“This soft bed, yet a restless night.”
“Ah, now I hope you aren’t just stopping by for three days this time? Would you two perhaps try to stay for a bit longer? Emily! Why aren’t you speaking?”
“Happy birthday to you again, Margaret! Stay well, take care. Tom and I will call as soon as we sort it all out.”
Emily quickly hung up the phone.
“Oh dear, how strange,” she muttered, placing the phone down. “The conversation was pleasant, Margaret seemed more cheerful than ever, and the reason for the call—her 60th—is undeniably joyous. Yet from the first word to the last, I kept wanting this call to end.”
Emily had no desire to visit her in-laws for the summer holiday, a long-awaited break that finally coincided with her husband’s. She truly believed there were a million other places they could spend time with the kids. She had tried hinting that maybe, perhaps this year, they could choose something other than Margaret’s countryside cottage, but Tom was unyielding. He had been raised to love and respect elders, to not miss giving their parents joy with visits. It was simply rude not to.
* * *
“Em, I see my parents once a year at most. You want us to stop visiting entirely? The kids would forget their grandparents live in another city.”
“Honey, how could I phrase it more gently… have you ever considered that these visits might matter more to you?”
“What do you mean?” Tom frowned, glancing at his wife in surprise.
“Just that your parents are far away from you, from us. They’re content as they are. They don’t suffer from not seeing the kids or spending time with them. They manage just fine as it is.”
“Em, what are you even suggesting? Where have these thoughts come from?”
“Because your mother only ever asks me one thing in our texts—send photos of the older kids or a video of the baby. That’s her focus. She never asks how they’re doing, if they’re getting good grades, if they’re sick. The grandchildren are only a means to show off nice pictures to friends or neighbors. A pretty, perfect image. Nothing more. What happens behind it? Not her concern. She doesn’t care about our problems or struggles.”
“I disagree. We just live far away. They can’t sit with Jack, take him to nursery, or pick up the older boys from school. If we lived nearby, things would be different.”
“You know, my parents also live in another city, yet that’s never stopped them from coming to us in tough times. Your mother never rushes to our aid. Remember how many times my mum took a leave, bought a train ticket, and came to us on short notice last year? I haven’t seen that same eagerness with your mother.”
“Fine, I don’t deny it—my mother-in-law is amazing. I’ve thanked her a thousand times. She’s our go-to for emergencies.”
“Of course. When we visit her, she spends hours with the kids. Plays hide-and-seek, cycles, swims, chases them with a ball. She adores them, and they love her back. That’s how family should be. Warmth, care, love.”
“Em, what do you want from me? People are different. Your mother’s a sprightly soul, full of energy. She’s forever young. My parents are older, different people. Should I stop visiting them just because of that?”
Emily fell silent for a moment, lips pressed tight as if restraining herself. But this time, she had reached her limit.
“I feel uneasy there, and the kids do too. It’s awkward, uncomfortable. I don’t even know how to say it.”
“How? Why? At my parents’ cottage, we get private rooms, it’s clean, comfortable. What more could you want for a holiday?”
“Tom, there’s an old saying: ‘One smooth sheet, yet a restless night.’ It perfectly sums up how I feel visiting Margaret.”
“Unexpected, indeed. You never said a word before. I always thought it was perfect for you and the kids. A holiday with family, visiting my folks. What’s the problem, Em?”
“Everything. The moment we all descend on their home, their peaceful, orderly world crumbles.”
“Nonsense. You’re imagining things. You’re getting too sensitive lately.”
“Tom, you’re just busy helping with chores when we’re there. Rarely do you spend time with me or the kids. You always try to please my parents. But I see and hear what really goes on. The snide remarks from your mother, the distant glance from your father. Do you think I enjoy this? We’ve been married ten years, yet it feels like Margaret still can’t accept me as your wife. Or maybe she’s never happy we’re all here.”
“What are you saying, Em!” His voice cracked. He wanted to end this unpleasant conversation quickly.
“Let’s make a deal. We’ll visit, but you’ll pay closer attention to what happens at their house. Then, this will all fall into place. You’ll stop thinking I’m being spiteful.”
They agreed.
* * *
The next days, Emily packed for their large family, while Tom somehow looked darker than a storm cloud. Perhaps her words had struck a nerve.
