There comes a time when patience simply runs drylike a well gone empty, or a candle burned to its wick. For me, that moment arrived on an ordinary evening while I stood at the stove frying potatoes.
The day had been dreadfulthe sort you wouldnt wish on your worst enemy. Work was chaos, my boss had driven me half-mad with his endless reports, and then James called: Alice, Mums stopping byshe was in town. Of course. When had Margaret Turner ever just passed by? She always seemed to choose the moment I returned from work, exhausted.
There I stood, flipping those wretched potatoes, my temples throbbing, my feet aching from heels, my hands moving the spatula on sheer habit. Back and forth, back and forth. All I wanted was to sit down, switch on the telly, and forget the world.
Alice! Her voice rang from the doorway. Where are you?
There she was. I didnt bother turningI knew shed glide down the hall in her sensible shoes, peering into the kitchen like an inspector.
Ah, there you are. Margaret settled herself at the table with an air of ownership, pulling out her phone. Pour me some tea, and make a sandwich. Im worn out today.
I froze. Something in my mind clicked. Three years. Three years of these commandsthis fetch and do and bring. As though I were a housemaid, not a daughter-in-law.
The kettles on the stove, I said, my voice oddly calm. Breads in the cupboard.
Silence. The kind so thick you could slice it with a knife. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lift her head slowly, as though she couldnt believe her ears.
I beg your pardon? Her voice turned icy. What exactly do you think youre doing?
I turned off the stove. Wiped my hands on the sunflower-patterned tea towel shed brought when we moved in”To make things homely,” shed said. Then I faced her.
Im allowing myself to be a person, not a servant, I said quietly. Im tired, too. Ive had a long day. If you need help, we can discuss itnot demand it.
As if on cue, James appeared in the doorway, eyes darting between us like a startled hare. Of coursehed always been terrified of conflict.
James! Margaret snapped. See how your wife speaks to me? I ask for the simplest thing
I cut her off, turning to my husband.
James, I said. Do you even respect me?
Outside, cars hummed by. The potatoes cooled on the stove. And the three of us stood frozen in that kitchen, as if caught in a painting. For the first time in years, I felt a strange peacelike a weight lifted. I was done. Done being agreeable, done being convenient. James stared at me, then at his mother, and I could see the shock in his eyes. His meek little wife had finally shown her teeth.
Well, darlingyour move.
A week passed after that kitchen confrontationa week of quiet warfare. Margaret refused to speak to me, sighing dramatically whenever she passed. James floundered between us like a lost pup, pretending nothing was wrong. And me? For the first time, I felt like a person, not a doormat.
That evening, I curled up in our small sitting room, tucked into Jamess fathers old armchairthe only thing hed managed to keep after his dads passing. Margaret had thrown a fit thenHow dare you take his memory from the house! But I suspected she simply didnt want to let go of her son, even symbolically.
I tried reading a romance novelMum always said they were good for distractionbut the words blurred before my eyes. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why couldnt we just live our lives without her constant interference?
Alice.
I startled. James stood in the doorway, tousled and uncertain. My sweet boy whod never quite grown into a man.
Youre up late, he said, shifting awkwardly.
So are you. I set the book aside.
Just thinking.
About what?
He trudged in and sank onto the sofa, studying his hands.
Youve been distant. Mum says
Lets leave Mum out of this, I interrupted. Just you and me. James, have you ever wondered why I married you?
He looked up, startled.
Because you loved me?
Because I fell for the strong, confident man who wasnt afraid to make decisions. Remember how you proposed? Right there in Hyde Park, in front of everyone. And your mother hated itsaid we were too young.
Yeah, he murmured. First time I ever disobeyed her.
And it was the right thing. But now? Now she runs our home. James I leaned forward. You grew up with her doing everything for you. But thats not how our home will be. I wont be a servantnot to you, not to her. I want to be your wife. Your partner. Understand?
Silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of the old clock on the wallanother of Margarets gifts. Tick-tock, tick-tock, counting the seconds of our marriage.
If a wife is just unpaid help to you, then maybe we need to rethink what we both want.
He flinched as if struck.
Are you threatening me?
No, love. Im just tired of being a mother to a thirty-year-old man. You know I laughed suddenly. Your mother may be wrong about many things, but at least shes honest. Shes used to command. But you? You hide behind her when its time to decide, and behind me when its time to act.
He was silent a long while, jaw tight, staring at the floor. Then, abruptly, he asked:
Remember how we met?
Hyde Park, I smiled despite myself. You were walking the dog.
Yeah. And she knocked you flat. I was terrified youd be furious. But you just laughed and played with her.
Whats your point?
He met my eyes. Youve always been strong. And I I think Ive taken advantage of that.
Something softened inside me. He looked differentruffled, uncertain, but changed.
James, I said quietly. We need to decide something. I cant live like this anymore.
Morning dawned unusually still. I woke to sunlight streaming through the windowId forgotten to draw the curtains. James wasnt beside me, but noises came from the kitchen. Oddhe usually slept till noon on weekends.
I pulled on my dressing gown and stepped outthen froze in the kitchen doorway.
Margaret was packing. Her old tartan suitcasethe one shed arrived with three weeks priorsat by the door. James was methodically folding her things, tucking in jars of preserves, bundles of tea
Good morning, I said softly.
She turned, lips pressed tight, and nodded. Once, Id have scurried to make amends, offering tea, smoothing things over. Not today.
Ive called Mum a cab, James said, avoiding my eyes. Itll be here soon.
I moved to the stove. Scrambled eggs sizzledand they werent burned. Beside them, a pot of coffeemy favourite, with cinnamon.
Darling, Margarets voice wavered. Perhaps youll reconsider? I only ever wanted whats best
Mum. James finally looked up. I love you. Truly. But I have to live my own life.
She opened her mouth, then stopped. Maybe she saw something new in his facea stubborn set to his jaw, a firmness in his gaze. The very things Id once loved in him, buried for years under her smothering care.
Very well, she straightened. But call me. And if you need anything
I will, Mum.
When the cab pulled away, I stood at the window, feeling strange. Not happyshe was still his mother. But not sad, either. Just settled.
Coffee?
I turned. James stood by the stove, holding the pot awkwardly.
You hate making coffee this way, I blurted.
Well He shrugged. I could learn.
In that moment, I understood: this was it. The moment a boy finally becomes a man. Not when he first shaves, not when he marriesbut when he takes responsibility for his own life.
Hey, he said, pouring the coffee. Teach me to make those cheese scones of yours? Feels wrong just eating them.
I laughedthen hugged him from behind, pressing my face between his shoulder blades. He smelled of coffee, my shampoo, and freedom. Yes, that was the scent of freedomtwo people finally becoming a family.
Ill teach you, I whispered
