A Mothers Love
Emma, its Judith Spencer. Have you fed David today? The voice on the phone sounded as if she was asking about a stray kitten, not her thirty-two-year-old son, a software developer, that Id left out on the balcony by accident.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the phone to my ear. The kitchen table was set with freshly steamed salmon and broccoli. David was drying his hair, looking fit and healthy after his evening run.
Hello, Judith. Yes, of course. Were just about to have dinner.
What are you feeding him? came the immediate reply. That grass of yours and your tasteless fish again? A man needs meat! Proper calories! I heard on the telly yesterday that skinny men die younger. Is that what you want, Emma? To put him in an early grave with your diets?
David rolled his eyes, gestured for me to tell her he wasnt home, but it didnt matter. He might as well have been sitting right therethe new body, his choices, the changesthey hung between us like a heavy, invisible weight.
Judith, its just what he wants. He feels great. Even the doctor said his blood work was fantastic.
Doctors just like to fill in forms! she snorted. Im his mother. I know best. Hes all sunken cheeks and bones sticking out. He used to look like a proper man, and now Emma, just make him a decent stew with proper beef bones, will you? Ill bring one tomorrow. Or are you skimping on meat now too?
And so it went. Every day. Six oclock sharp, my phone would vibrate and Id knowJudith. My mother-in-law. Chief Inspector of Sons Diets and Judge-in-Chief of whether I was good enough at wifely duties.
And it started off so well.
***
Eight months ago, David came back from his work health check as pale as a sheet. He flopped onto the sofa, loosened his belt, and breathed as if hed just run a marathon.
Em, theres a problem, he said quietly.
I was terrified. Heart? Liver? Every scary diagnosis flashed through my mind.
What happened?
My blood pressures up. Doctor says if I dont sort myself out, Ill be on tablets by forty. My cholesterols high. Blood sugars borderline too.
David was thirty-two. Six foot tall. Fifteen stone. His belly spilled over his belt. His cheeks had rounded, a double chin making an early appearance. Five years behind a desk, business lunches, barely movingmy fit, handsome husband had turned into a wheezy, tired man.
Im exhausted, he said, after a pause. I cant breathe climbing stairs. I hate the way I look at the beach. Im sick of it.
I hugged him. I didnt care what he weighed. I loved him. But if it made him unhappy, if it was hurting his health, then of coursesomething had to change.
How about we do it together? I suggested. Well learn how to eat better, find a good gym. Ill cook healthier.
So we did. David joined Strength & Fitness round the corner, found a personal trainer. I downloaded recipe apps, bought a digital scale, and a steamer. We shopped together, checked labels, counted calories and protein.
The first month was hell. David was moody and hangry, ranted about dry chicken and porridge. But eventually his body adjusted. He stopped feeling sleepy after lunch; stairs became easier; his jeans started falling down.
I made him porridge in the mornings, with water, berries, and walnuts. For lunch, Tupperware full of turkey and veg. Dinner: fish, salads, sometimes a cottage cheese bake (without sugar!). We ditched mayo, fried food, takeaways. At first, everything tasted plain, but soon we learned to love the real flavours. Broccolis not half bad, cooked right.
The weight began to come off. First slowly, then faster. After three months, hed lost a stone. By six monthsalmost two. By month eightthirteen stone. Nearly a third lighter!
He looked so different. His jawline returned, cheekbones sharp, eyes bright. He wasnt just slimmerhe was bouncier, more confident.
Colleagues and friends complimented him constantly. Even at work, people pulled him aside for tips. Women started to glance twice at him in the street. I felt proudmy husband had done it! Hed taken charge and turned his health around.
Judith had spent the summer with her sister in Bournemouth. She left in June and didnt return until September. She hadnt seen him in person for three monthsphone calls dont show the scales.
And when she came back
***
I remember that Saturday morning vividly. Judith rang the doorbell early, unexpected. We were still in bed. David opened the door in just boxers and a t-shirt.
I heard her shriek from the bedroom.
David! Oh my goodness, whats happened to you?!
I ran out in my dressing gown. Judith was there, bags in both hands, white as a ghost. She stared at her son as if shed seen an apparition.
Mum, morning, David yawned. Didnt expect you so soon.
Whats happened to you?! Are you ill? How much have you lost?! She dropped her shopping and grabbed his arms, poking at him as if checking he was still solid. Youre all skin and bone! What have you done to him?!
