Good grief, is that Richard off again?
Margaret patted the kitchen counter, where a fresh batch of fruit scones with pink lemon curd nestled in a basket. “Shall we drink tea or try my homemade gin?” she asked, her voice vibrating with the same energy she saved for every visit.
Emily rolled her eyes at the early morning offer but glanced at the scones. “Mum, gin at nine o’clock?” she said, though her eyes twinkled. “Well… a little wouldn’t hurt. It *is* special, after all.”
“Of course it’s special!” Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands like a child watching a birthday party. “It’s been half a year since I’ve seen my only daughter!”
Daniel stood by the bay window, pretending not to notice the tension as Emily and her mother-insisted on their usual charade of drama. He hadn’t minded driving from London to this village in North Yorkshire—Emily deserved time with her mother—but being the reluctant husband in this role? That never got easier. Margaret greeted them like prodigal sons returning from war: hugs, sobs, and a endless stream of “You look thinner!” to Emily and “Are you still not bald?” to him.
“Mum, I brought you some gifts,” Emily said, rummaging through her suitcase.
“Nonsense, just look at you! Daniel, is she eating? She’s like a cellophane bag filled with air!” Margaret grabbed Emily’s chin, clearly examining her daughter’s weight.
Daniel managed a strained grin. “Three meals a day, as per the doctor’s orders.”
“Right, you.” Margaret swatted the air before pivoting to the shelves. “Good, now let’s uncork this gin!”
As Margaret bustled into the next room, Emily leaned toward Daniel. “Arian, please just… hold off for a week, okay? I know it’s longer than we planned, but—”
“No, no, *week*?” Daniel’s voice cracked. “We said *the whole weekend*! Saturday and Sunday, and done!”
“Mum has missed me so much, she’s booked every minute,” Emily whispered, tears threatening to spill. “You can work remotely, you said so yourself.”
Daniel sighed. He knew arguing would be pointless. Emily, normally compliant, became her mother’s echo in these visits—stronger, louder, and less forgiving.
“Emily, we’re going fishing,” came a booming voice from the hallway. Richard, her stepfather, appeared, already holding a tackle box. “Daniel, grab your rod. I’ve got a spot in the river where the trout bite.”
Daniel perked up—escape from Margaret and a chance to bond with Richard, the only sane person in the household.
“Lovely, thank you,” he said, rubbing his palms in anticipation.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of here so easily,” Margaret returned to the room, balancing a tray of gin and crystal glasses. “If you both walk out now, she’ll think I’m neglecting her.”
“Mother, fresh air is the best rest,” Richard said flatly. “We’ll return by lunch. Daniel’s a good lad, you’ll see.”
Daniel was about to leave but paused at Margaret’s look—a mix of suspicion and disappointment. He knew better than to hope for sympathy.
The dining table was round, clothed in a table runner that had seen better days but still clung to its white crispness. Daniel tried to smile, but each passing minute stretched his patience.
“Emily, do remember when you ruined that poem for the school play?” Margaret began, her voice already tinged with nostalgia.
“Of course, Mum. I even won second place.”
“No, dearest, *third*. Maria, that brat, had the headmaster’s ear. And you were too scared to speak up.”Daniel sipped his gin, trying to count to ten in his head, a trick his university psychology friend once taught him.
Margaret was already onto the next memory. “And that skirt I sewed for you in the ‘80s, the lavender one with the pleats?”
“I remember, Mum. And the white sweater with the embroidery.”
“No, *cream* sweater!” Margaret insisted, her voice rising.
“Enough,” Richard muttered under his breath, leaning into the newspaper he’d flipped upside down, as if that would make the world right.
And then, inevitably: “When are you and Daniel having children?” Margaret asked, her voice casual as if discussing the weather. Daniel nearly choked.
“Mum, we’ve talked about this,” Emily said, her face flushing. “We want to stabilize first. The rent in London’s—”
“Do you think we didn’t plan for things in our day?” Margaret cut her off, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We jumped into marriage and then the children. And now look at me—no grandchildren yet!”
“Patience is always worth it,” Daniel said, surprised to hear himself speak.
