9March
The morning sun was already turning the driveway gold as I stood by the open passenger door of our brandnew silver SUV, a model Id saved for three years by forgoing holidays, wearing an old coat and squirreling away every bonus. It was my pride, bought outright with my own savings, not on finance and certainly not with my motherinlaws money. The interior was a soft creambeige, almost milky, and I felt a surge of satisfaction every time I ran my hand over the freshlyscented steering wheel.
Emma, my wife, slipped a hand over the wheel too, inhaling the faint factory smell. She had dreamed of this car as much as I had, and now it was hers as much as mine. Four days after the purchase, her mother, Dorothy Wright, asked us to haul a load of tomato seedlings from her cottage. Emmas face tightened; she glanced at the spotless cabin.
James, look at the interior its cream. My mothers seedlings are in damp soil, old milkcarton bags that leak. I wont put that in the car, she said, trying to keep her voice even.
Dont worry, well line the boot with newspapers, stack the boxes carefully. Its not worth hiring a van for ten cartons, is it? Shell be upset. You know how Dorothy treats those tomatoes like her children shes been fussing over them since February.
Emma frowned, closed the door gently, and the gleam of the bonnet reflected the spring light. Ten boxes? You mentioned just a couple of crates last weekend. Where did ten come from?
Well there are also peppers, aubergines, some petunias Please, love. My cars alternator is still in the garage, and the seasons ticking. If we dont move them today, mum will have a fit for weeks.
The fit will be on my clean car, Emma snapped. Call a taxi a UHaul or a regular van. Ill pay.
Dorothy wont trust a driver, I whispered, looking toward the upstairs flat where she lived. Shell say the driver will jostle the seedlings, break them. She wants us, us, to do it with love.
Emmas eyes softened a little. At thirtyeight, she looked at me like a schoolboy scared of his mothers wrath more than of any war. Fine, but only the boot. No pots in the cabin. Ill check each box for dryness. Understood?
Understood! Youre the best! she kissed my cheek and sprinted to the kitchen.
I stayed by the car, heart pounding. Ive known Dorothy for seven years; shes a force of nature with a good heart, capable of feeding you to death with rich pies, knitting a scratchy sweater and getting offended if you dont wear it, and treating her garden as a sanctuary.
Ten minutes later, I shuffled back carrying a swollen cardboard box the kind that once held bananas its sides bulging with damp soil and feeble tomato stems tied with rags. Dorothy followed, balancing two plastic buckets brimming with greens.
Careful, love, dont tilt it! she ordered. These are Bullheart tomatoes, the best variety. Emma, dear, open the boot my sons hands are full!
Emma pressed the key fob; the boot lid rose smoothly.
Good morning, Mrs Wright, Emma said, pointing at the box. The bottoms wet.
Wet? Nonsense! I gave them a light mist this morning so they wouldnt dry out. Its boiling out today! Dorothy waved the buckets onto the pavement.
I hoisted the box into the boot. The dark damp patch spread instantly across the brandnew carpet Id bought separately to protect the floor.
Stop! Emma shouted, pulling me back. Its leaking! I asked for dry bottoms! Its soil and water everywhere!
Dorothy brushed it off. Its just a drop of water, love. Itll dry, youll shake it off. A car is for carrying stuff, not for drying it. In my day we used a Mini to haul manure, potatoes and everything.
Its not a Mini, Emma replied, keeping her tone steady. And I wont be hauling manure in this vehicle. We need a waterproof sheet. Do we have any?
What sheet? I asked, bewildered. I thought newspapers would do
Newspapers will soak in a minute. We need a thick plastic sheet or a tarp! Dorothy snapped.
At that moment Mrs. Hargreaves, our neighbour, stepped out with her little terrier, Pip. Oh, Dorothy! Off to the allotment? And youve got a new daughterinlaw with a fancy car, I hear?
Dorothy puffed up, Yes, Emmas got a brandnew SUV, but shes scared to put a tomato in the boot.
Emmas cheeks flushed. James, get a roll of heavyduty plastic from the builders shop down the road.
I dont want to spend money on that, Dorothy complained. I have an old shower curtain in the cupboard. Itll do.
While Dorothy rummaged for the curtain, I shuffled from foot to foot, feeling the weight of the situation. Emma, look at those boxes. There are more than we can fit in the boot even if we crush them with our feet.
Then well load some in the back seat, I suggested.
No, Emma said firmly. The cabin is creamcoloured carpet. No seedlings there.
Dorothy returned with a yellow, stickylooking shower curtain. Here, use this. Its sturdy.
We spread the curtain over the boot and began loading. The boxes were uneven, soggy, some split open. Only five made it into the boot; the rest were piled on the driveway, along with buckets, trowels wrapped in rags, and a massive sack of Dorothys gardening tools.
Now the rest goes in the cabin, Dorothy declared, wiping sweat from her brow.
The cabin is offlimits, I said, closing the rear door.
How can I not? Where else will I put them? On my head? Ive grown those peppers for three months! she shouted, clutching a box of soil that suddenly gave way. The bottom fell out, showering the boot with black, soggy earth that splattered onto my shoes and onto Emmas light grey trousers.
