My motherinlaw will be moving in with us, and I dont like it, says James, slamming the door so hard the chandelier in the hallway rattles.
The tea in my cup has long gone cold, and Emily stays seated at the kitchen table, unable to summon the energy to stand. Jamess words, spoken before he left for work, loop in my head like a stuck record.
My motherinlaw will be living with us. If you dont like it, close the door, James repeats, his tone colder than any argument weve ever had in our twentythree years together. It feels as if a stranger, not my husband, is speaking to me.
Emily puts the cup in the sink and walks to the window. From the ninthfloor flat, a goldenbrown autumn park spreads out below. We chose this flat together, saved for years, denying ourselves many comforts. Its a spacious threebedroom flat a living room and two bedrooms. One for us, one for the children, we dreamed. The children never arrived, and the second bedroom became Jamess home office, where he works late into the night on paperwork from the firm.
Now that room will belong to Margaret Hughes, his mother.
Emily sighs. Margaret has always been a complicated woman domineering, used to controlling everything. James is her only child, born late in her life when hope seemed dim. She adored him to the point of obsession, never letting him take a step without her involvement. When he announced his engagement to Emily, Margaret smiled at the wedding but her eyes stayed icy.
For the first few years after the wedding, Margaret lived her own life, teaching maths at a secondary school, visiting us only occasionally. Three weeks ago she suffered a mild stroke. She recovered quickly, but doctors insisted she cant live alone any longer and needs constant supervision.
Emily is willing to help, suggesting a livein carer, but James refuses outright I wont let anyone else near my mother. Yesterday evening he announced, without asking or consulting me, that his mother will move in. This morning, when she timidly protested, he dropped the dreaded line again.
The phone rings, pulling Emily from her thoughts. The screen shows her friends name.
Hi, Claire, a tired voice answers.
Emma, you sound like youre not happy to hear me, Claires tone carries worry. Whats happened?
Margaret is moving in, Emily says, sinking onto the sofa. James just put it in my face. He said either accept it or leave.
Wow! Claire squeaks. Whens the move?
This Saturday. James already arranged the movers. Theyll carry her bed, wardrobe, armchair Emily covers her eyes. You know how we get on. How will we live under the same roof?
Yeah, Claire sighs. I remember her scolding you at your birthday last year for oversalting the soup in front of everyone.
Exactly, Emily laughs bitterly. Now imagine that every day.
Maybe you should talk to James calmly, no emotions, just explain your concerns.
I tried. He wont listen. He says the decisions final, nothing to discuss.
Then perhaps speak directly to Margaret. Start with a clean slate? Shes old now, it isnt easy for her.
Emily ponders. A clean slate after years of mutual dislike? Could she even try?
Im not sure shell see any approach as anything but weakness, Claire says.
You wont know until you try, her friend replies philosophically. How about we meet this evening? Grab a coffee, talk it out. You need a break.
Lets do it Emily agrees. Seven at the Bluebird?
Its a date. And dont worry, everything will sort itself out.
After hanging up, Emily feels a little lighter. Claire has always been there friends from school, shared first loves, university admissions, weddings, heartbreaks. Claire survived a divorce; Emily endured several failed attempts at motherhood. Theyve always leaned on each other in tough times.
Now Emily must decide what to do. Leave? But where? Her whole life revolves around this flat and James. Despite the fights, she loves him and knows he loves her. Hes torn between his wife and his mother and has chosen his mother. Can she blame him?
That evening at the café, Claire listens, propping her chin on her hand, nodding occasionally.
So, what have you decided? she asks after Emily finishes.
Nothing yet, Emily stirs the cold tea with a spoon. I cant just walk out after all these years.
Of course not, Claire agrees. But you cant live in constant tension either. Margaret will monitor your every move, critique everything from your stew to your hairstyle.
I know, Emily sighs. I just dont see a way forward.
What about a compromise? Maybe find her a nearby flat and visit daily, help with chores?
I suggested that, Emily shakes her head. James says no. Mother must live with us. Its nonnegotiable.
I get it, Claire muses. Perhaps you should try to build a relationship with Margaret for the sake of the family.
How? Emilys exhausted eyes meet Claires. Ive tried for years. She thinks I stole her son.
Try a different angle, Claire leans in. Not as daughterinlaw but as a daughter. Shes a retired teacher, alone, fearful after the stroke. Maybe she just needs company, not control.