The drive to Tom’s parents took four hours. Emily did her best to create a cheerful holiday mood. Sang songs, teased the twins in the backseat. She knew Tom was upset by her outburst, but she couldn’t stay silent any longer.
She had spent too long being the perfect daughter-in-law. Smiling at his parents, never retorting to their barbs or comments about the kids. Wanting peace in the family. But it was pointless. Margaret, sensing her unchecked authority, had never missed a chance to prick Emily. Everything was wrong with her.
The boys too loud? Emily was a bad parent. Tom too thin? She starved them. Her skirt too short, too young for her age. It seemed Margaret could always find fault in her. Emily had endured the suffocating pressure long enough and decided this time would be different.
“Welcome, darlings!” Margaret greeted from the doorstep, beaming as if genuinely delighted to host. “Come in, we’ve missed you!”
Tom shot Emily a glance, exasperated. “See, what did I tell you? She’s happy enough!”
“Son, bring all your things straight up to the room. No creating mess.”
Tom obediently hauled the bags upstairs.
“Why so many clothes every time? You never learn, Em. Too much baggage. Tom’s forced to carry it around. You should’ve spared him. He works six days to feed us all, barely eats, and look—thinner again.”
“Margaret, I’ll say it aloud for you to hear,” Emily interjected, louder than usual. “Tom eats well, balanced meals. He’s thin by his father’s genes. Look at him. Are you feeding him properly? And it’s not too much. Five of us live together. The boys are always in the dirt, and there’s no proper laundry facility here. We just bring spare clothes. It’s not my fault.”
Margaret’s eyes widened in shock. In any other scenario, Emily would’ve said nothing, yet today she dared to counter, boldly.
Tom, meanwhile, had just descended and heard every word. He stayed quiet, though it clearly annoyed him. They’d just crossed the threshold, and already, Margaret had found fault.
“Let’s have dinner. You must be starving from the journey,” she said, recovering her composure.
Her husband entered from the garden.
“Of course, you’ve arrived. Hello, lads. What did you break this time? Anything smashed? Or haven’t you gotten around to it yet? My wife hid all the vases and pictures yesterday. Fearing for her things,” he laughed.
The boys, playing in the lounge, fell silent.
“My children have never broken anything. Please, stop inventing,” Emily cut in sharply.
Her husband grimaced and shuffled to the table.
“James, sit up straight. Jack, that’s no way to eat. Nikita, take smaller bites,” Margaret scolded the boys throughout dinner.
Finally, Emily snapped.
“Stop bossing them around. They’re children. They can’t sit still or eat like grown-ups. Be kinder, Margaret.”
Margaret’s face flushed with fury but she said nothing in front of her son.
The boys finished and ran off to play. The noise was deafening.
“Emily!” Margaret snapped. “Control your children. How long will this go on? I can’t take this noise. It’s unbearable.”
“They’re kids, they play, they’re loud. What did you expect? Three boys hunched over books in a chair? Only in films. It’ll last a week, until we leave. Try joining them. It’s fun.”
“What nonsense! I’ve forgotten how to play. And you’re acting strange, Emily. You’re out of control.”
“Believe me, I’m being very restrained,” she replied with a cold smile.
Tom watched silently, only realizing then how Margaret had always been discontent—never satisfied with Emily or the kids. While his wife had once smoothed things over, this time, the cracks were visible.
Emily stood to serve herself meat from the platter, reaching for a ladle, when Margaret exploded:
“What are you doing? This ladle is only for soups! I never touch it for meat! What an idiot! Who taught you to cook? How can Tom live with this chaos?”
Margaret was livid, no longer caring her son was listening. “I’ve told you, don’t touch my pots and pans! I’ll run the kitchen my way. Stay out of it!”
“And starve us? You claim to love your grandson, then why not let us help? Why forbid us from cooking?”
“Fine! No more! That’s it,” Tom roared, ending the nightmare. “Mum, one question: why invite us over if you find us so unbearable? Yes, we’re a big family. I believed you loved us. But clearly, that’s not true. We won’t trouble you again.”
Tom stormed to the boys, needing to play with his sons after neither parent had shown interest. Emily was right about everything.
Early the next morning, Margaret awoke to silence. The house was empty.
Tom had taken his family to a proper holiday. Emily sat in the car, hugging her boys and smiling.
Soft Words, Hard Truths
