Ill never forget the day I told Emily shed have to stand on her own two feet. Listen, Em, youre not here to leech off mum and dad, I shouted, loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear. Youre an adult now get a job and stop hanging round the old folk.
Her eyes widened at the phrase hanging round the old folk. It was more than shed expected.
—
Wheres the milk? Emily rummaged through the fridge, pulling toward a white carton with bold red lettering. Found it! Lets make some pancakes
Before she could snatch it, the freezer door slammed shut, nearly pinching her fingers. She jerked her hand back just in time, milk still out of reach, and stared at me as if Id shoved her.
Mum, whats that about? she asked, puzzled. I just wanted milk for the pancakes then we could all have a bite.
Sheila, who was wiping the floor nearby, shook her head. Were not after pancakes.
Fine, Im hungry anyway its almost dinner, Emily muttered.
Mum nudged her away from the fridge, pretending to sweep the freshly mopped tiles. You can eat at home, Emily, she huffed, brandishing the rag, but you came over to chat, not to raid the kitchen.
Chat?
Mum snapped, Youre not here to be fed, you hear? Stop acting like a child.
While she scrubbed under the fridge, Emily gathered the flour shed already taken and tried not to look bothered.
No matter how you spin it, it felt as shabby as a household in a rundown estate.
At twentytwo, fresh out of university with a modest trainee salary, Id moved into a shared flat because I couldnt afford anything better. Emily was trying to land a betterpaid job, hoping to move into a decent flat of her own, yet mums cold shoulder lingered.
When she finally stepped into the family home, expecting the usual warm welcome, we pointed her toward the fridge not the front door, but the one she wasnt supposed to open.
Mum, Im not she started, but we cut her off.
Emily, food doesnt grow on air. You have a job, you know what that means.
Just a little?
A little milk, a little ham, a little cheese thats how you build a pantry.
I was trying to make dinner for everyone.
Were not starving.
The conversation died as I walked in with my two kids in tow. The little ones, oblivious to adult dramas, began exploring the toy shelf.
Emily, stop leeching off mum, I said, making sure everyone heard, Youre an adult now get a pay packet and stop hanging on the old folk.
Again, that phrase struck her.
She glanced at her brother, at his kids who had already torn open a packet of biscuits on the kitchen table, each snatching a sweet from the endless candy jar. And I, whod been cooking for everyone, was denied a simple carton of milk for pancakes?
Why cant I have it? she asked. James takes, his kids take
Sheila snorted, waving a hand. Theyre kids, Emily. Do you want them paying for their snacks? Taking money from the grandchildren?
Mum smiled thinly.
I laughed. Come on, Em, youll think up a good excuse. The kids are a different story; you need to learn independence.
I didnt mind that Id just grabbed a pack of biscuits from the kids and was happily munching away.
And you? I pressed.
Me? Im more independent than you lot look, Im lifting both kids at once. What about you? No kid, no cat. Where will they come from if you cant feed yourself?
Maybe I should just stay here forever! she shot back.
Dont start that, you grownup.
Grownup. The word felt like a slap. If I was grownup, did that make her nobody?
Time to start feeding your own parents, or at least have your own children before you start ferrying milk around, I jabbed.
Sure, unlike you, she retorted, mockingly.
Bravo! Youre finally seeing sense what a revelation.
Ill take a cue from you.
I crumpled the biscuit packet so fast it might have broken the sound barrier.
Emily realised she was no longer welcome in that house the way she once was. Shed become a guest who needed to keep a low profile and not outshine the hosts.
Alright, she said, I think Ill be on my way.
Dont take it personally, Em, I called after her, Your parents may be harsh, but theyre trying to teach you selfreliance. Its late, but better late than never.
She left without a farewell, just a quiet slip through the doorway. I muttered about adulthood, responsibility, and not pilfering other peoples fridges, while she tuned it all out.
For weeks Emily didnt show up at mum and dads. She had a good reason. She quit the deadend job that offered no raise, and landed a promising new role with a solid team and a salary that finally let her rent a flat of her own.
She waited anxiously for her first paycheck. Visiting her parents wasnt on the agenda, especially now that the trip cost her a fare and she was short on cash.
One evening after work, a new colleague, Victoria, stopped by. She was a bit older and had been Emilys mentor.
