My motherinlaw decided to redo the kitchen to suit her taste while I was at work.
James, Im begging you, just make sure she doesnt start fiddling with the kitchen, Emily said at the hallway table, nervously twiddling the strap of her bag. You know how much that remodel cost me and how Im obsessing over every surface finish.
I took a sip of my morning coffee and waved her off. Emily, why are you getting worked up? Mums only staying for a week while the plumbers sort out the burst pipe. Shes not our enemy. Shell just make a pot of bbq, so you wont have to stand over the stove at night.
Bbq is fine, but I need you to keep her from improving the space, she pleaded. Remember how, in our old flat, she thought white wallpaper was boring and stuck dolphinthemed border strips in the hallway? I spent a week scrubbing off the glue.
Leave the past in the past, I said. She just wants to make things cosy. Hurry up, youll be late. Im working from home today, everythings under control.
Emily let out a heavy sigh, planted a quick kiss on my cheek, and headed out. Her heart was pounding. The kitchen was her sanctuary, her pride, her powerroom. She and the designer had spent three months choosing the perfect cabinet finish a deep, matte charcoal. A natural stone countertop, minimal detailing, clean lines, hidden hardware. No extraneous jars, no fridge magnets, no gaudy towels. Minimalism had cost her a fortune, and every scratch felt like a personal wound.
Margaret, Emilys motherinlaw, a boisterous, decisive woman with an unshakable sense of style, arrived the previous evening. She swept through the flat with a critical eye, declaring the young couples place as sterile as a hospital spotless, but nothing to look at. Emily kept quiet, chalking it up to travel fatigue.
The workday dragged on. Emily kept wanting to call me, but she stopped herself. Im an adult, shed said, I promised to keep an eye on things. Besides, she had a crucial report to finish; fretting over home drama would be unprofessional.
At lunch, she finally gave in and dialed me.
Hows mum?
Fine, my voice sounded oddly chipper, tinged with tension. Mums uh doing a bit of quiet housekeeping. Shes baked a pie. The smells wafting through the whole block!
A pie? Emilys eyes widened. Did she turn the oven on? Did she mess with the touchpanel? Theres a lock on that.
Shes managed it. Shes clever, I replied, hurriedly. Ive got a Zoom meeting, can we talk later? Love you!
The call ended abruptly. Emily stared at the phone, puzzled. Quiet housekeeping from Margaret could mean anything from washing dishes to rearranging furniture.
The rest of the day felt like she was walking on pins and needles. She imagined greasy stains on the matte cabinets, chips in the stone, melted plastic panels. But the reality that awaited her at home was worse than any nightmare.
She sensed something was off the moment she stepped out of the lift. A strong mix of fried onion, yeasty dough and, inexplicably, bleach hung in the air like a wall. Emily fumbled with her key and opened the front door.
Im home! she shouted, kicking off her shoes.
Silence answered. Only the cheerful clatter of Margarets kitchen and the occasional clang of dishes could be heard. Emily walked down the hallway. The kitchen door stood ajar. She stepped over the threshold and dropped her bag.
Her kitchen her sleek, charcoalhued haven had vanished.
The first thing that hit her was colour. Bright, garish, relentless colour.
The pristine stone countertop was now covered with a cheap orange tablecloth, splashed with oversized sunflowers. The edges hung in uneven waves, concealing the lower drawers.
Oh, Emily, youre here! Margaret called, standing in a flamboyant floral apron that Emily had never seen before, beaming. Were having a little treat! Ive been baking since five this morning. Look at all this!
Emily could barely form a word. Her eyes darted around, taking in the scale of the disaster.
The oncesmooth grey cabinets, the ones you cant even sand with abrasives, were now plastered with vinyl stickers pink, blue and mintgreen butterflies the size of her palm, stuck haphazardly on every door.
Margaret Emily croaked, feeling a twitch in her left eye. Whats happened?
The butterflies? Margaret smiled. Picked them up on the way back from the shop while I was getting milk. Thought theyd brighten things up! Your place was so grey and drab, like a crypt. Now its summer, cheerfulness! And James liked it, didnt he?
James appeared in the doorway, looking guilty and a bit flustered, eyes darting to his socks.
Mum, I told you Emily might not like this he muttered.
Whats there to like? Margaret waved her hands. Ive added comfort! The kitchen was expensive, but it lacked soul. It was empty, cold.
Emily stepped toward the window. Her favourite Romanstyle curtains in a wet asphalt shade were gone, replaced by a frilly white netting with golden swan embroidery.
The curtains Emily whispered. Where are they?
In the wash, Margaret replied, flipping a sizzling pastry in the pan. They were dusty, grey. I kept a spare set in my suitcase, just in case. Look how bright it is now, like a palace!
