Emily, has Tom already told you? the motherinlaw chimed in. Listen! Well have up to twenty guests, so well start cooking in the evening. Ill arrive early, around six.
Evening? the daughterinlaw asked, eyebrows raised. I never agreed to that.
Hold on, Im not done yet. Ive already sent Tom a shopping list; he promised to buy everything.
Tom had always been his older sister Claires goto. By the time she hit thirty, shed been married twice and divorced twice, each time blaming the wrong bloke. Their mother, Margaret, had repeated to her son since he was a lad:
A sister needs help.
And Tom helped. He lent money when Claire was temporarily out of work, patched up her rented flat, and hauled her belongings after each split.
Then he got married.
Emily, his wife, put up with it at first. But when Claire asked for the car for a few days for the fifth time that year because it had broken down again, Emily said gently but firmly:
Tom, isnt that enough? We need the car this weekend too. I thought we had plans
Whats there to do? Walk?
No, you cant walk to my parents cottage. Theyve sent us two jars of pickles. I thought you heard me when I mentioned it.
I sort of did, but you know Claires situation is urgent.
Again? What exactly?
Im not sure, Tom muttered, but she needs it more.
No, Tom. This time it ends! Either you refuse your sister, or you buy me a car. Im fed up taking the bus when you could give me a lift.
For the first time Tom hesitated, about to call Claire and say no, when Margaret swooped in:
Youd abandon your sister for your wife? Shes alone! Who else will help her?
So Tom fell back into the familiar pattern, despite the spats with Emily. They went a few days without speaking, and Tom finally snapped:
Why are you silent? Upset?
Really? It took you three days to notice? Emily retorted.
I just cant guesswhat exactly?
Emily laughed at his confusion:
Seriously? Dont get it? Your sister hijacked the whole weekend because she needed to get to a friends cottage. I thought youd only drop her off, but you ended up staying two days. Does that bother you?
What could bother me? I had a few drinks, bumped into her ex, chatted normally. I needed to celebrate somehow. Why should I look foolish for going?
You could have at least called.
You could have called too, Tom shot back.
I did! Your phone was off. Imagine my nerves, not knowing where you were. And you just decided to take a break from me, Emily fumed.
Stop the drama, Tom waved a hand as his phone rang.
He stepped onto the balcony and finally answered. He knew his wife wouldnt appreciate another chat with his sister.
Hi, brother! Claires voice crackled. My anniversary is in two weeks! Thirty years! You get the picture?
Tom glanced at Emily, who was pouring soup.
So what do you want? he asked.
You always understand me! Claire laughed. I want to celebrate at your place. Youve got a big living room. My rented flat is cramped, the landlords always on my case, and a restaurant is pricey.
Maybe the café? Ill chip in whatever you need.
Are you out of your mind? Claire hissed. Its an anniversary! You want me to pay for a venue when you have your own flat? And youll still have to add to the bill. Im not a millionaires daughter.
Let me talk to Emily first. Its her flat too. Maybe she had other plans.
Too late! Claire cut him off. Ive told everyone the partys at yours. Clear the flat all day, okay? Mum says shell handle the food.
Tom sighed, covering his face with his hand, trying to think of an escape. The phone buzzed againthis time a text from Margaret:
Claire said shes making the menu. Heres the list. We need the ingredients too. Tell Emily to help, and she can pitch in with the cooking.
Meanwhile, Emily, unaware of Claires impending celebration, settled into her armchair with a remote, ready for her favourite series. When Tom entered, head bowed, she instantly caught on.
What now? she asked calmly, pausing the show.
Emily, listen Claire anniversary thirty years you know, the date. She wants to celebrate.
Emily lifted her head.
Let her celebrate, then. Are we banning her?
Tom scratched his neck.
Its not that. She wants to use our place.
What?! Emily sprang up. Wait, here? In our flat?
Yes, but just for one night. She says the restaurant is expensive and her place is too cramped
And you said yes?
I told her Id talk to you first! But Claires already invited everyone. Mums already working on the menu
Emily closed her eyes, inhaled deeply.
Tom, are you really an adult, or just Claires personal messenger?
What are you starting?
Im starting Emily, with irony, held up his phone. And what, nobody even called me? This is my flat, not a transit hub for your relatives. Claire wants a party in my home, Im supposed to help, and even assist your mum, and no one even asked me!
At that moment Emilys phone rang.
Ah, the cherry on top, she muttered. Your mum, she waved the handset at Tom.