That last one was for me. I stood in the doorway, feeling a wave of guilt hit me before a single accusation had even left her lips.
Mum, Im fine, David laughed. I just lost a bit of weight. On purpose. Been eating healthily, going to the gym.
On purpose?! she gasped, stepping back. Why?! You were normal! Now you look positively gaunt!
Hes not, Judith, I tried, carefully. Hes in great shape. Doctors over the moon. All his test results are better.
She stared at me as if Id poisoned him.
This is your doing, isnt it? All these silly diets? Youve been starving him, havent you?
Mum! David frowned. Pack it in. No ones starving me. Its my decision. I was sick of being overweight.
Overweight?! she threw up her hands. You werent overweight! You were well-built, strong! Now look at youlike a bean pole!
At thirteen stone and six foot, he was hardly wasting away. He looked healthy. But for Judith, normal was the soft, overfed lad from before.
Shed brought a casserole of beef stew, roast potatoes, and a homemade pie. All of it straight to the table, instructing David to eat, now.
Mum, thanks, but weve already had breakfast, he tried to resist.
What, that slop? She poked around the kitchen, noticing the leftover porridge and apple slices. You call that breakfast?! Thats for birds! Sit. Eat something proper.
David sighed, gave me a sheepish look, and sat down. He ate a bowl of stew to avoid upsetting her. She watched every spoonful, finally looking content.
Thats how you feed a man, she said, rising from the table. Not with spinach and fishcakes. He needs his meat, something filling! Ill come round more often, keep an eye on things.
After she left, David lay on the sofa, holding his stomach.
Ill be digesting that for hours, he moaned. My body isnt used to this anymore.
And the calls started the next day.
***
Her first call came bang on six.
Emma, its Judith. What did David have for lunch?
I was truly caught off guard.
Hello. He had lunch at work. Took a containerturkey and veg.
Turkey, huh? Disappointment thick in her voice. Thats dry as anything! He needs pork, some proper fat. What vegetables?
Pepper, tomatoes, cucumber
Thats not food, thats a side dish to a side dish. Where are the potatoes? Wheres the pasta? A man cant live without carbs.
I tried to explain that he got carbs from grains, that it was all balanced, his trainer approved. She listened, unimpressed.
I know how to feed men. I raised Davidhe was healthy until you came along. Ill bring some proper homemade meatballs tomorrow.
Day two, she rang to check on breakfast. Three egg whites and rye toast? And where are the yolks? Thats where the vitamins aredont tell me youre scrimping on eggs now!
No, its because of his cholesterol
Hell be fine! My father ate five eggs a day and lived to eighty.
No point arguing.
Day three: Is he still going to that gym? Four times a week? Thats exhaustion! Hell drop dead with that much running about!
He has a trainer, Judith. Hes fine.
Those muscle men, all they want is your money. Davids too old for all that. Youll be the death of him at this rate.
I gritted my teeth. David strolled in from the gym, glowing and cheerful. Everything was fine, all the tests were good. But in his mothers eyes, he was at deaths door.
On the fourth day, she rang at eight, as we were getting ready for work.
Emma, Ive been thinking. Maybe Davids got worms! People get thin because of that, you know.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Judith, he doesnt have worms!
How do you know? Has he been tested? Thyroid checked? Maybe its an ulcer! People lose weight with ulcers.
I passed the phone to David. He tried to reassure her, explain this was intentional, it was monitored. She listened, then said, Youve no idea what shes doing to you. Ill come round tonight.
She turned up with a pan of chicken pilaf and some pastries. David caved againate a bit, didnt want to be rude. He shot me apologetic glances. He hated itletting his mum down, failing at his routine, making me uncomfortable, all of it at once.
After she left, he said: Sorry, Em. She just doesnt get it.
If you dont draw a line, this will only get worse, I warned him.
Shell get used to it. Shell calm down.
But she didnt. The calls kept coming. Sometimes twice a day. The questions grew more bizarre.
Is your boiler working? Maybe Davids losing weight from cold showers?
Is he waking at night hungry? Are you starving him after dark?
I heard protein shakes are dangerous. Is he taking those chemicals, Emma?
She called her friends, her sistertold them David was wasting away because I wouldnt feed him. One day, Davids aunt phoned his office to ask if he needed help.
What help? he asked warily.
Well, Judith says youre really unwell. Do you need a doctor? Or money for treatment?