Emily considers this perspective for the first time. Shes always seen Margaret as a rival, not a lonely elder.
Maybe youre right, she finally says. It cant get worse.
Good, Claire pats her hand. Start small. Invite her over for tea before the move, discuss how to organise the space so everyones comfortable.
Back at home, Emily finds James in the living room, laptop open, frowning at documents. He looks up as she enters.
Hey, his voice trembles, unsure how shell react.
Hello, Emily removes her coat and heads to the kitchen.
James follows.
Emily, we need to talk, he says, stopping at the doorway while she pulls mugs from the cupboard. I acted rashly this morning. I shouldnt have spoken like that.
I know, she replies calmly, setting the kettle.
But you understand I cant leave my mother alone, he steps closer. After what happened
I understand, Emily turns to him. Im not suggesting she stays alone. I just wish wed discussed it together instead of you putting it in front of me.
Youre right, he lowers his eyes. I guessed youd oppose it and backed away.
Im not against helping your mum, Emily says gently. Im just scared we wont get along under one roof. You know how things are between us.
I do, he sighs. But I hope you both can find common ground. For my sake, for ours.
Emily looks at Jamess greying temples and the lines around his eyes, remembering how he courted her at university, how they once dreamed of a future on a park bench. Twentythree years together is no small thing.
Ill try, she says finally. But you have to help me. Dont leave me alone with her. Be the mediator. If anything goes wrong, we discuss it together. Deal?
Deal, James exhales relief and pulls her into an embrace. Thank you, Em. I knew youd understand.
The next day Emily calls Margaret and invites her for tea. Margaret is surprised but agrees. Emily orders a taxi, as Margaret avoids public transport after her stroke.
At three oclock, the doorbell rings. Margaret stands there, upright despite her illness, silver hair neatly styled, eyes sharp.
Good afternoon, Margaret, Emily tries to smile. Please, come in.
Hello, Emily, Margaret nods, stepping inside. Is James at work?
Hes staying late on a project.
He never looks after himself, Margaret mutters, shedding her coat. Hes been like that since he was a boy, always trying to prove something.
Emily leads her to the sitting room where a tray of tea, biscuits, and fruit awaits. Margaret settles into an armchair, scanning the room.
Youve put up new curtains? Emily asks.
Yes, just last autumn, Margaret replies, taking a sip. How are you feeling? James says youre improving.
Im okay, Margaret says, her voice a little shaky. Still a bit weak, blood pressure jumps, but the doctor says Im recovering well for my age.
A pause follows. Emily doesnt know how to broach the move. Margaret gazes out the window, avoiding eye contact.
James mentioned Ill be staying with you, Margaret finally says.
Yes, in the room that used to be your sons office, Emily nods. Were clearing it out now.
I know you dont like it, Margaret says bluntly, fixing her stare on Emily. You could deny it. Id be in your place too.
Emily blinks, taken aback by the honesty.
I she stammers. Im worried itll be hard for us to live together. Were so different.
Of course were different, Margaret agrees. Im oldfashioned, youre modern. But theres no choice. James decided, so it is.
Theres a hint of fatigue, resignation, even fear in Margarets tone that Emily hadnt noticed before.
Margaret, Emily begins carefully, I think we could try to get along, for Jamess sake. We both love him.
Margaret lifts her head, surprised by the suggestion.
Yes, we love him, each in our own way, she says slowly. I suggested James hire a carer so I could stay in my flat, but he insisted I come here.
Hes stubborn when family is involved, Emily remarks. Ive seen that.
Margaret chuckles. Were all a bit stubborn in this family.
Emily feels a flash of solidarity.
Lets agree on some boundaries, she says. Youll have your own room to relax, watch TV. Ill cook for everyone, but if you want something special, just tell me.
Margaret listens, nodding.
I wont interfere with your marriage, Emily continues. And please, dont criticize me in front of James. If you have concerns, talk to me directly.
Fair enough, Margaret agrees. I could also help around the house. I cant stand at the stove any more, but I can sort grains, peel vegetables, and I still knit. I made a sweater for James when he graduated.
I remember that, Emily smiles. He still keeps it.
Margarets eyes widen. He does? He treasures it?
He does. He treats anything that belongs to you with great care.
