Elizabeth Whitmore awoke that Saturday morning with a festive flutter in her chest. Sixty yearsa milestone worthy of celebration. She had spent months planning the day, curating guest lists, and selecting her finest dress. The mirror reflected the satisfied face of a woman accustomed to life unfolding precisely as she envisioned.
“Happy birthday, Mum!” Andrew was the first to appear in the kitchen, clutching a small gift box. “This is from me and Eleanor.”
Eleanor, standing silently by the stove with a cup of tea, gave a curt nod. Mornings never suited her, especially when it came to her mother-in-laws festivities.
“Oh, Andrew, thank you!” Elizabeth accepted the gift with performative delight. “Have you both had breakfast?”
“Yes, Mum, all sorted,” Andrew replied, glancing at his wife.
Eleanor set her cup in the sink, steeling herself for what was to come. Elizabeth had been in high spirits these past daysoddly, this only amplified her commanding tendencies. The festive mood seemed to grant her even greater license to dictate everyones movements.
“Eleanor, darling,” Elizabeth began, that particular lilt in her voice heralding a demand disguised as a request. “Ive a small favour to ask.”
Eleanor turned, schooling her expression into neutrality. Three years of marriage in this house had taught her to read her mother-in-laws tones like an open book.
“Heres the menu,” Elizabeth said, handing over a neatly folded sheet. “Have everything ready by fiveI cant very well be slaving in the kitchen on my own jubilee, can I?”
Eleanor took the paper, skimmed the twelve meticulously listed dishes, and felt her stomach clench. Twelve! From simple canapés to elaborate terrines and hot hors doeuvres.
“Elizabeth,” she ventured carefully, “this is a full days work”
“Of course it is!” Elizabeth laughed as if Eleanor had stated the obvious. “What else would one do on such an occasion but prepare for the hostess? You understand, dont you? All my friends are comingneighbours too. We simply mustnt let standards slip.”
Andrews gaze darted between them, sensing the tension.
“Mum, perhaps we could order something in?” he offered weakly.
“Dont be absurd!” Elizabeth scoffed. “Serve shop-bought fare at my jubilee? What would people think? No, everything must be homemadeprepared with love.”
Eleanor clenched her fists. Love. Someone elses love, of courseher own, to be exact, spent toiling in the kitchen all day.
“Fine,” she said tersely and turned to leave.
“Eleanor!” Andrew called after her. “Wait.”
She paused in the hallway, breathing deeply. Andrew approached, eyes downcast.
“Look, Id help, trulybut you know Im hopeless in the kitchen. All thumbs, honestly.”
“Naturally,” Eleanor replied with a strained smile. “And your mother treating me like hired help is perfectly acceptable?”
“Now, now” Andrew shifted uncomfortably. “Its just cooking for Mums big day. Think of all shes donegiving us a home, never charging rent”
Eleanor studied him. She could remind him how Elizabeth constantly held that generosity over her head, nitpicked her housekeeping, criticised her cooking. She could mention the endless remarks about her “country upbringing,” as if marrying her had been an act of charity. But what was the use? Andrew would never see it. To him, his mother was a saint, and Eleanors grievances mere petulance.
“Right,” she said flatly and returned to the kitchen.
The next hours passed in a blur of chopping, boiling, frying. Her hands moved on autopilot while her mind churned. Then, as she stirred a sauce, it struck hera simple, elegant solution.
From the cupboard, she retrieved a small box, purchased a month prior for her own use but never opened. A mild laxative, its effects promised within an hour.
She reviewed the menu. Salads, cold terrinesall could discreetly accommodate a few drops. The hot dishesroast beef with potatoesshe left untouched. After all, she and Andrew would need something to eat.
By five, the table groaned under the spread. Elizabeth, resplendent in a new dress and her finest pearls, surveyed the kitchen like a general inspecting troops.
“Adequate,” she conceded. “Though the Waldorf salad couldve done with more salt.”
Eleanor said nothing, arranging serving spoons. Inside, she hummed with anticipation.