David was fuming. That evening, he called his mother to make her stop telling everyone he was unwell. She dissolved into tearssaid he didnt love her, that he was killing her with worry, that shed be in her grave soon thanks to him.
He apologised. Promised to visit more so she could see he was healthy.
***
A week later, we went for Sunday lunch. David wore his old shirt, now several sizes too big, flapping at the sleeves. Judith greeted us with a table groaning with foodroast chicken, chips, potato salad, pie, cake.
Sit down, sit down. Eat, David. You need to put some weight back on.
I looked at the table and realisedit was a trap. If David refused, thered be a scene. If he ate, it set back months of effort.
He picked at roast chicken and the salad, skipping chips and cake. Judith sat there, face set in stone.
Youre not even going to try my pie? she quivered, close to tears. I was up at dawn baking that!
Mum, I cant. Im sticking to healthy eating.
What healthy eating? Youre starving! Just look at yourself! She turned to me, This is your fault! Youre making him do it! Youre skinny yourself, so you want him to match you!
I almost choked on my tea.
Judith, Im not forcing him
Hes not deciding for himself, Emma. Men never do, not with food. Thats the wifes job! And all you give him is salad leaves. I see whats in those boxes. Nothing but greens!
Theres protein, grains, vegall balanced.
Dont argue with me! I raised him for thirty-two years and he was perfectly healthy. Youve nearly turned him into an invalid.
David stood up.
Mum, enough. Emma isnt to blame.
Oh, of courseprotect your wife, hurt your mother! I raised you after your father died, gave everything up for you. Now you listen to her instead of me
We left. Sat in the car in silence, David gripping the wheel, jaw clenched. I stared out of the window, fuming.
That evening, she called me.
Emma, sorry for what I said. Im just so worried. He was so handsome before. Now hes so thin.
Hes still handsome, I replied, firmly.
Maybe to you. But all our friends say hes wasting away. People think we cant afford to feed him.
Were not struggling
Then whys he not eating properly?
I was worn out. Worn down by explanations, by defending myself, by being cast as a bad wife who cant do her job.
***
The tension built every day. Judith kept calling, checking how much I fed him, asking if he felt weak or dizzy, watching my every move.
Once, she called my office. My coworker passed me the phone, eyebrows raised.
Emma, its Judith. Davids not picking up. Is he alright?
My heart jumped.
No ideaIm at work. Let me try him.
I called David. He answered straight away.
Hi, darlingwhats up?
Your mums worried. She cant get hold of you.
Oh, he sounded sheepish, Left my phone on silentwas in a meeting.
I called Judith back and reassured her.
Thank goodness! I thought maybe hed fainted from hunger, she said. You know, the telly said sudden weight loss is dangerousyour skin sags, your organs slip. Did he see a doctor after all that weight dropped?
He did. The GP said hes fine.
What about a specialist? Cardiologist? The stomach doctor? Endocrinologist?
Hes fine. He doesnt need a specialist!
Not now, she said darkly, But just wait. My mate lost a stone, then developed ulcers.
I hung up and cradled my head in my hands. My colleagues gave sympathetic looks.
Mother-in-law? one guessed.
I nodded.
I had the same, she sighed. Checked the carpets, the ironing, the shirts, daily. I told my husbandher or me. He picked me. She stopped talking to him for six months, then she got over it.
I couldnt set those terms. Judith was alone. No one but David. Her husband died over a decade ago, and though she had friends, there was only him. David was her world. I could see the fearshe was scared of losing him, that he was slipping away, that she didnt matter anymore. But I couldnt handle being micromanaged like a live-in nanny.
That evening, I found David.
We need to talk.
He looked cautious.
What about?
Your mum. I cant do this anymore. She calls me every day, blames me for starving you, checks everything you eat. Its too much.
Shes just worried, Emma.
I get that! But her worry cant suffocate us! Cant you see? She treats me like a useless au pair, as if I cant manage you!
She doesnt mean
Then what, when she asks whether Ive *fed* you; when she brings stew as if I dont know how to cook; when she calls my work?
He looked down.
Tell her to stop calling me. If she wants to know about you, she can ask you directlybut not me.
Alright, he said quietly. Ill speak to her.
He did. The next day, Judith backed offfor two days. Then, she started ringing David directly, five times a day. He grew snappy, short-fused. One night, he threw his phone onto the sofa.