They talk for another hour, finally having a genuine conversation without barbs. Emily shares her job at the local library and her plans for a reading club. Margaret recalls former pupils, some now grandparents themselves.
When its time for Margaret to leave, she gently squeezes Emilys hand.
Thanks for the tea and the talk, she says. Ill try not to be a burden.
Well manage, Emily assures her, helping with the coat.
That night James returns from work. Emily tells him about the visit.
You really talked? No shouting? he shakes his head, stunned. I cant believe it.
Turns out your mum is an interesting conversationalist, Emily grins. She worries shell get in the way.
I told you, James says, hugging her. We just needed to get to know each other better. Im sorry for how I handled it yesterday.
Its forgiven, she leans into him. But in the future, lets discuss big decisions together. Were a family.
I promise, he says seriously.
Saturday arrives. Margarets belongings bed, armchair, boxes of books and photo albums are carried into the former office, now set up as her bedroom.
Its very cozy, Margaret remarks, looking around. Thank you for making space for me.
Its your room now, Emily smiles. Make yourself at home.
The three of them sit down for dinner later, laughing about work, sharing stories of Jamess childhood mischief, and for the first time Emily feels a strange sense of calm.
There are still hiccups. The first week Margaret critiques how Emily irons Jamess shirts, but she apologises after remembering their agreement. Small disputes over TV volume, room temperature, and open windows arise, but they gradually find compromises. Margaret learns to knock before entering, Emily prepares simpler meals suitable for an elderly stomach, and James steps in as the peacekeeper whenever tensions rise.
One evening, about a month after the move, Emily finds Margaret in the living room, leafing through an old photo album.
May I sit? Emily asks.
Of course, Margaret moves the cushion aside. Im looking at pictures from when James was in third grade, won a maths competition.
Emily smiles at the photo of a young boy with a medal.
He was always serious, she says.
Hes always been that way, Margaret replies. My husband Victor was the same doasIsay, doasIdo. He died of a heart attack when James was fifteen. It hit us hard. Heres a picture of us on his wedding day.
The spread shows a young woman in a white dress and a tall man in a suit, both beaming.
You were beautiful then, Emily remarks.
We were, Margaret laughs softly. Time takes its toll. Wrinkles, grey hair After Victors death I swore I wouldnt let anyone get too close, lest I lose them again. I probably overprotected James. I feared losing him too.
And then I came along Margaret admits. I saw you as a threat, thought youd take him from me. Silly, of course, but fear is irrational when children are involved.
I understand, Emily says quietly. I hold no grudges.
Margaret looks at her for a long moment.
You know what I regret most? That you dont have children. James would make a wonderful father.
We wanted that, Emily lowers her gaze. It just never happened.
I know, Margaret says gently. James told me about your attempts, the treatments. He was worried, and so was I.
Emilys eyes widen at the unexpected empathy.
Really?
Absolutely, Margaret nods. Youre my sons wife, you love him, and that means I should at least respect you.
Thank you, Emily whispers, a tear slipping down.
Later, James walks in to find his mother and wife at the kitchen table, both busy with an old family apple pie recipe. Margaret directs the steps, and Emily follows carefully.
Wow! James exclaims, stunned. Are you two friends now?
Not exaggerating, Margaret jokes. Im just teaching your wife how to make a decent apple pie instead of the tasteless mush you usually serve.
Mum! James protests.
Its fine, Emily says. We agreed to be honest with each other. I really want to master that pie. It smells amazing.
James shakes his head, still in disbelief.
You know, Emily says later, when theyre alone in the bedroom, I think things will be okay. Not perfect, but well manage.
I knew you could find common ground with her, James hugs her. Thank you for your patience, for staying. I shouldnt have said those awful things.
And thank you for giving me a chance to know your mother better, Emily replies seriously. Shes difficult, but theres a genuine side to her, and she loves you a lot.
Just as I love you both, James smiles.
That night Emily lies awake, thinking of how easily their family could have shattered over misunderstanding and stubbornness, and how a single step toward each other can change everything.
Living under one roof with Margaret wont be easy, but now Emily knows its possible. Two women, each loving the same man in their own way, can learn to at least respect each otherfor his sake and for theirs. Perhaps, over time, genuine affection will grow. After all, isnt family about accepting flaws, forgiving, and finding compromise? That, she realizes, is the real wisdom: not to flee difficulties, but to summon the courage to overcome them.