Guests arrived promptly. Elizabeth greeted each with embraces, accepting gifts and compliments. Her friendswomen of similar age, equally adornedmarvelled at the table.
“Elizabeth, youve outdone yourself!” exclaimed Margaret from next door. “Such elegance!”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Elizabeth demurred. “Eleanor helped, of coursethough I did most of the planning.”
Eleanor, setting out plates, nearly laughed aloud. Helped. Naturally.
“Andrew,” she murmured to her husband, “dont touch the salads. Wait for the roast.”
“Why?”
“Just wait.”
He shrugged but obeyed. Eleanor took a seat, watching as guests devoured the starters. Elizabeth held court, boasting of her meticulous menu planning.
“This terrine is my signature,” she declared. “A family recipe.”
“Divine!” cooed Beatrice. “Youve a gift, darling.”
An hour passed. Eleanor checked her watch. Thenit began.
Margaret clutched her stomach. “Oh dearI feel rather unwell”
“Me too!” another guest gasped. “Elizabeth, are you certain everything was fresh?”
Elizabeth paled. “Of course! I shopped just yesterday!”
Then she, too, winced. Muttering apologies, she hurried to the lavatory. A queue soon formed.
“Eleanor,” Andrew whispered, “whats happening?”
“No idea,” she said coolly. “Something mustve disagreed with them. Thank goodness we avoided the salads.”
Chaos ensued. Guests excused themselves, muttering about spoiled food. By seven, only the three remained. Elizabeth slumped on the sofa, ashen.
“Rest,” Eleanor said gently. “Well clear up.”
“What did you put in the food?” Elizabeth hissed when shed recovered slightly.
Eleanor calmly carved the roast. “A laxative. Only in the cold dishes, thoughthe hot ones are perfectly safe.”
Elizabeth opened her mouththen fled to the loo once more.
“Eleanor!” Andrew chided. “Was that necessary?”
“Was it?” She turned to him. “Youve no idea how she treats me when youre not here. Half the time, I dont even tell youbecause I know youll defend her. Mum means well, Mums done so much. But her treating me like a servant doesnt trouble you?”
Andrew chewed slowly, silent.
“Perhaps it was cruel,” she continued. “But Im tired. Tired of being nothing in this houseused, then scolded for ingratitude. Today, she learned a lesson. Maybe next time, shell think twice before dumping all the work on me and taking credit.”
“But still”
“But nothing. No one was harmed. A few hours in the loo, and a lesson well learned.”
And learned it was. After that ill-fated birthday, Elizabeths manner softened. She remained sharp, but the edges dulled. No more imperious demands, no more loading chores onto Eleanor.
Six months later, Andrew announced they were moving.
“Weve saved enough for our own place,” he said at supper. “Time we stood on our own feet.”
Elizabeth blinked, surprised. But she only nodded.
“Yes. Young people need their own nest.”
On moving day, as they carried out the last boxes, Elizabeth approached Eleanor.
“Perhaps I was unfair to you,” she admitted quietly.
“Perhaps,” Eleanor agreed. “But it doesnt matter now. We understand each other.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. Then, with a smirk: “That birthday was memorable.”
They locked eyesand laughed, truly, for the first time.
In their new home, Eleanor often recalled that daynot with guilt, but satisfaction. Sometimes, to be understood, one must speak a language the other comprehends. And Elizabeth, it turned out, only understood strength.
The lesson benefited Andrew too. He finally saw that his wife wasnt merely fussingshed been suffering. Though he still deemed her methods extreme, he never again dismissed her grievances.
Elizabeth visited occasionally, bearing cakes, asking after them, even offering helpnever again commanding.
“You know,” Eleanor told Andrew one evening in their own kitchen, “Ive even grown fond of her. Now that shes stopped acting like a field marshal.”
“You went too far that day,” he chuckled.
“Perhaps. But it worked. Sometimes, the boldest methods are the most effective.”
And she was right. Peace settled in the familybuilt on mutual respect and clear boundaries. And wasnt that what mattered most?
