Clever Tim
Emily and her mother had been arguing for days. They’d tire themselves out, retreat to their corners, sulk in silence—only for the tension to flare up again the moment one of them tried to speak.
“You never listen! It’s always your way or no way. You didn’t listen to Dad, and now he’s gone,” Emily shouted, instantly regretting the low blow. But the words tumbled out, fueled by anger she couldn’t rein in.
“I’m leaving anyway because I can’t live without Dan. I love him. I wanted to go on good terms, but clearly that’s not happening. I’m twenty—grown by any standard. Girls used to be called spinsters at this age. You’re always so rigid. Doesn’t it make you sick? I don’t want to end up like—” Emily bit her tongue.
“I’m not against it. And I do hear you. Why not just get married if you love each other?” her mother replied, unnerved by her daughter’s outburst.
“Brilliant,” Emily groaned. “Marry how? We’re students. Live off you? Or his parents? They’ve already bought him a flat.”
“How will you afford to live?”
“I told you—Dan freelances, builds websites, writes code. He gets paid. Ever heard of remote work? We’ll manage, and once we graduate, we’ll marry properly.”
“Then wait a year. What’s the rush? You’re not pregnant, are you?” Her mother eyed her critically.
“No, Mum. I’m not. This is pointless.” Emily stormed off to her room, yanking clothes from the wardrobe and shoving them into a backpack. When it wouldn’t zip, she hesitated, weighing her options.
Her mother appeared in the doorway. Emily braced for another fight—but she just stood there, silent, then left. Puzzled, Emily waited. Minutes later, her mother returned and dropped a suitcase on the bed—the one she’d taken on spa trips with Dad.
“Thanks!” Emily hugged her. “I’m not disappearing. I’ll visit. Call every day. If you need anything, Dan and I will help.”
Her mother sank onto the bed, covering her face.
“Everyone leaves. Run along, then—act like I’m some monster. Your dad needed me when he was ill—massages, bland meals, cabbage juice. The minute he recovered, he left for someone younger. Fine. Let him crawl back when she’s drained him. I won’t take him in.”
“And now you’re leaving. Why? Cooking, laundry, shopping—then studying. And what if you get pregnant? Why the hurry?”
Emily sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her stiff shoulders. For a moment, she considered staying.
“Just keep dating. Why move out?” Her mother’s voice wavered.
“Why does anyone live together? Because they can’t bear to be apart. I love him. I’ll visit—promise. Want us to move in here instead?”
Her mother stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Emily almost smiled. Her mother had married late—Grandma hadn’t allowed it until she passed. By then, Mum barely caught the last train, as they say.
At twenty, Emily was grown; her mother, already retired after her factory closed. Then Dad’s midlife crisis. She understood—but how to split herself between Mum and Dan? Living together would be a disaster. Better this way. Yet Mum’s fear of being alone lingered.
“I’m sorry. I love you. But I love Dan too.” Emily stood, resuming her packing.
Once alone, she pulled out her phone. “Waiting?” she whispered. “Be there soon.”
Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, she wheeled the suitcase out. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, back turned.
“Mum, don’t be mad. I’ll call tomorrow,” Emily said softly.
No response. The sight of her—small, wounded—tugged at Emily. But Dan was waiting outside, probably freezing. She left before either of them could falter.
A taxi would’ve been nice, but they were saving money. She and Dan walked to the bus stop.
“How’d it go? Did she fight it?” Dan squeezed her hand.
“Fine,” Emily muttered. She didn’t want to talk.
“Regretting it?”
“No,” she said quickly, leaning into him.
She called her mother daily between lectures. The complaints were endless—blood pressure, aching joints. Late November rains made everyone miserable, let alone someone with Mum’s health.
Emily offered empty reassurances. The litany of ailments wore her down. Take a pill, rest—what else was there to say? Calls grew fewer. Come the weekend, she’d visit.
“Should I come?” Dan asked.
“Better not. To her, you’re the reason she’s alone. No need for drama.”
She bought satsumas and a cake. The sharp tang of cough syrup hit her at the door. Her mother lay on the sofa, a towel over her forehead.
“Mum? Should I call an ambulance?”
“They’ve already been. Gave me a shot and left.”
“I brought cake. Putting the kettle on.” Emily retreated to the kitchen.
She’d ask the neighbor to call if needed—though she suspected the “ambulance” was for guilt. Manipulation. Still, she peeled a satsuma and brought it.
“Remember how you’d buy me oranges when I was sick?” She hurried out before Mum could refuse.
The satsuma was eaten. Over tea, her mother brightened, asking about their life, why “that boy” never visited. She’d accepted Emily’s move—but Dan remained unforgiven.
“He wanted to come. Next time, maybe? Or visit us?”
“When I’m better,” Mum deflected.
By the end, they chatted easily—almost like before.
“Need money?” her mother asked as Emily left.
“We’re fine. Ask if you need help. Don’t carry heavy shopping—I’ll do it.”
“I’ll manage.”
In the hallway, Mum shuffled, clutching her back—a new performance. Emily hugged her, promising to call.
“How was it?” Dan asked, typing away when she got home.
“Okay. She asked about you. I said we’d visit together next time.”
“Progress.”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a deadline. Paying well if I finish tonight.”
“Last time they stiffed you.”
“Learned my lesson. Partial delivery, then full payment.”
Emily sighed, reheating pasta.
The next day, a dirty, bedraggled dog blocked their path outside the shops. His mournful eyes locked onto Emily.
“He’s waiting for an owner,” Dan said, tugging her away.
“No owner would let him get this filthy.”
“Em, come on. He’s probably sick.”
But the dog followed.
“I can’t leave him.”
“Clever mutt. Playing you like your mum does.”
Emily gasped. “Wait—let’s clean him up and take him to Mum. He’s housebroken. She’ll have to care for him, walk him.”
“Genius,” Dan agreed.
The dog hesitated at their door.
“Coming or staying?” Dan fake-slammed it. The dog darted inside.
“Bath first,” Dan said, herding him to the tub.
“Need help?” Emily knocked.
“Nah. Man-to-man talk.”
Post-bath, the dog bolted under the table. Dan shrugged. “Feed him.”
He ate neatly, licked the bowl, and begged for more.
Next day, the vet gave him a clean bill—just fleas. A shot for safety.
Emily worried he’d trash the flat, but he merely hopped off the couch when they returned.
Sunday, they took him to Mum.
“Surprise! We brought company,” Emily chirped.
Mum’s face lit up—then fell when the dog trotted in.
“You got a dog?”
“Not exactly. He’s yours. Well-behaved—great for walks.”
“Where’d he come from?”
“Neighbors moved, abandoned him,” Dan lied.
“Absolutely not! My back’s killing me!”
Yet when she sank onto the sofa, the dog curled at her feet.
“See? He’s chosen you,” Emily said.
“Cheeky thing,” Mum grumbled.
They left before she could reconsider.
Now, calls were about Tim (her childhood dog’s name), not aches.
Then, Mum called first. “Come over.”
“What’s wrong? Tim misbehave?”
“Tim’s a saint. Your father’s back. Skin and bones. That girl starved him.”
“You forgave him?” Emily’s own anger still simmered.
“Twenty years together. He lost his way. Should I let him die in a gutter?”
“We’ll come.”
“Tim didn’t cause trouble?” Dan asked.
“No. Dad’s back. Tim brought luck—they’re reconciling. And you didn’As Tim curled contentedly at her parents’ feet, Emily realized that sometimes love—whether given or received—needs a little nudge, even from a scruffy, four-legged matchmaker.
