You dont need much, do you? James said, his tone as casual as a Sunday stroll. Im saving every penny, hopping about like a wanderer, and youre planning a restaurant splurge for your birthday? Isnt that a bit rich?
Emily frowned, her hands planted firmly on her hips. James, its a milestone. Turning thirty should be marked properly. It doesnt happen every day, she replied, though the words tasted bitter.
Remember last month? You called it a pretend celebration. I threw a modest party at home and you pretended it didnt matter.
Emily stared into Jamess eyes, anger simmering beneath the surface. It wasnt merely the hundredpound price tag of his idea; she felt, amid the glint of his plans, as though she were a servant or a distant relative, never quite a partner.
James merely nodded, confirming her suspicion.
You said yourself you didnt want much, he reminded her.
She froze, eyebrows arching. Yes, she had said it, but not from a place of comfort.
Exactly, Emily said slowly. I told you I could do without a new dress, bake the cake myself, even handle my own manicure and pedicure. All because Im desperate to move into my own flat, James, not because I fancy living in poverty.
James pursed his lips, unwilling to delve deeper. He behaved like a petulant teenagerI want it, end of story, and nothing else mattered.
Youre only twentyeight. The world is ahead of you. Im at a milestone, and I want this to be a real celebration, not just a sitdown at home, he argued.
Emily lowered her gaze. Sitdownthats exactly how it felt.
She recalled a whole week spent drafting a menu for her own birthday, hunting for cheap vegetablesslightly wilted but still usableand scouring flyers for discount codes. She baked a cake from an online recipe, using cheap sour cream and condensed milk, not out of culinary pride but to keep costs down.
Despite the scrimping, the party succeeded. Guests praised the salads, devoured the homemade pizza, and smiled. Emily smiled too, in a secondhand dress, her nails coated in inexpensive clear polish.
The cash gifts covered most of the expenses. She pretended satisfaction, yet later, alone in the bathroom, tears fell. She wept for herself, for the exhaustion of constantly stretchingwhether it was a dress, a hairdo, or a family gathering.
In the three years shed lived with James, frugality had become her second name. She knew how to squeeze extra cash back on a loaf of bread, bought cheap processed cheese instead of proper blocks, and could spot a genuine bargain from a sham.
Clothing? As long as it was clean and unrumpled, she didnt mind. Fashion, brands, and Instagramperfect looks were luxuries for those who could afford toothpaste on sale, not for someone yearning for a roof of her own.
Having your own flat is vital, James agreed. Then you wont be chased away on a whim, and you wont have to spend half your wages on rent.
His contribution to the household budget, however, stopped at transferring his salary. Yes, that was something, but Emily had seen couples on separate finances and women forced to save for maternity alone. James treated money like a teenager who would blow everything on chips and fizzy drinks.
It was no wonderEmily had the ledger: utilities, transport, food. She trimmed every expense to stash a planned sum, booked haircuts with apprentices to stay within limits, and sometimes the cuts were painful, but they were cheap.
They moved toward their goal at a snails pace, each pulling in opposite directions. Emily never complained to James about the effort, never vented. She stayed silent when he ordered pizza for lunch, claiming laziness to go to the canteen and a desire to treat himself.
James I truly dont need much, Emily finally said, looking away. Just a bit of genuine respect. I dislike scrimping, but I do it for our future. Yet sometimes I wonder if we even have one.
You work, dont you? James snapped. I bring money home. What more do you expect? Do I not deserve a celebration?
He saw that she wasnt ready to compromise and retreated to the bedroom. Emily remained, wrapped in a cheap robe, a single flickering chandelier above her, thoughts of a mortgage she feared theyd never reach.
Her heart ached, not just with pain but with doubt. Was she being unreasonable? Was James right?
The next morning she met her friend Rose for tea. She needed a sounding board.
Emily, I can see you didnt come over just to admire the linoleum patterns, Rose said, noticing her friends gloom. Whats happened?
Emily sighed, laid her hands on the table, and recounted the previous nights argument. She explained how her shared dream seemed to be funded by only one side, how James placed his own anniversary above her birthday.
Clever girl, Rose smiled finally. So youre saving yourself and expect him to carry you on his shoulders?
Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Rose cut in. You save, he spends. Does he ever deny himself anything? Does he ever thank you for all you do?
Emily shrugged. James wasnt ungrateful; he simply believed thats how things should be, that domestic magic happens on its own.
Does he know how costly it is to be a woman? Rose pressed. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, cosmetics, decent undergarmentsnot grannys knickers. Thats just the baseline. Are you his partner or his convenient housewife in a stained robe, handling all the calculations and organization?
Emily tried to retort, but her voice faltered.
Rose continued, He tells you about a restaurant because he knows youll bend over backwards anyway. Youll wear cheap hair dye, stretch your socks to the point of holes, but youll still give in. Meanwhile he feels like a king. After all, its his anniversary, not yours.
What should I do? Emily asked, lost.
Stop being a doormat. Find a lover with a flatthat would solve everything, Rose said halfjoking.
Rose
Fine, fine, a backup plan. Stop skimping on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Let him. But you need a dress, shoes, a suitable bag, a proper hairdo, and some gold earrings to match. If youre going out, dont show up in a tracksuit with sagging knees.
Emily inhaled. It was a jolt, but Rose had a point.
Alright, Ill try, she conceded.
That afternoon Emily told James she needed to book a salon appointmentmanicure, haircut, styling. He was surprised but shrugged.
She then showed him a pair of shoes shed liked.
Look, these black ones go with almost any dress, and you can wear them later too, she said.
Eight hundred pounds? Emily, I could upgrade the computer for that! James retorted.
Its my birthday. I have to look presentable. The restaurant is set. Youll forgo a gift, but your anniversary will be unforgettable. Ive already scoped a boutique; take me there, and well pick a dress together.
James grunted, unwilling to argue. Perhaps he hoped shed change her mind. She didnt; by evening she was already eyeing earrings.
How about these? Nice, and cheaptwenty pounds. Others of the same weight run thirty. Well need a clutch to match, but that comes after the dress.
Seeing the panic in Jamess eyes, he swallowed, went pale, and muttered, Maybe we should just stay home
Emily smiled wryly. They agreed to keep the celebration quiet and familyfocused. Had they truly reconciled? Not entirely. Did he understand anything? Perhaps. But Emily walked away clearsighted: if you dont respect yourself, no one else will.
