Dont Tell Me How To Live
Molly, let me in! I cant live with them anymore. That houseits not a home, its a prison, sobbed my younger sister as she stood on my doorstep.
Lucy looked like a runaway bridemascara smeared, lips trembling. She clutched the handle of an enormous suitcase on wheels.
Hang on a second,I yawned tiredly and grudgingly stepped aside.Whats happened?
They dont let me live, Molly! Youve no idea whats going on at ours. Yesterday, I got home at ten instead of nine and Dad grilled me like a detective, sniffing me like a bloodhound! Mum hasnt learned to knockshe barges in when Im changing, hanging out with mates, on the phone I dont have any privacy!
Lucy rattled on, breathless with indignation. To be fair, her complaints were warranted. At twenty, the endless parental control feels torturous. Who would enjoy their parents checking pockets, bursting into your room, making you account for every move?
Dont go there, dont eat that, dont be friends with them!she continued.Im not ten. Im grown-up. I have a right to live how I want, not how they want. Today, I said Id stay at a friends to revise for exams. Dad just snapped: No sleepovers, do your revision at home. Is that normal? Am I in Year Five?
I listened, trying to be patient. For a moment I even felt sorry for her. Our parents have always been a bit old-fashioned, anxious, and frankly too protective.
Id walked that same path once. At twenty, I rebelled myself. Didnt like Dad waiting up at the window until eleven, or Mum checking whether I wore my scarf. But I sorted it out, sharply.
Im switching to part-time, I told them seven years ago. And moving out.
Where? How will you afford it? Mum gasped.
My friend works at a beauty salon, they need a receptionist. Ill rent a room with the girls. Well manage. If not, Ill come back.
I managed. Barely, but I did. The first six months were rough. I lived on cheap porridge and slept on a sagging sofa, but nobody told me when to go to bed. My parents tried to help with money, groceries, but I proudly refused.
Im fine. Ill handle it myself.
Thats when they gave me the keys to Grans flat. Not so much a gift, more acknowledgement of my independence and responsibility.
Lucys story turned out completely different.
Two years ago, our other grandmother passed away and Lucy inherited her two-bedroom flat. Shed just turned eighteen.
Thats it! Lucy announced the moment she got the inheritance. Im now the most eligible bachelorette with a dowry. Time to live on my own!
Our parents exchanged surprised glances.
Alright, Dad said. The flats yours, but heating bills alone run at least £200 a month in winter. Fooddepending, around £400. Travel, clothes, toiletries, Wi-FiIf you keep studying at uni, youll need at least £1,600 a month. Wheres that coming from?
Lucy blinked, lost for words. She felt as if shed done enough for the world simply by studying, funded by Mum and Dad.
Thats where things ended. Lucy didn’t argue; she wasnt in a rush to move out. Though something else did bother her. Our parents started renting out her flat and took the money themselves, to pay for her tuition, bills, food, clothes. Sometimes Lucy got a bit of pocket money, but she grumbled, wanting both her own placeand never having to lift a finger.
Remembering all that drama, I took a closer look at Lucy now. New coat, leather boots, expensive handbag She hardly looked like a prison victim. More like a princess complaining about a pea under ten mattresses.
They took my car keys,she added, wiping tears.Said until I clear up my modules Ill be catching the bus. Can you imagine? The bus! Sometimes its a thirty minute wait!
How dreadful,I said dryly, watching her drag the suitcase in.So, whats your plan now?
My sympathy faded fast.
Ill stay with you. Until they calm down and apologise, really. Youve got a two-bed flatloads of space. I wont bother you, honestly. Ill just quietly study in the spare room
I pursed my lips. Didnt want to judge, but something felt off.
Lucy,I sighed.Lets be serious. You want to live like me? No controlling, no questions, no curfews?
Of course! her eyes sparkled. I want to decide when I come home, and what I wear.
Brilliant. Then why havent you rented a room or got a place in halls?
Lucy blinked, baffled. She clearly found the question odd.
What do you mean? I dont have any money. Im a student.
Exactly. Youre a full-time student living off Mum and Dad. You eat their food, wear their clothes, drive their carwell, you did,I started counting on my fingers.Freedom, Lucy, costs. When I was your age, I worked and studied. You want to have your cake andnever choke on the bones.
Are youare you not letting me stay?