Emily, has Tom told you? the motherinlaw repeated, a bit breathless. Look, up to twenty people. Well start in the evening. Ill be there around six the day before.
Evening? Emily said, skeptical. I never signed up for that.
Hold on, Im not finished. Tom already has the shopping list; he promised to buy everything.
Suppose Emily tossed back. And the money? Where will we get it?
Tom promised to help, Margaret answered shortly.
Right. So you want to turn my flat into a restaurant and we have to foot the bill? Emily could no longer hold back.
Claires not a stranger! Cant you spare a day to cut some veg, make salads, assemble sandwiches Youre the lady of the house!
Margaret, Emily interrupted, I just learned about this party. I never gave permission to host Claires birthday in my flat.
What, my flat? You and Tom are a married couple. Everythings shared! the motherinlaw snapped.
Dont say that. If the flat were Toms, youd speak differently. Then Id just be a kept woman, excuse me.
Nonsense. Thats it, conversation over. By Friday we need to buy everything, Margaret declared and hung up.
What was that? Emily asked Tom, hearing the short beeps.
Stop playing the victim! Tom finally barked. Youve been told youre wrong. Own up and stop digging in.
Emily was stunned. She rose, opened the wardrobe, and silently extracted a large sports bag. She then went to the bedroom, opened the chest of drawers, and began methodically folding Toms Tshirts and jeans.
Meanwhile Tom, feeling triumphant, threw open the fridge, grabbed a beer, slammed the door, and plonked himself in front of the TV as if nothing had happened.
He imagined Emily would cool off and everything would return to normal. She might grumble a bit, then calm down. He even turned on the football, expecting her to pop in and call him to dinner. He was wrong.
Half an hour later Emily stood in the hallway, a shopping bag in one hand and the stuffed sports bag in the other, overflowing with Toms stuff. Tom emerged from the living room, heading for the fridge, only to see her.
Whats this now? he muttered. What kind of drama is this?
Emily stared at him, coldly:
This isnt drama, Tom. Its the end. Im done being a shadow in my own life, a servant in my own flat, a backdrop for your mothers and sisters whims. If you want to be the good son and brother, go back to your mum. Start prepping for the party. Im sure shell happily give you a corner of her living room.
Are you serious? he stepped toward her. Im not going back.
Absolutely serious, Emily nodded. Im tired of waiting. If you havent learned to respect me in three years, the future wont get any better.
Emily you cant just tear everything apart! Not like this!
You cant crumble whats already in ruins.
Tom frowned, still not grasping that Emily had made up her mind.
And thats that, Emily added, all your shirts and jeans are here. No need to thank me. Get out now.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Emily opened the front door. Tom stood there, cheeks flushed, lips compressed, still hoping Emily would relent. Her calm only fed his fury.
Well, good luck! he shouted. Think youll find anyone better? There are plenty out there!
Emily sighed and took a step back:
Finding someone like you now that would be a miracle. Thank God.
Youll regret this! Tom yelled, snatching the bag. Youll be crawling on your knees when you realise nobody wants to talk to you! Without me youre nobody!
If nobody means a person who lives in her own flat, works, doesnt cater to aging relatives, and wont put up with abuse, then Im happy being nobody.
Tom left, and Emily was left alone. She breathed deeply, moved to the window, drew back the curtains, and watched as her ex shoved the bag into a taxis boot with his foot.
Months passed.
The divorce was messy. Tom tried to paint Emily as greedy and materialistic. The biggest fight was over the car theyd bought together. He insisted hed paid for it entirely; Emily argued shed just been a passenger.
Your Honour, I paid every penny, the car is in my name! he declared confidently. My wife contributed nothing!
Emily, cool as ever, spread a folder of documents on the table: bank statements, receipts, a signed deposit agreement shed kept.
Im not claiming his share, but I wont give up mine, she said calmly.
The judge sided with fairness.
Tom didnt like it. Hed already considered the car his. Now hed have to sell it and split the proceeds. He left the courtroom with a scowl.
At home, no support awaited him, only a barrage of accusations.
Are you an idiot? Margaret shouted. You gave her everything! The car! The flat! At least get a decent solicitor!
On top of that, Tom had taken out a loan to fund Claires anniversary dinner at a restaurant, because hed helped her out with the flat. Now he was living in a tiny spare room in Margarets house.
Emily finally slept peacefully for the first time in ages. She decided she was still young enough not to cling to men like Tom. Plenty of decent guys were out there; the trick was just to spot whos who in time.
