Who Would Want You and Your Baggage?
Are you sure, love?
Emily reached over to cover her mums hand and smiled.
Mum, I love him. And he loves me. Well get married, and itll all be fine. Well have a family, youll see?
Dad shoved aside his half-eaten shepherds pie and stared moodily out the window. The silence dragged for several seconds, but for Emily it felt endless.
Youre only nineteen, he finally said. You should be thinking about your studies, your career, not weddings.
Dad, I’ll manage. Emily spoke calmly, though inside she was desperate to prove, to convince, to make them see what she saw. James is working, Im studying. Were not asking for handouts. We just want to be together. To be a family.
Her dad shook his head, but didnt argue.
They didnt approve. Emily could see that in Dads pursed lips, in how Mum nervously straightened the napkin on the table. But at least they hadnt forbid itmaybe because they remembered how they were at her age, or maybe because they knew forbidding would just push her to do it out of stubbornness.
The wedding was a modest one, held in May, but warm and loving. Emily still remembered those moments with a happiness that wrapped around her like a soft blanket. No fancy reception for two hundred, no limousines or doves. Just close friends, smiles, and laughter.
Their honeymoon was a week down in Brighton. Thats all Jamess work allowed, and their savings didnt stretch any further. Still, those days became a magic bubble Emily would never forgettheyd wake late, eat breakfast on their tiny balcony overlooking the sea, stroll the pier until dark, grab chips and battered cod from a stand, and kiss like the world was ending.
Then real life started, stripped of its romantic glow. The one-bed flat they rented was draughty in winter, and the neighbours upstairs stomped about so fiercely the ceiling lamp rattled. James was out by seven for work, Emily dashed off to lectures, and in the evenings theyd meet, exhausted, heat up beans on toast, and fall asleep barely touching their pillows.
But somehow, even the monotony of their tiredness felt honest. Right, even.
Six months in, Mum rang and asked them to come round that weekend. Emily ran through all the possibilities, from the dreadful to the absurd, but when they arrived, Mum and Dad just sat them at the kitchen table, poured some tea, and slid an envelope across.
For you, said Dad, looking just past their shoulders. For a deposit on a flat. Even if its a small one, better your own. Enough wasted on rent.
Emily stared at the envelope, unable to reach for it, her throat tight, eyes threatening to well up.
Dad she started, but he waved her off.
Take it. Dont get sentimental. Think of it as your wedding present. Bit late, but still.
They found a place a month latera modest flat, third floor in a redbrick building. Not much to most. To Emily, it was a whole universe, one she filled with ferocious joy: she picked out wallpaper, hired tradesmen, hung up curtains herself, and arranged potted daisies on the windowsill.
A year later, while starting her third year at university, Emily was hit with an odd feeling of sickness. At first, she blamed the sausages shed eaten. Then, she figured she was just tired from the long study nights. On a whim, she bought a pregnancy testjust to rule it out.
Two bold lines appeared; there was no room for doubt.
Emily sat, breathless, on the edge of the tub, staring at that stick as her world flipped upside down. Third year. Two years until her degree. Theyd only just found their footing. Why now?
James came home and instantly saw something was wrong. Emily just handed him the test; she couldnt find the words.
For long moments, he gazed at those two lines, then looked at her, eyes full of something that took her breath away.
Well keep it, he said quietly, but with certainty.
James, Im on my third year. How could I
Well keep it, he repeated, taking her hands in his. Youll take a break. Ill work. Well get through it, Em. Its our baby.
She wept into his shoulderfrom fear, from uncertainty, from hormones, perhaps, but also from a fragile happiness breaking through the chaos, like grass pushing up through paving stones.
Getting approval for a year out was simple.
Little Max was born in March, when the city was still grey and cold but spring felt just around the corner. Just over seven pounds, twenty inches. Emily looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms, his wrinkled, red face, and could hardly believe this was real. Her son. Hers and Jamess.
Her happiness felt so enormous, her chest might split from the fullness of it.
But changes crept in, slow and cold as the first autumn frost. James began coming home late. First it was half an hour, then an hour, until Emily stopped counting. Hed step into the flat, toss his jacket onto the hook and walk straight past the cot, not even glancing in. He used to scoop Max up, kiss his downy head, blow silly raspberries on his tummy. Nownothing.
You could at least say hello to your son, Emily blurted out one evening.
James grimaced as if shed said something foul.
Hes asleep. Not going to wake him.
Max wasnt sleeping. He lay in his cot, watching his father with big, earnest eyesthe very image of Jamess own. But James didnt notice, or wouldnt.
Then came the jabs. First, just passing remarksEmily told herself she misunderstood.
Youre going out in that? he asked one morning, looking her up and down.
Emily glanced downjust jeans and a jumper.
Whats wrong with it?
Nothing. He didnt bother finishing, but the look said it all.
Every day, it grew worse. He dropped the veiled comments.
Do you ever look in the mirror? he threw at her one night as she changed for bed. Put on weight, gone flabby. You look fifty, not twenty-two.
It knocked the wind from her. Emily stood there in her old pyjamas, unable to breathe. Yes, shed put on weight after Max was born, hadnt bounced back yet, but surely how could he?
