year, she replied.
Margaret studied Dorothys face. You look down today. Something happen?
Dorothy finally let the floodgates open: the cursed tea set, the fight with Imogen, Georges obstinacy.
You need to talk to Imogen, just the two of you, Margaret advised once Dorothy finished. Tell her you were wrong about the gift.
She wont pick up the phone, Dorothy sighed.
Then go to her, Margaret shrugged. She doesnt live far away.
Dorothy hesitated. Pride? Fear of hearing that she and George had become two clueless old folk to their own child?
Youre right, she said finally. Ill go today.
Good, Margaret nodded. Now lets try some cake.
Back home, George was still glued to the television.
George, Im heading to Imogens.
Why? he asked, surprised.
To apologise for the gift.
Again with you and your stubbornness! he snapped, turning toward her. A set didnt please hershell never develop any taste.
It isnt about the set, Dorothy said, voice firm. Its that we dont hear each other, we dont hear our daughter.
Fine, George said reluctantly. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think it was a good present.
Dorothy only shook her head. Forty years together, and the stubbornness was still intact.
Imogen lived in a new suburb, a sleek tower block. Dorothy boarded a bus, watching the city blur past, pondering how hard it can be to communicate with those you love most.
The front door opened to reveal her grandson, Kevin.
Grandma? he asked, surprised. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise, Dorothy smiled, handing him a bag of scones. Is Mum home?
Shes in her office, Kevin said, taking the bag. Come in, Ill get her.
Dorothy walked into the living room. Imogens flat was a study in modern minimalismbright walls, clean lines, no china cabinets, no floral carpets. A different era, different values.
Imogen emerged from her study, her face tense.
Mom? Something wrong?
Nothing, Dorothy replied calmly. I just came to talk.
Imogen glanced at her watch. I have a video call with London in half an hour.
Ill be quick, Dorothy sat on the sofa. Im sorry about that tea set. It was foolish.
Imogen raised an eyebrow. Youre apologising for a tea set?
Not just that, Dorothy crossed her arms. For not understanding you, for living in the past and missing the present.
Imogen sank into the chair opposite.
Its not just the set, she began, choosing her words carefully. Its a symbol that you dont know who I am, what I live for, what I love.
Thats true, Dorothy whispered. Were stuck in memories. To us youre still the little girl who lived with us.
Imogen sighed. The worst part is you never try to learn the real me. In all these years you never asked what music I listen to, what books I read, what films I love. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, Dorothy felt a lump form in her throat. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Exactly! Imogens voice softened. Im also at fault. I never ask what youre doing, what worries you. I just pop in once a month, drop groceries, and leave, as if its a duty.
Were all to blame, Dorothy said, a smile trembling through tears. But its not too late to fix it, is it?
Imogen nodded. Not too late.
Tell me, Dorothy asked, what music are you listening to these days? What are you reading?
Imogen laughed. Seriously?
Very seriously, Dorothy affirmed. We have twenty minutes before your call, then Ill leave you to work.
Alright, Imogen said after a pause. Im into jazz, especially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals, but for pleasure I devour detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I want to visit Barcelona.
Dorothy felt as if she were meeting a stranger for the first time.
And your love life? she ventured cautiously. Its been three years since the divorce
Imogens smile turned shy. There is someone. Hes seven years younger, I was afraid youd think it odd.
Were oldfashioned, but not dense, Dorothy replied. What matters is hes a good man.
Hes a history lecturer at the university. Smart, kind. Kevin likes him.
Bring him over for dinner sometime, Dorothy suggested. No more tea sets, I promise.
Both laughed.
You know, Imogen said, maybe I was too quick to dismiss the set. Its actually quite lovely, a proper Provençal vintage. Its fashionable now.
Dont excuse me, Dorothy shook her head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! Imogen insisted. Im even thinking of putting it in the cottage we bought last year. Did you know we have a weekend house?
Dorothy felt a sting of shame. See how little we know each other?
Lets catch up, Imogen said, checking her watch. I must prep for the call, but come over this weekend, bring Dad. Ill show you the cottage.
They embraced, and Dorothy felt something vital return to her life, something she had almost lost through stubbornness.
On her way back, Dorothy stopped at a shop, bought a decent bottle of red wine and a box of chocolates. George met her at the door, looking anxious.
How did it go? he asked.
We made up, she said, handing him the bag. And Imogen actually likes the set nowshe wants to put it in the cottage.
See? I told you it was a good present! George exclaimed triumphantly.
Dorothy merely smiled. Let him think hed won. What mattered was that the familys peace mattered more than any tea set or petty grievance.
George, she said, moving toward the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and planning a trip to Barcelona?
No way! he blurted. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, Dorothy replied, pulling out two glasses. And were not done either. Maybe we should learn something new ourselves.
George looked doubtful. Like what?
Like listening to each other, Dorothy said, pouring the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not from a forgotten cabinet.
Agreed, George raised his glass. To a new chapter.
The fruit basket still sat on the table, but now Dorothy stared at it differently. Even the worstchosen gift could become the seed of something genuine and new.
