I’ll Find a Better Husband for My Daughter
This month will be tougher, I muttered under my breath as I refreshed my banking app.
I sighed. Lately, money seemed to slip right through my fingers. I understood why, but admitting it out loud felt too daunting for now.
I stepped out of the lift, loosening my tie as I walked down the corridor. Third floor, fourth door on the left. After three years, the route was etched into my bones.
The key slid into the lock, and before the door swung open, I was greeted by the warm smell of fried potatoes and parsley. Emma always sprinkled parsley generously, never skimping. I slipped off my shoes and dropped my bag on the hallway cabinet.
Im home.
Im in the kitchen! Emma called back.
She stood by the stove, stirring something in a pan. Her hair was tied back, and she wore her favourite checked shirt. I walked up behind her, giving her a gentle peck on the head.
Mmm, smells brilliant.
Just potatoes and mushrooms. Sit down; Ill bring it over in a minute.
She smiled, though it didnt reach her eyes. I saw it straight awaya brightness stretched thin, masking a deeper worry. Three years together had taught me to read my wife better than any book.
I sat at the kitchen table, watching as Emma dished up the food. Her movements were sharp, not quite their usual fluid grace. Something was bothering herprobably another run-in with her mum. Janet Edwards could leave a bad taste in your mouth for hours.
Did your mum ring? I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Emma paused for a beat, then placed my plate in front of me and sat down opposite.
Yeah. Nothing major.
She was lying. Janet never called for no reason. Every conversation with her found a way to needle its way into your skin.
I didnt push it. I could have asked, could have tried to prise out the words Janet poured into her daughters ear, but what for? Nothing new. The same old complaints: wages too small, old car, no prospects. It was a broken record.
We ate in the gentle comfort of our small flat. One bedroom in a post-war blockmodest, but ours. Id bought the flat before we married, a fact that always warmed me. Not a mansion, but honestly earned.
Emma pushed at her potatoes with her fork, lost in thought. Most likely about her mum. Janet lingered in your head like a catchy advertisement jingle you cant shake.
Janet took a dislike to me from the moment we met. Id come around in my best jeans and only decent jumper. Shed looked me up and down, like inspecting some bruised apple on the shelf, and pursed her lips.
What do you do for a living? shed asked.
Im an engineer.
An engineer she said it like it was something to be ashamed of. Is the pay even decent?
Emma had turned crimson, tried to change the subject. But the mood was set. Three years on, and Janet hadnt softened one bit.
Each visit was a test of patience. Did you hear about Sophies son? Launched his second business this year! When are you buying a new car? That heap of yours is falling apart. Emma always dreamt of a house in the countryside, did you know?
Id learned to let it pass over mesmile, nod, never rise to it. Whats the point? Janet wouldnt be convinced. She had her narrative, and she was sticking to it.
Emma finished her meal and pushed her plate away.
Mum wants us round for dinner on Saturday. Its Dads birthday.
My stomach tightened, though only slightly. Saturday evenings at Janets were a special form of torture. Long table, hordes of relatives, and Janet at the head, like a general marshaling her troops.
What time?
Seven.
Fine. Well grab a cake on the way.
Mum said not to. Shes making everything herself.
Of course. Janet liked everything her way. Bringing your own cake would be messing up her perfect vision.
Emma gathered up the plates and carried them to the sink. I watched her backso small and fragile. She always seemed like a bird you wanted to shield from every chill wind. But the strongest gusts came from her parents house, and you couldnt shut them out.
Em She turned to me. You know I love you.
And I love you, she replied softly.
But something flickered across her faceworry? exhaustion? guilt? I didnt press. Some things are better left unsaid, especially when the thoughts arent your own.
Saturday came too soon
I parked my battered Toyota beside Emmas parents block. The paint on the wing had peeled away last autumn, and I hadnt got round to touching it up. Emma sat beside me, fiddling with her handbag strap.
Ready?
No, she admitted, but we have to go in anyway.
Janets flat welcomed us with the smell of roasted beef and the muted chatter of family. Emmas dad, Peter Edwardsa kindly, quiet chaphugged his daughter and shook my hand. The birthday boy looked uncomfortable in the spotlight.