James, I just had a baby her whisper sounded pathetic, even to herself.
That was a year ago. A year! Other girls are slim within months. But you
He trailed off, waved her away, and stormed out. Max started crying, startled by their raised voices.
Shut him up, James yelled from the kitchen. Always wailing, can never get any sleep in this place!
Emily picked up her son, pressed him close, buried her nose in his soft hair. Tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped onto his chubby head. Max slowly calmed beneath her warmth, as she rocked both him and herself in the dark.
There was no one to tell, really. Or at least, Emily could have rung her parents, but every time her hand hovered over the phone, her dads stern words played back: Youre only nineteen, think about your future. Theyd warned her. Shed been so sure she knew best, that love would fix everything.
And now what? Turn up on their doorstep and admit theyd been right, and she a foolish, lovestruck girl whod ruined her chance at life? Whenever she pictured that conversation, her mums eyes red from tears and her dads heavy silence, she put the phone down again. Shed made her bed. Shed lie in it.
That day, Emily took Max for his usual walk. They circled the block, reached the tiny park, where benches sat beneath shedding chestnuts. Rummaging in her bag for a snack, she realised shed forgotten Maxs fruit pouch.
Sighing, she headed back.
Opening the door, she found strange heels in the hallwaywomens, patent, bright crimson.
Her feet carried her forward before her mind could stop her. Dont, her gut pleaded, just leave. But she pushed on.
The bedroom door was ajar.
She saw enough. Far more than enough. Another woman, in her bed, on her sheets. James didnt even bother pretending, didnt cover himself, didnt bat out some excuse.
He looked at Emily, annoyed, as if she was a fly he couldnt swat.
What did you expect? he muttered. Look at yourself. Im twenty-five, in my prime, and I come home to a wife nobody would look twice at.
Emily gripped the door frame, her legs nearly buckling. The woman gathered her clothes, refusing to meet her eyes, clutching the duvet to her chin.
Get out. Emilys own voice was low and strange to her, raspy, almost not her own. Get out of my flat. Right now.
The woman rushed, dressing as she went. James watched, sneering.
Stop making a scene, he snapped as the door closed behind the stranger. Honestly, its not a big deal. Everyone does it. Its normal.
Normal?
Yeah. What, you think your mums dad never played around? Its how men are. Wives put up with itwhere else would you go? Especially now youve got a kid. He pulled on his jeans. Whos going to want you, Em, now youve got baggage? So save the theatrics. Enough shouting.
Emily had no memory of how she got Max into his snowsuit, found a taxi, or rattled off her parents address. She looked out the cab window, absentmindedly stroking Maxs back, feeling scraped out and hollow.
Mum opened the door. At the sight of Emilys face, she wrapped her in a hug, tight as when Emily was a child, knees skinned, running home in tears.
Mum, I she started, but Mum shook her head.
Later, love. Its all right. Come in.
Dad came out at the commotion. He looked at Emily, then at Max. His face set like stone.
Whats happened?
Emily told them, voice trembling, tripping over words, swallowing sobsabout the comments, the coldness, the scarlet heels in her hallway, about being told she was nothing now she had baggage.
Dad listened quietly, then stood, grabbing his coat.
Lets go.
Where?
To him.
Dad, dont I can
Leave Max with your mother. Come on.
James opened the door as if nothing was wrong.
Emilys father walked in, surveyed the lounge, then turned to James and spoke softlytoo softly, and that frightened Emily more than shouting.
Heres how this is going to work. Youre going to pack your things and go. Out of my daughters flat. The flat her mum and I paid for. Our money, not yours. Youve no place here now.
James tried to protest, muttering about rights and shared property, but Dad cut him down.
Rights? You want to talk about rights, son? Lets discuss how you treated my daughter. The way you belittled her. Bringing strangers into her home. Dad took a step toward him, and James backed away. If youre not gone in half an hour, Ill get the police involved, and youd better believe I have the means to drag you through every court in Oxfordshire until youve got nothing left. Nowget out.
James left, shoving his belongings in a duffel bag. Emily stood, frozen, as the door clicked shut.
Why didnt you come to us sooner? Dad asked when they were alone.
I thought you warned me. I thought youd just say Id brought it on myself.
Dad turned, and in his eyes was something that undid Emily all over again.
Youre our daughter. My girl. You always have a home with us. Always. No matter what.
Emily buried herself in his shoulder, just like she did as a child, and wept until she felt almost clean.
Two years later, Emily sat on the floor of their little flat, watching Max concentrate on building a tower of colourful blocks. Her degree certificatefrom her later studies, passed with distinctionlay to the side. Her phone pinged: maintenance money arrived.
Max looked up and beamed, with a smile so reminiscent of his fathers, yet it didnt sting any longer.
Mum, look!
I see, love. What a smashing tower.
The sun set outside, painting her lounge in warm gold. Emily gazed at her son and smiled. It hadnt turned out the way shed dreamed, but shed made it through and that was enough.
Once, I thought needing help was weakness. But life proved that true strength is allowing yourself to reach out, to love, and to be loved in returnno matter the baggage you carry.