Thats it! Enough!
Whats wrong?
Shes ringing non-stop! Morning, noon, night. Is my head spinning? Is my stomach alright? Am I weak? Am I dying?!
I hugged him.
Time for a proper chat. The three of us. She needs to be toldby youthat youre fine, that this is your life, and she has to respect your choices.
Shell never understand, he said, defeated.
Lets try.
***
We set a date at her house that Saturday. We arrived together. Judith, as ever, had the table set. But this time, David didnt sit down.
Mum, we need to talk, he began.
She froze, still holding a plate of pasties.
About your calls. About how you treat Emma. About not accepting my choices.
I dont know what you mean.
Mum, you call every day. You check every meal, turn up with food I dont want, blame Emma for how I look. That has to stop.
She went pale.
Im just worried. Im his mother. Thats what we do.
Be worried, by all means. But not controlling. Im thirty-two. I have my own family. I decide how I eat and live.
Well, is it you deciding, or Emma? You never used to say no to my food! You loved my stews, my pies! Now you turn your nose upshes put these ideas in your head!
No ones brainwashed me. I chose this. I had to. My health was going downhill. The doctor warned meI was headed for tablets, maybe worse! Heart attack, stroketheyre real risks when youre overweight. I fixed it.
She started to cry, wiping her face, sitting hard on a dining chair.
Im scared, she sobbed. Im scared youll get ill. Youre all I have.
David knelt beside her, took her hand.
Mum, Im healthier now. The doctor says the weight loss means Ive dodged a bullet.
What if youve gone too far? What if its unhealthy, too?
It isnt. Thirteen stone at six footabsolutely fine. Honestly, I could lose a bit more, but Im happy as I am.
She sat silently, clutching his hands.
Whats with all the gym, all the greens? People used to just eat and get on with life.
They moved more back then, I interjected quietly. No sitting at desks all day, no endless snacks. These days, you have to keep trackor you lose control.
She looked at me theneyes full of sadness, and suddenly, I knew. She wasnt mean or nasty. She was just lost. Food was her languageher love, her care. And now, she had no idea how else to be a mum.
Youre not being pushed aside, Judith, I said, sitting opposite. But this is about being a mum, not just a cook. David wants time with youtalks, walks, the cinema. Just not the stress, the control, the guilt.
She looked at me for a long time. I could almost see her weighing up the new reality.
I wasnt trying to hurt you, Emma, she whispered. But I thought if I just got him eating right, everything would be okay.
He is eating right. Only differently, I said gently.
David squeezed her shoulder. Mum, if you want to cook for memake something healthy. Emma can give you recipes. Or come overwell cook together. Just please, stop the daily grilling. Its not fair on Emma, or me.
She nodded, dabbing her eyes. Ill try.
We left with something like hope. In the car, David squeezed my hand.
Thanks for not losing your temper, he said. I know its been overwhelming.
It is, I admitted. But I think shes more scared than we realise. Shes afraid of being left out.
She wont beif I can help it.
Just show her, David. She needs to see it from you.
***
For a week, silence. I briefly allowed myself to hope. Then, on the eighth day, 5:30pm, my mobile rang.
Emma, its Judith. Any chance you and David could come this Sunday? Ive found a recipe for baked salmon and veg online. Very healthy. Salads toothey say its good for you.
I almost cried.
Well come, of course.
And Im sorry. For everything. I just panicked when I saw David. Thought I was losing him.
You havent lost him, Judith.
I know, she said softly. I know now.
She hung up, and I sat at the kitchen table in shock. David wandered in, towel in hand.
Whats up?
Your mum. Shes invited us over for salmon.
He smiled, slow and relieved. Shes making an effort.
She is.
But Saturday night, there was another call. Judiths voice was anxious.
Sorry to bother, Emma, but does David eat carrot? Beetroot? The recipe says theyre a bit starchy.
Yes, Judiththeyre fine, just not too much.
How much is too much? A hundred grams? Two?
Hundred grams is perfect.
What about the fish? Salmon or cod? Salmons fatty, are you sure?
Its good fat.
Really? she hesitated. I always thought fat was bad. Well, Ill try. And how do you cook buckwheat? Water or can I add a little butter?
I knew this would carry on. Shed always worry, call with questions, fret over the menu. But at least she was trying to understand, to adjust. That was worth celebrating.
