The Family Recipe
Youre seriously considering marrying someone you met on the internet? Margaret Simmons eyed her future daughter-in-law with the same suspicion one might reserve for a counterfeit banknote. Her heavy, scrutinising gaze swept over Emilys simple hairstyle and modest dress. You barely know each other!
Emily felt goosebumps prickle her skin. They sat in the tiny but spotless kitchen of the terraced house where James had grown up. The air smelled of vanilla and old wooden floors.
Mum, come on, James cut in, wrapping an arm around Emilys shoulders. We didnt meet onlineit was a book club. We just chatted first. For six months! And Emilys wonderful!
Their story had begun when Emily, who ran a small blog about forgotten classic novels, posted her thoughts on *Wuthering Heights*. James, a software engineer with a quiet love for literature, stumbled upon it. Their debate spilled into private messages, then late-night calls. They discovered they laughed at the same jokes, cherished the same thingsquiet evenings, honesty, the musty scent of old books. Their first meeting by the Brontë Parsonage wasnt a date, just a continuation of their conversation. With her, he felt at ease. She saw in him a shy man with a thoughtful soul.
Wonderful, Margaret huffed, clinking her spoon loudly against her china teacup. But shes from another city, no job here, andwho even knows what shes after? I raised my boy, and now some stranger waltzes in
Emily clenched her teeth but stayed silent.
Shed already realised: to Margaret, she wasnt a person, but a threatan outsider trying to steal her son. Margarets life ran on strict rules and relentless discipline. After her husbands death five years ago, shed only tightened her grip on James.
Every attempt to bridge the gap failed.
When Emily baked a cinnamon-apple pie (just like Gran used to make), Margaret took a tiny bite and muttered, Too sweet. We dont do it like that here.
When Emily offered to help clean, she got a curt, No need. I know where everything goes. Id spend months searching otherwise.
Alone with James in his childhood roomcluttered with model planes and physics textbookshe sighed. Dont take it to heart. Mums just prickly. Like a hedgehog.
Im trying, Emily whispered, staring at the identical rooftops outside. Living in a cold war is exhausting. And we cant afford to move out yet.
But Emily wasnt one to give up. She believed even the sternest fortress had a hidden door.
One Saturday, while dusting shelves, Margaret pulled out an old photo album. Emily asked to look, and noticed her pause on a faded pictureher younger self, smiling, beside a dark-haired man.
Whos that? Emily ventured.
Margaret startled, as if caught doing something forbidden. My brother, Anthony, she murmured, her voice softer than usual. We fell out. Over twenty years ago.
What happened?
Stupidity. Inherited land. Both too stubborn. Said awful things. Then nothing. We live in the same town but might as well be worlds apart.
Emily stayed quiet, but an idea formed. James had mentioned his mother grew even more withdrawn after that fight.
A week later, chatting with the nosy neighbour Mrs. Thompson, Emily casually asked about Jamess family.
Oh, Margaret and Anthony! Mrs. Thompson gasped. Thick as thieves, they were! Anthony lives in the new estate now. Had heart surgery last yearall alone, poor man. His kids are up in London.
That evening, as James read and Margaret knitted, Emily said gently, Margaret did you know your brother had heart surgery last year?
The needles froze. What? How do you know?
Mrs. Thompson mentioned it. Said he was all on his own, no one to help
Margaret didnt reply. She retreated to her room. Emily heard her pacing. The air hung heavy with silence.
Next morning, Margaretnever an early riserwas already dressed. Visiting a friend, she muttered, buttoning her best coat.
She returned at dusk, eyes red but softer. Spotting Emily in the kitchen, she paused. Thank you, she choked out, then hurried away.
Later, James learned shed taken the bus to Anthonys. Stood outside his door for half an hour before knocking. When he answered, they just staredtwo greying, stubborn foolsthen hugged, crying over childhood memories, laughing at how petty their feud seemed now.
You were right, Margaret admitted days later over tea. Sometimes you just have to take the step. Twenty years wasted over a patch of land Ridiculous.
After that, she thawed. No longer treating Emily as an intruder, but as family. Once, while sorting groceries, she asked quietly, Em that pie of yours. The one with cinnamon. Would you show me? James said it was nice.
Hands trembling, Emily fetched the flour. They stood side by side in the cramped kitchen, peeling apples, rolling dough. For once, Margaret didnt offer a single helpful tip.
You know, Margaret said, wiping her hands on her apron, Anthony hes glad we made up. Asked who put the idea in my head.
Emily just smiled.
Well, James grinned, walking in later. Did you two cook up something together?
Emily leaned into his shoulder and nodded. Sometimes, to mend a rift, all you need is to remind people of the love that was there long before you came along. You just have to find the right thread.
