My sister-in-law turned up uninvited last New Years Eve, and the celebration quickly spiralled into something strange.
Confession
She materialised on the doorstep with a battered suitcase and a cats grin, as though she were bestowing a gift upon me.
You dont mind if I see in the New Year with you, do you?
It was pitch black outside, her minicab was gone, and a no wouldve made me a villain.
So thats how it began.
I stood rooted with my hand on the door, my mind echoing only one lucid thought: Here it goes. Its starting.
Come in I muttered, barely moving aside.
She breezed in, shook the drizzle from her coat, surveying our flat with the brazen, proprietary look of someone shopping for antiques.
Oh, youve already started laying out the table! Wheres my brother?
In the bath.
Oh, having a soak. Right, Ill get changed. Where am I sleeping?
I pointed to the compact spare room we used as a study. Wed been renting for years, saving for a place of our own. Ordinary but ours.
She vanished inside, and I shuffled back to the kitchen. Id planned a quiet New Year for just the two of us a film, comfort food, the salads he liked.
All of it, unravelled.
My husband emerged from the bath, immediately sensing the disturbance in the air.
Whats happened?
We have a guest.
What guest?
Your sister.
His face drained.
But we didnt invite her
Exactly.
He tried to hug me, but I shrugged him off. He insisted it was a surprise, that she meant well, and only for a few days.
But I saw the suitcase. The monstrous suitcase.
When she resurfaced, shed already set up camp. She landed on the settee, swung open the fridge, poking about through cheeses and leftovers.
Through dinner, she monopolised the air gabbling about the office, peoples tightfisted ways, who owed whom a pint. Offhand, she inquired what gift her brother would bestow for the New Year and elbowed for a few quid.
I said nothing. Bit my tongue, even as resentment throbbed inside.
Memories flickered up of her borrowing cash all year always for her family, never paying it back, always a tale at the ready.
Late into the evening, she suggested inviting more people around, as its all a bit dull, isnt it?
This is our home and our celebration, I said, finally.
Oh, so Im the odd one out then?
No, youre not unnecessary.
But you arent the host, either.
We clashed she flounced off, locked herself away, ostentatiously. My husband rebuked me for being too sharp.
Just before midnight, the three of us clustered round the little table. The artificial tree sparkled, the clock ticked. When midnight struck, my husband raised his glass.
I spoke, quietly but clearly:
To people who never ask only take.
Stillness descended.
I looked at my sister-in-law and, for the first time, didnt look away.
You dont ask. You only arrive, you take our home, our money, our time, our plans. And you expect gratitude.
She stood, face pale as milk.
Right then. Im clearly not wanted.
Youre welcome when you respect people. Not when you impose.
She left a while later with her enormous suitcase. The door closed behind her.
My husband sat down, head in his hands.
Shes my sister
And Im your wife, I replied, quietly. And I wont stay silent anymore.
The next day, no texts arrived. No apologies. Only quiet.
The New Year wasnt at all what Id wanted.
But for the first time, I didnt feel small.
I didnt feel guilty.
Sometimes the celebration isnt about who sits at the table.
Sometimes its about telling the truth even when it stings.