A stunned silence fell. Emma stared at the stain, then at Dorothy.
Oh dear weve ruined the car, Dorothy muttered. If wed opened the boot first, none of this would have happened.
I turned the key, started the engine, and said, Im going to the car wash.
Where are you going? James asked, stuck ankledeep in the mess.
To the wash. Call a van or a vanservice, I dont care. I wont transport seedlings in my vehicle again.
Are you abandoning us with all this? Dorothy wailed. How can you be so heartless?
Put your hand down, James, Emmas voice was icecold. I offered to pay for delivery. You refused. Now you deal with it yourselves.
I drove away, leaving James and Dorothy amidst a sea of boxes, buckets, and soil. In the rearview mirror I saw Dorothy waving and shouting, James slumping his shoulders in defeat.
At the wash, the young attendant laughed sympathetically as he scrubbed the boot. Gardeners, eh? he asked.
Almost, I sighed.
Calls flooded my phone James, Dorothy but I silenced them. Later, back at home with a cup of tea, I watched the clock tick. James hadnt returned for four hours; I imagined him and his mother still wrestling with the soil, the van arriving, the inevitable scolding.
He finally staggered in late, filthy and smelling of earth. He poured a glass of water and downed it in one gulp.
Did you get a van? I asked calmly.
They sent a UHaul. They arrived in twenty minutes, loaded everything, and took it off. All good.
See? No one died, the cars clean.
Its not about the car, James snapped, slamming his glass on the table. Its about respect! You made mum think my car mattered more than her plants. She swore shed never set foot in our house again.
It was her choice, I replied. I offered a taxi from the start, even paid for it. She wanted to force me to carry mud in a pristine cabin. Why? To prove she could control me.
Shes old, set in her ways, James muttered. She could have let it go.
I wont compromise where it harms me, I said, standing. I respect your mother, but I expect the same for my boundaries and my belongings. If she asked me to drive her to the doctor, Id hop in. But hauling manure and soil when a delivery service exists is foolish. I wont be part of that.
James fell silent, staring out the window. Then he sighed heavily. Half the seedlings died, he said. One box tipped over in the boot while we were unloading. I cleaned it, but itll need drycleaning.
I told you, I murmured.
He agreed, Should I call her tomorrow, apologise just to smooth things over? Her birthday is coming up.
I wont apologise for standing my ground, I replied. I did nothing wrong. I defended my limits. If she wants to talk she can, but I wont be the one lugging her garden in my car again. End of story.
The next two weeks were cold and quiet. Dorothy stopped calling; James complained to her about the snake shed warmed up. I kept my distance, feeling uneasy being the enemy number one, yet every time I slipped into the immaculate cabin of my SUV, I felt Id done the right thing.
On Saturday James asked, You still going to the cottage? The strawberries are in season. Mum said you could stay.
I thought it over. Hiding forever felt foolish.
Fine. Ill go, but in my own car. If anyone asks me to haul rubbish or manure again, Ill turn the key and drive off.
Deal, James grinned, no manure.
At the cottage, Dorothy was busy in the vegetable beds. Seeing me, she straightened, brushed her hands, and greeted, Hello.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Wright, I replied, eyeing the gleaming SUV parked by the gate.
Your neighbour, Val, said your car is a laugh for us country folk. Says its not for our life, Dorothy muttered.
I like it, I said with a smile.
She hesitated, then waved her hand. Well, whats the point of standing here? Come in for tea. Ive baked a strawberry pie.
Over tea the conversation was polite, no fireworks. James joked about work, Dorothy handed him the best slices of pie. When we were about to leave, Dorothy circled my car, peered inside, and said, Clean.
I try, I answered.
The van driver was a bit of a lout, but he got the boxes to the greenhouse quickly. It cost £3 extra.
See? Its convenient.
Shes right, she sighed, James cant lift heavy things, his back hurts. He needs a sturdy vehicle.
She looked at me, assessing. Youre stubborn, Emma. I never let anyone step on my toes. My husbands dead, Ive ruled my own little kingdom, and Ive always kept my ground.
I raised an eyebrow at her unexpected admission.
Alright, off you go before the traffic builds, she said, handing James a bag of washed dill, radish and chives in a triplelayered bag. Nothing will spill.
Thanks, I said, taking the dry package.
She added, Give me the number for that van company. Well need to move the courgettes this autumn, and the apples are starting to rot. Not in your cabin, mind you.
I promised, Ill send it. Ive got some loyalty points now, so Ill give you a discount.
We drove home as the sun set, bathing the cabin in warm gold. James sighed, Thought youd be angry, but you handled it.
People understand strength and boundaries, James. When you say no clearly, you earn respect. When you try to be everyones convenience, you get trampled.
He thought for a moment. Maybe youre right. I could never have left my mum with boxes.
I couldnt either. Thats why my shoes are clean and my car stays spotless. To each his own.
I turned up the music and felt a lightness I hadnt known in weeks. I wasnt the bad daughterinlaw I was a daughterinlaw whose limits were respected. That, I realized, is far better than being the everaccommodating one who ends up cleaning someone elses mess from the seat of her own dream.
Lesson: setting firm boundaries protects not only your possessions, but also your peace of mind.
