Dear Diary,
Mothers voice rang in my head this morning, How do you picture it, love? Two weeks under the same roof with a complete stranger? I flinched. A stranger? I snapped. Hes Igor, the son of my cousin Lidia hes family!
Mama reminded me of the days wed visited their house when we were children, insisting, You played with him then. Hes our kin, dear. I could hear the ticking of the old wall clock as I tried to push back, Im almost thirty, Mum. Im not a child any more. Are you trying to set me up again?
She dismissed my protest, Hes family, so youll be safe. Just welcome the guest. Mother has always held family ties sacred. She had suddenly decided to host her distant cousin Edward, who had just moved to London, the city of opportunity. Take him in as family we cant turn him away now that hes in the capital, she said.
I, a literature teacher at the local secondary school, recalled how Edward loved the phrase as family a relic from the outdated lexicon of a notorious old poet, a man whose reputation was as dubious as the fictional villain Mrs. Crumpet. My mother, ever the goodnatured one, offered to shelter her cousins son, as if the very act would earn us merit.
Our home is a cramped council flat in a prewar terraced row, with a kitchen so tiny a folding table wouldnt even fit. How could I possibly accommodate Edward? My mood soured; Ive been single for years, and a fleeting marriage never counted. My last relationship fizzled after six months, and I never even started a family. The idea of a shortterm marriage had no appeal.
The flat I inherited from my grandmother is a modest twobedroom, full of antiques that still work: the washing machine spins, the fridge keeps cold, the telly still shows pictures. My salary as a teacher is decent, and I have a circle of friends. The only company I truly enjoy at home is my cat, Mittens, named after the mischievous feline in the classic Noddy stories.
I set up a spare room for Edward and waited, halfexpectant, halfskeptical. Mothers reassurance echoed, Youll like him. The moment he arrived, he inspected every nook, treating the flat as if it were his own.
What are you looking for? I asked, halfjoking. Gold? Did you install a golden toilet for my visit? He replied, I just want to know where Ill be staying. I pressed, And if you dont like it, youll just leave? He shrugged, Ill stay, but I urged, But what? He smiled, Nothing, really.
We brewed tea and began to chat. Edward brought a homebaked cake that Lidia had passed down and bought a small, tasty tart. He turned out not to be a freeloading parasite. In fact, he washed his own dishes without being asked, cooked decently, and never left puddles in the bathroom truly a tidy fellow.
My friend Lara, hearing about my new housemate, gasped, He sounds like a perfect husband, you should take him! She reminded me of her own divorce from Lev, which had ended over similar reasons. But were family, and I dont like him, I protested. Youre related? Hes not my type at all, she retorted. Hes charming enough, just not my kind of man.
Our rhythms clashed: Im a night owl, he a early bird. I cherish a slow, measured pace, guided by the old saying, Hurry slowly. Edward, however, is brimming with energy and ideas, always moving forward as if powered by a miniature engine. On his first day he whisked me off to a theatre, tickets already booked online. I reluctantly went, despite my dislike for modern productions.
I prefer classic plays I can watch online; contemporary reinterpretations bore me. The lack of a curtain, the odd costumes, and the actors muddled diction grated on me. The director seemed to think new, progressive was the only way forward, but I found no comfort in it. Edward, thrilled, tried to convince me otherwise on the way home, arguing passionately. His enthusiasm only irritated me further.
He spoke endlessly about progress and London, the city of opportunity, sharing grand plans that sounded larger than life. Meanwhile, Mittens hid under the bed, his usual response when something displeased him seems Edward hadnt won him over either.
The next day Edward bought a new doormat, tossing the old one that had been lying on the landing. I accepted the change without comment; it was a quiet improvement. He also replaced an old saucepan that always stuck to the bottom with a new one, apparently for his own breakfasts. I didnt object.
He offered to cover the utility bills, insisting hed be using water and electricity. I declined, feeling his offer infringed on my space, as if he were trying to claim a share of my home. Why should you pay for my flat? I asked. He laughed, Im just being helpful, not trying to take over.
He kept busy sending out résumés and attending interviews, hopeful that something would materialise. As his twoweek stay drew to a close, a strange rash appeared on his nose, followed by sneezing and a flaky skin rash. It was an odd timing, but he brushed it off.
In the final days he began shouting at me for trivial things Why did you wear boots in the kitchen? or Why did you buy that washing powder? Itll never rinse out! I felt absurdly small, as if I were the intruder in my own home. Mittens ignored him entirely, emerging from under the bed only when Edward wasnt around.
On the eighteenth day, a call came: hed finally secured a job in London. He was thrilled, his voice bright despite the irritation hed caused. Yet he kept his plans vague, refusing to say whether hed be moving out.
I decided to confront him, Do you not tire of staying here, dear? He mentioned a medical checkup the next day, a prerequisite for his new job. The following morning, after returning from work, I found the dining table set for a celebratory dinner.
I thought, Is this really a farewell? Thank heavens! The atmosphere was festive, and Edward poured wine, his eyes bright. Then, to my astonishment, he announced, Id like to propose to you. Not a business proposition, but a marriage proposal, despite our being distant relatives.
What do you think? We could make a fine pair, he declared, Were both respectable, have a home and good jobs. Love isnt necessary; respect is enough for a marriage. I stared, mouth open, as Mittens leapt from under the bed. Edward, startled, exclaimed, A cat? Ive never seen one before!
Yes, Mittens, I said, Hes been here forever. He recoiled, Im allergic to cat hair! The doctor just diagnosed me today. He blamed the litter box, claiming he hadnt noticed it at all. You need to treat the cause, not just the symptoms, he argued, implying he couldnt live with the cat.
The discussion escalated, with Edward threatening to leave if I didnt deal with Mittens. I snapped, If you want me to harm my cat, then youre out! He retorted, Youre primitive, before storming out, slamming a glass of wine on the table.
When he left, the new saucepan vanished, the new doormat remained. My mother called, furious, How could you kick him out? He was already complaining! I replied, He tried to force a marriage on me! If youre so kind, marry him yourself! The line went dead; no one called back.
Perhaps next time a relative will be allergic to me, as some stories tell of husbands developing allergies to their wives dandruff. So, dear mother, if you ever think of hosting more kin, remember: who invites, leads the dance. As for me and Mittens, well manage just fine without any more unwanted guests.
