Emily, why are you being such a stranger? Its just tomatoes. They dont bite, Jack said, leaning against the open door of her sparkling new crossover, the spring sun catching the freshpainted body as he gave her an apologetic smile.
Emily inhaled deeply, her hand gliding over the immaculate, stillsmellingfromthefactory steering wheel. She had saved for three years, turned down a pricey holiday, worn an old coat, all to buy this car herselfno loan, no help from her husband. The interior was a light cream, almost milky. She knew it was impractical, but she craved the luxury and the spotless feel. Four days after the purchase, Jack dropped a request on her: he needed her to haul his mothers seedling boxes to the cottage.
Jack, she tried to keep her voice steady, though her stomach churned, look at the cabin. Its creamcoloured. Mums seedlings are mud, water and those leaky yoghurt cartons. I wont put them in there.
Well be careful! Jack pleaded. Mum packed everything. Well line the boot with newspapers and stack the boxes. Why hire a van for ten crates? Shell be upset. You know how Mrs. Mabel treats those tomatoes like her own children. Shes been fussing over them since February.
Emily stepped out, gently closing the door. The sun reflected off the spotless hood.
Ten crates? she repeated. Last weekend you said just a couple of boxes. Where did ten come from?
Well there are peppers, aubergines, some petunias, I think. Emily, please. My cars alternator died, you know its in the garage. The seasons on, Mums panicking, saying the seedlings will outgrow their pots. If we dont take them today, therell be a monthlong row.
A row if I soil my new car, Emily snapped. Call a taxi. QuickVan or any van service. Ill pay.
You dont get it, Jack lowered his voice, glancing at the upstairs windows where his mother lived. She wont trust a cab driver. Shell say hell jostle the crates and break them. She wants us to do it. With love, you know?
Emily looked at her husband. He was thirtyeight, but he seemed like a schoolboy terrified of his mothers wrath more than a nuclear war.
Fine, she gave in, feeling the mistake already. On one condition: everything goes in the boot only. No pots in the cabin. Ill inspect each box to make sure the bottoms dry. Understand?
Got it! Youre the best! Jack planted a quick kiss on her cheek and sprinted to the hallway. Ill be right back, well unload fast!
Emily waited by the car, her heart uneasy. Shed known Mabel for seven years. The woman was a force of nature wrapped in good intentionsshe could overfeed you with buttery scones, knit a prickly sweater and sulk if you didnt wear it, and her cottage was her holy sanctuary.
Ten minutes later the hallway door swung open. Jack emerged, clutching a swollen cardboard box that had once held bananas. Long, wilting tomato stalks dangled from it, tied with ragged strips. Behind him shuffled Mabel, balancing two plastic buckets bristling with greens.
Careful, Jack, dont tip it! Mabel commanded. These are Bullheart tomatoes, prime variety! Emily, love, open the boot, your husbands hands are full!
Emily pressed the key fob. The boot lid rose with a soft sigh.
Mabel, whats this? Emily asked, pointing at the box. The bottoms wet.
Oh, stop making a fuss, Mabel waved the buckets onto the pavement. I gave them a light watering this morning so they wouldnt dry out in the heat.
Jack hoisted the box into the boot. Emily watched a dark stain of moisture spread across the brandnew plush mat she had bought precisely to protect the interior.
Stop! she shouted. Jack, take it out!
Whats happening? Mabel froze, a pot in her hand.
Its leaking! I asked for a dry bottom. Look, the soils soaked!
Just a drop, Mabel huffed. Its soil, not oil. Itll dry, youll shake it off. A car is for hauling, not for dustpicking. We used a Lada when we were kids to move manure, potatoes, everything.
This isnt a Lada, Emily said, keeping her composure. And I wont be hauling manure in it. Jack, get it out. We need a sheet of heavyduty tarpaulin. Do we have one?
What tarpaulin? Jack asked, puzzled. I thought wed use newspapers
Newspapers will soak in a minute! We need a solid sheet or cling film!
I dont have any, Mabel snapped, pursing her lips. Ill grab the old shower curtain. Emily, dont be fussy. Well line it tightly. Nothing will spill again, just a little from the edge.
At that moment Mabels neighbour, Aunt Betty, stepped out with a tiny terrier on a leash.