The guests were already squeezed around the big dining table. Aunties, uncles, cousinsI never did get all their names. Janet reigned over the table, barking out instructions to the youngest.
I took a seat next to Emma, close to the exita tactical move in case things got out of hand.
The first half hour ticked by peacefully. Toasts, clinking glasses, laughter. Even I relaxed and reached for some bread.
Tom! Janet called, and I knew Id relaxed too soon. Are you two still living in that wee flat of yours?
Yes, Janet, its enough for us.
Enough, Janet echoed. And what about kids? Where will you put a child in that shoebox?
Emma tensed at my side. I slipped my hand under the table and covered hers.
When we decide its time, well sort out the housing.
Youll sort it,” Janet scoffed. “On your wages? Youll need a loan, Tom. Normal people do itget a mortgage, buy a bigger place. Move up in the world.
I dont want us in debt, I said evenly. Weve got our own flat. Thats enough for now.
Enough for him! Janet swept her eyes around the family for support. Hear that? Says enoughand my daughter can squeeze in while her friends move into spacious new homes.
Mum, Emma began quietly.
Dont. Im speaking to your husband. Janet turned to me, Remember Sophies lad, David? Took out two loans, but now hes got a three-bed in the centre and drives a German car. And you? You drive an old banger, you live in a shoebox. Dont you feel ashamed?
I slowly set down my fork. Three years of biting my tongue, swallowing digs and comparisonsfor Emma. For our peace.
Im not ashamed, I replied steadily. I earn my keep honestly. I dont steal, I dont cheat. We live within our means.
Within your means! Janet slapped her palm on the table, making glasses jump and a fork skitter to the floor. Red patches blossomed on her cheeks.
Youre not a man, youre a doormat! My daughter deserves a proper husband, not you! Ill find her one myselfsomeone better than you!
Silence fell heavy in the room. Everyone froze, halfway through their meals. Peter stared into his plate, afraid to look up. I stood slowly, calmly. Three years of silence ended here.
Janet, I have no intention of proving myself to someone who holds me in contempt. If you think Im not good enough, thats your prerogative. But I wont stand for your insults any longer.
Emmas eyes were wide as she looked at me, then at her mother. Two cornerstones of her lifedrawn up on opposite sides of an unseen line. That line demanded a choice.
Emma stood.
Mum. I love you. But if you insult my husband again, well leave and we wont come back.
Janet froze.
What did you say?
You heard me. Tom is my husband. I chose him. And I wont let you belittle him. Not ever again.
How dare you! Janet almost choked on the words. Ungrateful little thing! I raised you, I taught you, and this is how you repay me? You pick thisthis useless man!
Mum, enough!
Emmas shout sliced through the air. The relatives shrank back in their chairs. Even Aunt Margaret, usually one for comments, stayed quiet.
You controlled my life for years, Emma went on, her lips trembling. Told me what to wear, who to be friends with, who I could love. Thats over. Im a grown woman. I choose for myself who Ill be with, how Ill live.
Janet glared at her daughter, face pale and jaw jutting.
Youll remember today, she hissed. When he leaves you penniless, youll come crawling back. But Ill decide if I let you in.
She stormed past us, not bothering to look at anyone, the bedroom door slamming hard behind her.
I stepped over to Emma and wrapped her up in a tight hug. She pressed her face to my chest, her small frame shaking.
You did the right thing, I whispered into her hair. Im proud of you.
Peter got heavily to his feet.
Best you get yourselves home, you two, he said quietly. Janet will cool off. One day.
Emma didnt speak on the drive home. She didnt need to. Some wounds are best left undisturbed.
Back in our tiny flat, she spoke at last:
I wont be calling her first.
Im with you, I said. Any choice you makeIll stand by it.
Emma met my eyestired, tearful, but somewhere deep within, a new fire was kindling.
Well get through this, she said.
I pulled her close. Outside, the last light slipped behind the rooftops. Our little flat didnt seem so small anymore. It was our castle, and both of us knew, this was only the beginning.
