My husbands cousin came to visit.
Maybe Im old-fashioned, maybe times have changed now, but I cant help thinking some things should never change.
My mother never sat me down and said, When youre visiting relatives, make sure to bring gifts. I never got that lesson from her. Yet it feels as natural to me as the sun rising in the east. I cant quite say where I picked it upperhaps from books, the telly, or seeing it in plays.
On Saturday, my husbands cousin arrived. He was in London for his uncles funeral, though not from our side of the family.
He called ahead and asked if they could stay the night and, of course, we said yesdont worry about a thing.
They turned up in the evening as a group of three: his cousin, their son, and daughter-in-law. I cooked a proper meal: roasted a whole tray of meat, made a salad, some sides, the works. We sat around the table, raised a glass to seeing each other again after such a long while. Later, I sorted out beds for everyone, and in the morning, I got breakfast goingsandwiches, tea, coffee.
They left for the funeral, came back afterwards, had a sit down and then headed home.
It all looked fine on the surface. But truth be told, they showed up empty-handed, didnt even bring a bottle of wine.
My husbands fatherGod rest himwas actually his cousins godfather, and his widow, my mother-in-law, lives with us now. The cousin knew this. For goodness sake, were not hard up, but he might have brought a box of chocolates for the old dear. She was hoping for itspent the whole of Saturday looking out the window. She even shed a tear, she was so touched to see them.
Thats what I would have done.
First and foremost, Id have brought along some drink, and not just a bottle or two. The children and older folks would have got some sweets, and definitely a little keepsake. Id have put a bit of thought into what gift would suit each person.
And Id have brought my own bedding, just so thered be no fuss.
Its not as if theyre short of a penny; if they were, I wouldnt be upset. His cousin rarely visits, but when he does, he never brings a thing. Once, he was here on a work trip, dropped by on a Sunday night and left Monday morning. Again, nothing with him.
The whole time, he just went on about his fishing trips, all the fish hes caught and whatnot. Wouldve been nice if hed brought me just one, even.
Honestly, I dont mind the foodI enjoy making guests feel at homebut I cant help feeling a bit put out. Its as if Ive been taken for granted.
It seems to be the same every single timeLater, after they’d gone, I tidied their sheets and washed up the mugs, the soft clang of crockery echoing in the kitchen. My mother-in-law came in, clutching her cardigan. We shared a lookhers wistful, mine resigned.
But I heard her mutter as she settled at the table, At least they came. I poured her tea and sat beside her, holding the cup to warm my hands.
We watched the rain, silent for a bit, listening to the hush of it on the glass. She smiled suddenly, tracing her finger along the rim of her cup in a gentle circle.
You know, she said, it was good to see their faces, even for a little while. Sometimes a visit is a gift itselfno matter how small.
I squeezed her hand. Maybe I wanted moregestures, a box of chocolates, some token of thought. But perhaps the world asks us, every so often, to measure love in presence, not presents.
Next time, Ill still roast a tray of meat, fluff their pillows, and make the tea just right. Ill wait at the window with her, hoping, heart a little lighter, trusting that one day the memory of being welcomedempty-handed but never empty-heartedwill stay with them. And perhaps, that will be enough.