Oh, Mabel! Off to the farm? she chirped. And thats your daughterinlaw? Bought a car? Fancy
Yes, Betty, were off. The cars new but useless. Were bargaining like at a market. She wont even put a tomato in the boot.
Emily felt a flush of embarrassment. It was classic Mabel: involve the neighbours and shame the daughterinlaw.
Jack, go to the store around the corner and buy a roll of heavyduty film, Emily warned through clenched teeth.
Why spend money? Mabel protested. Ive got an old bathroom curtain, Ill fetch it.
While Mabel rummaged for the curtain, Jack shifted nervously from foot to foot.
Emily, please. Just a few minutes, well line it and go. Its only a fortyminute drive.
Jack, do you see how many boxes there are? Emily gestured toward the hallway, where a mountain of crates, jars and bundles waited. They wont all fit in the boot, even if we crush them with our feet.
Maybe we can put some in the rear seat, Jack suggested.
No. I said no. The cabin has cream carpet.
Mabel returned with the yellow, slightly tacky shower curtain.
Here! Sturdy enough! Jack, spread it.
They spread the curtain, then began loading. The boxes were assorted, damp, and uneven. Emily watched like a hawk, noting every movement. Only five boxes managed to squeeze into the boot; the rest stayed on the floor, along with buckets, spades wrapped in rags, and a massive sack of Mabels belongings.
Now the rest go in the cabin, Mabel declared, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Impossible, Emily replied, shutting the rear door firmly. The cabin is offlimits.
How is it offlimits? Mabel snapped, hands on her hips. Where else do I put it? On my head? Ive grown these peppers for three months! Do you know how much the seeds cost?
I suggested a van. It would fit everything.
Van! They charge a fortune! And a stranger wont treat the seedlings gently. Hell just dump them. Theyre fragile, Mabel shrieked. Emily, open the car. Ill sit on the boxes and hold them for the whole trip.
Jack, shes ignoring me, Mabel turned on her son. Youre a lapdog! You dont respect your own mother? I raised you, stayed up nights, and now youre scared of a bit of dirt in the car? To hell with it!
She grabbed a cardboard box that had once held juice, tore it open, and the soggy, black earth inside slumped onto Jacks white trainers and dripped onto Emilys lightgrey trousers.
Silence fell, broken only by the soft thud of soil.
Emily stared at the stain, then at Mabel.
Geez Mabel muttered. Weve ruined the car because of a bit of mud. If wed opened the boot earlier, none of this would have happened.
Emily said nothing, slipped into the drivers seat, and started the engine.
Emily? Jack called, halfstuck in the muck. Where are you going?
To the wash, she replied through the open window. Call a van or a helicopter. I wont transport seedlings in this car.
Youre abandoning us? Mabel gasped. How can you be so heartless?
Jack, wait! he lunged for the door. We can clean it
Hands off, Jack, Emilys voice was icy. I warned you. I offered to pay for delivery. You refused. Deal with it yourself.
She shifted into gear and rolled away, leaving Jack and Mabel amid the scattered boxes, buckets and dirt. In the rearview mirror she saw Mabel waving wildly, shouting, while Jack slumped his shoulders in defeat.
Emily drove, hands trembling on the wheel. She felt ashamed and angry. From childhood shed been taught to be the good girl, to respect elders, to help the family. A gentle world is better than a harsh quarrel, her mother used to say. Yet now, looking at the mudstained threshold of her hardwon dream, she felt a cleansing fury. Her no had meant nothing; her effort was dismissed for a caprice. A van would have solved the problemno lifeordeath stakes, just seedlings.
At the car wash a young attendant whistled sympathetically as he sprayed the grime away.
Gardeners? he asked, understanding.
Almost, Emily sighed.
While the car was being cleaned, her phone buzzed nonstopcalls from Jack, from Mabel. She put it on silent.
Back home she brewed tea, perched by the window. Jack was absent for four hours. She imagined them still in the garden, sorting the mess, calling a van, Mabel berating Jack over his choice of spouse.
Jack returned late, dirty, exhausted, smelling of earth. He slipped into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and downed it in one gulp.
Well, are you happy now? he asked without looking at her. Mum was upset. Her blood pressure spiked, she had to take medication.