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “You men can wait for a hundred years. Women have clocks in their bodies, ticking like explosives.”
“Emily is twenty-six,” Daniel said calmly. “We have time.”
“Time? I was your age when you were born!” Margaret shrieked, hands raised in exasperation.
“Go on, Daniel,” Richard barked suddenly, snapping the newspaper shut. “Everyone’s got their own battles to fight.”
Daniel left, catching Emily’s silent plea but knowing better than to stay. Outside, the air was crisp and clean compared to the overheated confusion inside.
“Does she do this to everyone?” Daniel asked, following Richard to the river.
“To everyone,” Richard grumbled. “I escape into the shed, the forests, anywhere. Thirty years of this.”
“Thirty years?” Daniel stopped. “And you… still…?”
“A woman like her? You don’t fight her. You float. She bakes marvelous scones and keeps the floors clean. The rest? It’s a tide. You ride it.”
By lunch, they returned with a modest catch of trout. Margaret was unimpressed.
“And this is all?” she asked, peering at the fish. “I thought you’d come back with enough to feed the village.”
“Enough for a dinner,” Richard said evenly.
Daniel caught a glimpse of Emily at the window. Her shoulders were hunched in. *This is how it’s always going to be?* he wondered.
That night, alone in the narrow guest bed, Emily whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Daniel said, pulling her close. “We’ll take the boat as soon as she’s distracted.”
The next morning, they nearly made it.
“They think they can leave me here alone?” Margaret bellowed at the door.
“I’ll stay with her,” Emily mumbled.
“Nonsense,” Richard said, yanking Daniel out.
They fished into the evening, and Daniel discovered Richard was clever in the way he spoke—short, sharp, and never with the pointy end first.
“I could move to London with you,” Richard said as they packed up. “I’d miss this place, but—”
“No need,” Daniel said. “She’s just… not ready.”
Back at the cottage, the atmosphere was brittle. Emily sat on the couch, sobbing. Margaret was in the kitchen, muttering to herself.
“Are you alright?” Daniel asked.
“She’s… the same as always.” Emily wiped her face.
“About the child, again?”
She nodded.
By the time dinner came, the tension was a thick fog. Margaret criticized Emily’s work schedule, Richard’s lack of ambition, and even the new neighbor’s cat. Daniel had counted to a hundred before Margaret dropped the bomb.
“You know, Maria’s daughter already has two kids. She never complains about her flat being tiny.”
“Stop it,” Emily said, her voice cracking.
“Stop what? Helping you? You’re always making excuses—work, the flat, everything! It’s because you’re selfish!”
Daniel stood, fists clenched. “We’ve been trying for two years. We’ve seen doctors, had treatments… We’re not ready yet.”
Silence. Margaret sat still, her face pale as the scones on the counter.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emily cried, her fingers digging into the table.
“I was *afraid*,” Emily whispered. “Afraid you’d push harder. But all you do is… nothing.”
“You’re wrong,” Richard said, his voice steady for the first time. “I’m sorry, Margaret. I’ve pushed you too hard. They’re adults. They’ll sort it out.”
Margaret didn’t argue. That night, when Daniel woke, Emily was gone. He found her in the kitchen with her mother, talking softly.
“I’m sorry, love,” Margaret said. “I truly didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, Mum,” Emily said, holding her hand. “Just… don’t ask. When there’s news, I’ll tell you.”
Margaret nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes.
The rest of the visit passed in quiet. Margaret still packed their meals and fussed over them, but her voice softened. The sharp edges were gone.
At the station, Margaret hugged Daniel for the first time in their marriage and whispered, “Take care of her.”
Emily smiled for the first time in weeks. “I think she finally understands.”
Daniel squeezed her hand. “I nearly hated her, you know. But maybe she just didn’t know how to love properly.”
The train to London hummed beneath them. Emily looked out the window, her breaths steady. The tension had loosened, like a string finally untied.
And when Emily called her mother six months later and said, “Mum… I think it’s time,” Margaret’s tears were different this time—joyful, not accusatory.
The world felt lighter, and for the first time, Daniel believed in miracles.