Emily lifted the edge of the sunflower tablecloth and found a sticky patch underneath.
Why cover the stone? she asked. Its natural stone, you cant hide it.
Oh, the stone was cold, I thought your elbows would freeze! I rolled out some dough, didnt want to get it dirty, so I dabbed the cloth with a rag. It looks nice, practical! Got it at the discount store for a few pence, and it changes the whole look.
A surge of anger rose inside her. She turned to the fridge a twometre steel behemoth shed barred even guests from touching now plastered with magnets shaped like piglets, cats and the names of towns from the old English countryside.
Theyre mine, Margaret declared proudly. I brought them from home. Thought theyd collect dust otherwise. Look, this ones from York, we visited when James was five. Memories!
Emily closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She needed to stay calm, not say too much. This was Jamess mother, after all; she meant well, she thought.
James, Emily said, voice icy. Can I have a word in the bedroom?
James slunk his shoulders and followed her. Margaret shouted after them, Dont whisper, itll get cold! Sit down and eat while its hot!
In the bedroom, Emily shut the door and leaned against it.
You promised to watch, she said.
I was in a call, James started, gesturing wildly. Had a meeting with a client, stepped out for a drink of water, and the butterflies were already up. I told her Mum, Emily will probably be upset, and she said Dont worry, shell love the surprise. I couldnt tear them down, shed be hurt!
hurt?! Emily snapped. She turned my kitchen into a countryfair! Ribbons! Sunflowers! Butterflies! Do you realise those stickers can damage the finish? The adhesive could eat the softtouch coating!
Well clean it, Emily, well wipe it down James began.
What about the rails? Did you see what she did to those?
No, what?
I havent seen it yet, but Im scared to look. Tell her to put everything back, now.
I cant, James said, pleading. Shes my mother. Shes trying to help. Shes been up since five baking. If I say its awful, her blood pressure will spike. You know how nervous she gets. Lets give it a week. Shell leave, and well quietly restore things.
A week? Emilys eyes widened. I cant drink tea for a week surrounded by golden swans and plastic butterflies! My eye is twitching!
Just for me, James begged. Ill buy you a spa voucher, two sessions. Just dont make a scene. Mums already stressed about her own renovation. She needs to feel needed.
Emily looked at James, seeing the desperate hope and fear of conflict in his eyes. Her anger softened, giving way to a dull irritation.
Fine, she said. No scene now. Ill pull off the tablecloth. Ill put the curtains back this evening. Ill say Im allergic to synthetic fabrics.
They returned to the kitchen. Margaret had already set the table. Beneath the orange sunflower cloth lay steaming bowls of bbq, and a mound of fried pastries in the centre.
Sit down, lads! Margaret commanded. Want some sour cream?
Emily sat, appetite absent, though the aroma was tempting. She lifted a spoon, trying not to stare at the smiling caterpillar sticker right in front of her.
Thank you for dinner, Margaret, she began diplomatically. But about the décor you know I have a very specific taste. I prefer it minimal.
Thats not a taste, dear, thats depression, Margaret retorted, biting into a pastry. A young woman should live surrounded by beauty. Flowers, frills thats feminine energy. Your kitchen looked like an operating theatre. A man cant feel comfortable in that. Right, James?
James choked on his soup.
Mum, why I liked it. It was stylish.
Stylish, Margaret parroted. Stylish is when the soul sings. Right now its singing. By the way, I tidied up the bathroom too.
Emilys spoon clattered onto a plate, splashing bbq onto the sunflower print.
The bathroom? she asked, voice flat.
Yes. All your shampoos were in identical bottles, impossible to tell which was which. I labelled them with a marker. I put down fluffy pink mats for the feet, and I replaced the thin glass partition with one that has dolphins on it.
Emily rose slowly.
Thanks, it was delicious, she said, staring at the wall. Im going to lie down. My head hurts.
She left the kitchen, hearing Margaret whisper loudly to James, See? I told you shes exhausted. Nothing makes her happy, not even this beauty. She needs vitamins.
The bathroom, once sleek with white marble, now resembled a nursery. A toxicpink shag rug covered the floor. On the pricey soap dispensers, a permanent marker had scribbled FOR HEAD, FOR BODY, SOAP. The glass partition was draped with a cheap bluedolphin plastic curtain, held by a brace that dug into the expensive tiles.
Emily sank onto the tub edge, covering her face with her hands. She wanted to cry, not from grief but from helplessness. This wasnt just bad taste; it was an invasion, brazen and unapologetic, masked as care.
She sat there about ten minutes before hearing the door open. James peered in.
Emily, you okay?
I want her to leave, Emily whispered. Not in a week. Tomorrow.