Did you call a van? Emily asked calmly.
We did. QuickVan showed up in twenty minutes. They loaded everything and delivered it properly.
So you see, nothing died. The car is clean.
Emily, its not about the car! Jack slammed his glass on the table. Its about the relationship! You made mum think her garden is less important than your car. She said she wont step foot in our house again.
Thats her choice, Jack. I offered a solution from the start and was ready to pay. She wanted to test me, force me to carry mud in a creamcar. Why? To prove whos in charge?
Shes old, with her quirks! She could have been more reasonable.
And I wont bend where it harms me, Emily stood. I respect your mum, but I also demand respect for myself and my things. If she asked me to take her to the doctor, Id go without hesitation. But hauling soil and seedlings when a delivery service exists is nonsense, and I wont do it.
Jack stared at the window, then sighed heavily.
Half the seedlings died, he said suddenly. One box fell over in the boot while we were unloading. I wiped it, but itll need drycleaning.
I told you so, Emily whispered.
Tell me, Jack replied, should I call her tomorrow, apologise just to smooth things over? Her birthdays coming up. Should we go?
I wont apologise for standing my ground, Emily said. I did nothing wrong. I protected my boundaries. If she wants to talk, Im open. But I wont be the one loading manure and potatoes into my car when theres a van waiting. Period.
The next two weeks passed in a cold silence. Mabel never called. Jack would receive complaints from her about the snake hes keeping warm. Emily held firm. Each time she slipped into the spotless cabin, she felt confident that she had done the right thing.
On a Saturday Jack said, Im heading to the cottage. You coming?
Emily thought. Hiding forever was foolish.
Ill go, but only in my own car. If anyone asks me to haul rubbish or manure, Ill turn around and leave.
Deal, Jack grinned. No manure.
At the cottage the silence was palpable. Mabel was busy in the raised beds. When she saw Emily, she straightened, brushed off her hands, and greeted gruffly.
Hello, she muttered.
Good morning, Mabel, Emily replied, eyeing the gleaming car parked at the gate.
Your neighbour, Vera, says your cars a joke, a laugh for the chickens, Mabel said, glancing at the vehicle. Not for us.
I like it, Emily smiled.
Mhm Mabel paused, then gestured. Come in, have some tea. Ive baked a strawberry tart.
Over tea the conversation was stiff but civil. Jack tried jokes, Mabel served the best slices to her son.
When they were about to leave, Mabel walked around Emilys car, inspected the lightcoloured seats.
Clean, she noted.
I try, Emily answered.
And the van I hired a bit rude, but it got the boxes straight to the greenhouse. Cost me about five pounds extra.
See? Its handy.
Handy, Mabel conceded reluctantly. Jacks back hurts, cant lift heavy stuff. A big van would be better for him.
She looked at Emily with a long, assessing gaze.
Youre stubborn, Emily. I never let anyone step on me. My husbands gone, Im left to my own devices. Ive always defended whats mine.
Emily raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected softness.
Alright, youre welcome to take these, Mabel said, handing Jack a bag of washed dill, radishes and parsley, triplewrapped. Nothing will leak.
Thanks, Emily took the bag; it was dry and neat.
And could you give me the number of that van company? Well need it for the autumn courgettes and the apples that are now rotting. Not in your car, of course.
Emily smiled. It was a small victoryquiet, without fanfare, but real.
Will do, Mabel. Ive earned a few loyalty points with the service.
On the drive home the sun set, bathing the cabin in warm gold. The car glided smoothly.
Looks like it worked out, Jack exhaled. I thought youd get angry and ruin everything. Turns out the van was the answer.
People learn the power of boundaries, Jack, Emily said. When you say no clearly, they start to respect you. When you try to please everyone, they end up walking all over you.
Jack pondered this.
Maybe I could never have done what you didleaving mum with the boxes.
You couldnt. Thats why your shoes are muddy and mine are clean. Everyone has their limits.
Emily turned up the music. She felt content. She hadnt become a bad daughterinlaw. Shed become a daughterinlaw whose limits were recognised. And that, she realised, was far better than being the everaccommodating one who ends up cleaning someone elses dirt from her own dreams.
Respect your own boundaries; otherwise youll spend a lifetime washing away other peoples messes from your own pristine ride.