I sighed. Didnt want to get involved, but felt I had to.
First, Ill ring Mum,I said.I want to hear her side.
Lucy hesitated, but couldn’t stop me.
It was late, but Mum was still awake. The conversation quickly got emotional, and at one point I put her on speaker. Turns out, Mum and Dad took Lucys car keys and limited her outings because she didnt just have a couple of late assignments. She was at risk of being chucked out of uni.
The lecturers just have it in for me! They dont like girls,Lucy protested, blushing.
Funny, everyone else passed, but you havent,Dad retorted.Thought you were clever, did you? Planning to hide at your sisters and keep slacking off?
Dads right,I looked at Lucy.I dont harbour debt-dodgers, and I wont babysit you.
Lucy glared at me.
So everyones against me? Fine! Ill live in my own flat!she announced.Kick the tenants out. Ill live alone, and not a soul will tell me what to do.
There was a brief silence. Lucy raised her chin, thinking shed stumped the parents.
Alright,Mum replied calmly.No problem.
Lucy nearly jumped out of her chair.
Really? Youll do it? Tomorrow?
Not tomorrow, but as per the contract,Dad said.They get two weeks notice. Youll stay with us for now, until you finish your term. But, LucyYou understand, youll pay your own way now?
Well, yes,she squinted suspiciously.
No more rent money for us, soDad paused, letting the info sink in.You pay your tuition, your bills, your food, your clothes. Not a penny from us. Youre adult now, so live like one.
Lucys face fell. Clearly, shed thought Mum and Dad would cave and help out.
ButIm studying! I cant work! Im full-time!
Molly worked and studied,Mum reminded her.She switched to part-time and got a job. Your choice, love. Want to live on your own? Go ahead. But expenses are on you. Or you live with us, by our rules, and we support you. Thats it.
Lucy looked at me for support, but I just met her gaze with a wry smile.
Well, sis?I grinned.Welcome to adult life. The cake comes with a few bones.
Six months passed. My chats with Lucy were reduced to quick how are you texts and just-as-brief replies. I only knew she no longer lived at home, and didnt probe further. I worried any sympathy might open the door for her to try freeloading again.
One rainy afternoon, I ducked into a café near the town centre park. Standing behind the counter was Lucy.
You wanted a medium cappuccino, no sugar?she asked, tired, but polite.
She looked distinctly different now. The false lashes and glitzy nails were gone; her nails were neatly trimmedhealth regulations, no choice. Instead of a designer sweatshirt, she wore the cafés green apron and name badge. Dark circles stood out under her eyes, barely masked by makeup.
Hello,I smiled, with a mix of pity and respect.Yes. And a croissant, if its fresh.
Lucy nodded, unsmiling, and got to work.
Fresh. Baked this morning.
She moved quickly, no more attitude. Now she had to fit in, not demand the world pause for her.
Hows uni?I asked as she steamed the milk.
Passed everything,Lucy muttered.Switched to part-time. Easier. Mum rang last week, asked if she should drop off groceries. I said no. I can manage.
I raised my brow in surprise.
Since when did you get so proud?
Not proud, Mollypractical. If Mum brings food, shell start nagging againwhy arent the floors mopped, whys there dust. Id rather eat porridge on water and have peace.
I chuckled. Lucy set the cup on the counter.
Thatll be £3.50.
I tapped my card. The reader beeped.
Tough?I asked quietly.
Lucy paused. For a moment, something childlike flickered in her eyesthe same look she had when she showed up with her suitcase. But she pulled herself together quickly.
Fine. At least nobody lectures me. Sold the car, by the way. Tubes fasterand cheaper.
Youre doing well, Lucy. Honestly.
She smirked weakly.
Yeah, doing well. Sometimes I fall asleep right here, though. Go ondont want to get fined for chatting with customers.
I sat by the window, watching her furiously wipe the counter.
My sister got what she wanted: adult life without Mum and Dad breathing down her neck. And its not so bad, really. Its just that, as is often the way, the cake came with a few tough bones, and now she has to chew carefully.
I finished my coffee, pulled out a tenner, tucked it under the napkin, then returned my cup to the counter and left.
It wasnt charity for a needy relativeit was a tip for a barista whos finally learning to balance expectation and reality.
And I think, for the first time in a long while, both of us are living in the real world.