Where would she go? Shes got the pipe burst, no water
A hotel. Ill book a decent one with breakfast. Ill pay. I cant live in this circus, James. Shes ruined my things. Did you see the dispensers? Marked with a pen! That wont come off!
Well clean it with alcohol, Emily. Dont get worked up.
Its not the alcohol! she snapped. Its that she doesnt respect me. She treats my home like her playground, like a cat marking territory.
At that moment a horrible crash echoed from the kitchen, glass shattering, followed by Margarets shriek.
Emily and James exchanged a glance and bolted back.
The scene was chaotic. Margaret stood in the centre, hand pressed to her chest. On the floor, a puddle of water and broken shards surrounded a heavy oak shelf that had been mounted above the table. The shelf had collapsed, sending a few potted geraniums crashing down.
I I was just trying to water the flowers, Margaret stammered. I thought the shelf was sturdy I only wanted a little decoration
Emily looked at the wall. The brackets had ripped out, leaving yawning holes in the smooth plaster, exposing the brick behind.
The shelf was decorative, Emily said calmly, voice steady despite the mess. Its meant to hold a couple of photo frames, not three pots of soil.
Who would have known! Margaret wailed. Everything you have is flimsy! In my day furniture was built to last! This is cardboard!
Emily stepped over the shards, ran a finger along the ragged edge of the hole.
That decorative plaster costs as much as your pension for six months, Margaret, she said, tone flat. Repairing it invisibly is impossible. The whole wall will need replastering.
Margaret fell silent, eyes wide.
Emily the whole wall? she asked, voice shaking. Maybe we just put a picture or a rug?
No, Emily replied. No pictures, no rugs. James, collect Moms things.
What? both James and Margaret asked.
Exactly that. Im calling a taxi now. Youll book a room at the Central Hotel, nice rooms, until the pipe work is finished. Ill pay for everything. She wont stay another minute.
Youre kicking your own mother out of the house? Margaret gasped, clutching her chest. Because of a hole in the wall? James, do you hear what your wife is saying?
James looked pale, eyes flicking between the ruined wall and Emilys determined face. Hed seen that expression only a handful of times in five years of marriage, and he knew arguing would achieve nothing. If Emily had made up her mind, even a bulldozer couldnt move her.
Mum, he said quietly, Emilys right. This is too much. Youve wrecked the kitchen.
I was trying to make it cosy! Margaret shrieked. I was trying! You ungrateful lot! My foot wont be here any longer!
Fine then, Emily said, Gather your things. James will help. Im off to peel the butterflies off.
The packing was frantic. Margaret wailing about the snake under the floorboards that her son had warmed, throwing things into a suitcase. She ripped the curtains from the wall, grabbed the sunflower tablecloth (You dont deserve such beauty!) and stuffed all the fridge magnets into a bag.
Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, watching James lug the suitcase out. She felt no shame, only a pang for the wall, her nerves, and for James, caught between the two. She knew swallowing this now would only make things worse later. Tomorrow shed rearrange the sofa, the day after shed get rid of the wrong books, and in a year shed start teaching their future children the only right way.
When the door closed behind Margaret and James, a ringing silence settled over the flat.
Emily exhaled and walked back into the kitchen, surveying the battlefield: debris on the floor, holes in the wall, glue traces where the butterflies had been. The scent of fried pastries still clung to the plaster.
She fetched garbage bags, a step ladder, a solvent, and a putty knife.
First she gently peeled off the remaining stickers. Fortunately the highgrade finish held up; the adhesive came off easily. Then she removed the tacky bathroom curtain and reinstalled her own glass partition, having wiped the marker off the dispensers with alcohol. The pink shag rug went straight into the bin.
Two hours later, when James returned, the flat looked almost as it had beforeonly the fresh holes in the wall hinted at the invasion of coziness.
James slipped into the kitchen quietly, like a mouse. Emily sat at the nowclean table, sipping tea.
I booked her a suite, he said, sitting opposite her. Shes still calling all her friends, saying we chased her out into the cold, even though its a balmy twenty degrees outside.
Let her chatter, Emily shrugged. At least shes not here.
Emily Im sorry, James said, eyes downcast. I should have stopped her straight away. I just got used to it. My mother used to reorganise my room when I came home from schoolpulling down posters, putting a knitted napkin on the desk. I thought that was normal, a sort of caring.
Emily looked at him, warmth finally softening her gaze.
It isnt caring, James. Its control. Im glad you finally see the difference. Well fix the wall; Ive already found a contractor wholl come tomorrow to assess the damage. From now on, visits from your mum will be limited to holidays and only in neutral places. No overnight stays.
Agreed, James nodded. Absolutely.
He stood, opened a cupboard, and tossed the remaining pastry bits into a bin.
Youre kidding,As we locked the door behind us and turned on the kettle, I finally felt the house, at last, belonged to us.