Just a tiny bit of butter, Judith. Not too much.
Ive written that down. Thanks, Emma. Sorry for the hassle.
Its fine.
I just want you both to enjoy yourselves.
We will, promise.
She hung up.
David, listening in, rolled his eyes. So now shes ringing for recipe advice?
Its an improvement.
He grinned. Definitely better than the lectures.
***
On Sunday, we went over. The spread was smallerthe baked salmon, grilled veg, buckwheat, fresh salad with no mayo. Even a tiny piece of pie on the side, just a bite-sized square.
Ive done my best, Judith said. If somethings not right, tell me.
David tasted the salmon, closed his eyes. Mum, this is amazing.
She lit up.
Really? I was sure Id overdone it, left it in the oven too long.
Its perfect, I agreed. Judith, youve really outdone yourself.
She brushed her hair aside, shy and proud. Maybe you could show me those protein shakes one day, Emmaif you dont mind?
Id love to.
And we just chatted. About her garden, the neighbours, a new detective series shed started. She didnt eyeball his plate, didnt heap his food, didnt push seconds, didnt guilt trip us. She was simply present.
When we left, she hugged me tightlike I really belonged.
Thank you for not giving up on me, Emma, she whispered. And for helping me understand.
Itll all be fine, I promised.
In the car, David grabbed my hand.
I think things are changing.
I think so too.
Three days later, the phone rang6pm. Judith.
Emma, did you feed David today?
I paused.
Yes, Judith, I did.
What did he have, exactly?
In that moment, I realisedmaybe this would never wholly change. Shed always call, maybe less often, maybe for other things, but shed call. Because its her way of being present, of feeling needed, wanted, loved.
Judith, I said, quietly but firmly. If you want to know what Davids eating, ask him. Hes a grown man. Hell tell you.
But”
No. Im not reporting to you anymore. Thats not normal, and its not fair. If youre worried, come round. See for yourself. But please, no more daily interrogations.
She was quiet. I could hear her breathing at the other end.
Youre right, she said at last. Sorry. Old habits.
They can change.
They can. Ill try.
She hung up.
David poked his head in.
All alright?
Im not sure, I admitted. But I said what needed to be said.
He hugged me. Im proud of you.
Im tired, I confessed, burying my face in his shirt. So tired of feeling like I have to earn being your wife.
I know. Im sorry I didnt speak up sooner.
Nows the time.”
I will.
A week passedno calls. Then another. I started to think that maybe, this time, the boundary had stuck.
Then, Friday evening, a ring at the door. Judith stood there, holding a bag.
Hello, Emma. Hope Im not intruding?
Come in, Judith.
She came to the kitchen. Produced a container.
I made some vegetable stew. Hardly any oil. Thought you two might like to try ityou can tell me how it turned out.
David hugged her.
Thanks, Mum.
She waved him off, bashful. Im learning your ways, slowly. Dont judge me too harshly.
We ate it for dinner. It was gorgeous. Judith sat and watched, content.
Like it?
Very much, David said.
Good. Means its worth the effort.
She left an hour later. No questions, no fridge checks, no lectures. Just tea, chat, and normal company.
When shed gone, David hugged me from behind.
She really is changing.
She is, I agreed.
But I knewwe werent out of the woods. There would be slip-ups, anxious calls, tiny hints of old habits. The fight for respect, for our familys boundaries, for our lives wasnt over.
But I was learning I could say no. Draw a line. Refuse to justify or apologise. I was Davids wife, not his minder, and he was finally showing up for usboth of us.
The phone buzzed at six oclock next Monday. Judith.
I answered.
Hi, Emma. Sorry, hope Im not disturbing you. Are you free this weekend? I want to learn how to make those healthy cheese sconesthe flourless kind. Will you show me?
I breathed out.
Of course, Judith. Well come.
She hung up.
David raised an eyebrow.
Progress?
A littlebut its progress.
He kissed me on the top of my head. Shes really trying.
She is, I agreed.
And buried somewhere underneath, I hoped that one day, these calls would just be calls. About nothing, or anything, and not food at all. No more checkups, no more guiltjust family, trying their best in a new tradition. Thats all anybody really wants.
For tonight, as Judiths call faded and the healthy dinner got cold, as Decembers dusk closed in, I stood with David in our kitchen knowing that the battle was neither won nor lost. But the lines were clear, and, for now, we were holding themtogether.
