You should be happy that my mother eats your food, James snaps.
Did you put my boots on again? Claire rushes into the hallway, spotting the cupboard door ajar. I told you not to touch my things!
Darling, why are you so uptight? Martha adjusts her scarf in front of the mirror. Its pouring outside and Ive only got my dress shoes. Isnt that a shame?
Its not about the shoes, Claire folds her arms, feeling irritation flare. Its about respecting personal space. I dont wander into your room or borrow your belongings.
Martha purses her lips, giving Claire the royal stare she calls the queens glance: a slow sweep from top to bottom, a slight squint, and a patronising smile.
How gentle we are, she says. Back in my day eight people shared a bedroom and no one complained about privacy.
Maybe they didnt complain then, Claire mutters, but times have changed.
What are you whispering about? Martha leans in, pretending not to hear. Speak up, Im not a spring chicken any more.
Claire takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Living with her motherinlaw for the past three months has been a trial, but there was no alternative: they had to give up the flat theyd been renting to meet the mortgage on the new house. The build stalled, so now theyre cramped in Marthas twobedroom flat.
Ill pop into the shop and get you some rubber boots, Claire forces a smile. So you wont suffer.
Oh, no need! Martha waves her hands. My shoe cupboard is already bursting. Better buy yourself a pair so I dont have to feel sorry for you.
Mine, Claire notes silently. Not old or everyday, but specifically mine. It underlines who gets to decide whether to share.
Fine, Martha, she says. Im off to work now, Ill be late for a meeting.
Again? Martha shakes her head. James will come home tired and hungry, and his wife will be nowhere to be found.
James is a grown man; he can heat his own dinner, Claire throws on her coat. Everythings already in the fridge.
She steps outside, inhaling the damp spring air. The rain has stopped, but the wet snow underfoot has turned into a grey slush. Yes, she really does need boots, Claire admits as she walks to the bus stop.
At the office, the day drags. Claire works as a designer for a printing firm and usually throws herself into projects, but today her mind keeps circling back to the morning clash, the missing packet of expensive tea, and the incident when Martha accidentally washed Claires favourite sweater in hot water.
You seem on edge today, her colleague Natalie says, settling beside her at lunch. Another motherinlaw drama?
Claire forces a weak grin.
You notice, huh?
Absolutely, Natalie pats her hand sympathetically. Spill, what happened this time?
Nothing major, just the usual household annoyances piling up.
And James?
James loves his mother, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.
Neutral wont work, Natalie shakes her head. Sooner or later someone has to pick a side. Hed better pick yours, otherwise
Otherwise what? Claire lifts her head. Ill leave him because of his mum?
Not because of your mum, but because of his stance, Natalie corrects. Trust me, Ive been there. With my first husband.
Claire remembers a friend who divorced after five years, mainly because her husband always sided with his mother.
Well get through this, Claire says confidently. The new flat will be finished in a couple of months, and things will settle.
Lets hope, Natalie sighs, not sharing the optimism.
That evening Claire decides to surprise James with ingredients for his favourite carrot cake. Saturday is tomorrow, perfect for an early bake.
The flat is quiet. Only the kitchen light glows. Claire slips off her shoes and pauses at the doorway. Martha sits at the table, devouring a casserole Claire had prepared for breakfast, a dish meant for three.
Claire! Martha startles, as if caught off guard. Youre back already? I thought youd be later.
The meeting got cancelled, Claire says, looking at the almostempty casserole dish. Wheres James?
Hes out with his mates, told me not to wait, Martha waves her hand. I decided to have dinner. The supermarket chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Its delicious, by the way!
Claire quietly puts the grocery bags on the table. She thinks shell have to get up an hour earlier to make a new breakfast, and she really wanted to sleep in on Saturday.
Martha, she finally says, keeping her voice steady, that casserole was for breakfast, for everyone.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! Martha flails, but theres no genuine remorse in her eyes. I thought it was just sitting in the fridge. No matter, youll cook something else tomorrow. Youre a brilliant cook!
Claires lips tighten. Martha knows the casserole was meant for the morning; Claire mentioned it at dinner the night before when they were planning the weekend menu.
Fine, Claire replies. Ill change clothes.
While unpacking the groceries, Claire notices the chocolate is missing. Shes certain she bought two bars for the cake.
Martha, have you seen the chocolate? It should be in the bags.
Martha gives a guilty smile.
Oops, Claire, sorry! I took one bar for tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A wave of anger rises inside Claire. It isnt just about the chocolate; its about the constant, systematic breach of boundaries, the casual disrespect.
Noted, she answers briefly. It was for Jamess cake.
Just buy another tomorrow, Martha shrugs. The shops just across the road.
Claire nods, turns back to her room, feeling the sting of hurt and fury, but she doesnt want a fullblown argument. What would it change? Martha would still act as if nothings wrong.
James returns late, finding Claire already in bed with a book, trying to distract herself.
Hey, sunshine, he leans in to kiss her. How was your day?
Okay, Claire puts the book down. And yours?
Great! he plops onto the bed. Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Its been ages.
Claire nods, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and the missing chocolate. She doesnt want to seem petty.
Mum still up? James asks, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her bedroom watching TV.
Ill go say hi, he says, getting up.
Claire can hear faint laughter through the wall, Marthas voice. She wonders if Martha told James the whole story about the casserole, probably embellishing it to look better.
James comes back twenty minutes later, relaxed.
Guess what, Mum loved your casserole, he says, slipping under the covers. Said it was fingerlicking good.
I know, Claire replies dryly. It was for breakfast.
So what? James turns toward her. Make something else. At least Mum appreciated your cooking!
Claire looks at him.
James, its not about the casserole. Its that your mother constantly takes my things without asking, eats food I set aside for special occasions, and never respects my opinion.
Oh, come off it, James waves his hand. Its just a casserole. Mum was simply hungry.
And the chocolate for your cake? She ate that just because.
What chocolate? James frowns.
I bought it for a surprise cake tomorrow. Your mum ate it, just for tea.
So what? his tone sharpens. She felt sorry for the chocolate?
No, its not the chocolate! Claire feels tears welling. She does this on purpose, testing limits, showing who runs the house.
Nonsense! James sits up, irritated. Youre overreacting. She just wanted a bite.
Yesterday it was the casserole, today the chocolate, the day before my tea, the day before my boots Claire lists, holding up her fingers. Always something mine, always without asking.
James stares at her, bewildered.
Are you serious? Youre counting every little thing? Youre splitting everything into mine and hers. Were a family; we share.
Sharing is fine, Claire agrees. But it has to be consensual, not because someone grabs without permission.
They stare at each other, and Claire realises James isnt grasping the core of the issue. To him, his mother will always have a special status beyond criticism.
You know what? Claire says slowly Im going to stay at Natalies cottage for the weekend.
What? James raises an eyebrow. Over a casserole?
Not over the casserole, Claire shakes her head. Over the fact you wont hear me. I need time to think.
She gets up and heads to the bedroom to pack. James stays on the sofa, looking into space.
When Claire opens the door with her suitcase, he asks,
What should I tell my mum?
The truth, she answers. That Im leaving to think about us. And you should think too.
She steps out of the flat, a strange lightness in her stride. The decision feels impulsive, but right. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzes with a message from Natalie confirming the key is with the neighbour. Claire breathes in the chilly spring air. A quiet weekend alone with her thoughts is exactly what she needs before the serious talk with James about family, boundaries, and respect.
Family isnt about sacrificing yourself for others; its about everyone honouring each others feelings, even over something as small as a breakfast casserole.