Emily, dont just sit there, get used to the job. Youve got a lot of responsibilities, Victoria said. Youre probably exhausted. Fancy a coffee? I know a nice little place just around the corner.
Ive still got a few things to finish
Finish them later. Come on, a breather will do you good.
A weary but content Emily agreed.
At the café, Victoria insisted on treating her.
Thanks, Vic, but Ill foot the bill, Emily protested.
Dont be daft! Im happy to pay. Youve just started, you might not have the cash yet. No harm in me buying you a coffee.
Those simple, unpretentious words struck a chord with Emily. It felt good to be cared for as a peer, not a burden.
Thanks, she said.
Work settled, money piled up, and finally Emily could afford her own flat. Shed never been so lucky. After dealing with the university dorm, a cramped shared room, and now a proper apartment, she felt a surge of independence.
She took care of all the logistics, then decided it was time to visit her parents. She wasnt going emptyhanded, especially after the chilly reception shed endured before. She packed a hefty grocery bag fruit, veg, sweets, cheese, ham everything they usually bought and ate, to avoid waste and, perhaps, a little payback.
Hello, Mum! she chirped as she stepped inside, Wheres Dad?
Hes out taking out the rubbish and got stuck, Mum replied, Good youre here. We thought youd forgotten about us.
Emily set the bag down on the table.
Whats this? Mum asked.
Its for you, a little contribution to lunch, Emily said, pulling out the cheese, Fancy a bite?
Sure, Mum answered.
Dad returned shortly, rubbish bag in hand, as usual. He chatted with a neighbour for half an hour, then seemed to forget why hed come back.
After a few sandwiches, Emily felt thirsty.
I think Ill have some tea, she said, heading toward the kitchen.
Tea? Dad frowned slightly, Did you bring any?
No
Well then, have a bite. You didnt bring tea.
That was the last straw.
Dad, Ive brought a ton of other stuff! Emily protested, gesturing to the bags.
Eat that then, and keep the tea to yourself, he replied.
The same routine repeated, only now over the tea.
Emily lost the desire to drink tea or eat the food shed brought. It felt as if the house was subtly teaching her to be selfsufficient, to stop expecting help. But the truth was different James still roamed their home, emptying the fridge whenever he liked, and no one ever told him he was living off mum and dad. He could take whatever he wanted, and nobody batted an eyelid.
Whats the point? Emily said, feeling there was nothing left for her there, Ill just have tea at home. Weve been here too long. Im off, she added, standing up. She didnt wait for objections.
Visits to her parents grew rarer. The memory of being denied tea lingered. They never dropped by her flat, but her brother did. One Saturday he called, being nearby.
Hey Emily answered.
Hey, Em! Youve got a flat near Greenford, right?
Yes, she confirmed.
Great! Im taking the kids to the pool at Greenford and theyre knackered. Can we pop over? Its handy for us.
She wasnt thrilled about her brother and his children showing up, but she couldnt exactly turn them away midjourney.
Alright, come on over, she said.
Fifteen minutes later James arrived, huffing with his two breathless kids in tow.
This place needs a proper makeover, he remarked, wandering into the kitchen, Its not exactly a fivestar flat, and the stoves ancient, but well manage.
Without waiting for an invitation, he yanked open the fridge.
Whats for lunch? he muttered, rummaging through.
No one had invited him to a meal. The habit of reaching in without asking was still there, even in her own home.
If shed never spoken up at her parents house, here she could finally set the tone. She slammed the fridge door.
Dont you touch that, James, she snapped, If you dont want to fetch it yourself, serve yourself. Whos going to feed us?
Enough with the leeching, James, she added, shutting the door again, Youre an adult learn to feed yourself.
James seemed bewildered, as if hed never been called out before.
Whats your point? he asked.
Stop rummaging through other peoples fridges. I bought all that, you bring yours.
Fine, Ill manage. What about the kids?
Ill give them a snack, she said, handing each a bottle of drinking yogurt, But thats it. Now, off you go. Ive got enough on my plate without you.
She ushered James and the children out, closing the door behind them.
Later that day she prepared for a call from Mum. James, ever the messenger, rushed to deliver it. The text arrived, sharply worded:
I never expected this from you, Emily. Youve become so spiteful, so stingy. We raised you differently. Until you learn to behave, you wont be welcome in our home.
