I’m Tired of Living with Your Relatives,” I Said as I Packed My Suitcase

Im done living with your relatives, I said, grabbing my suitcase.
Im done living with your relatives, said Emily, pulling clothes out of the wardrobe.

Oliver froze in the bedroom doorway, clutching a half-drunk mug of tea. Behind him, voices drifted from the kitchenhis mother explaining something to his sister, who argued back, his dad turning up the telly to drown them out.

Em, come on he began, but she spun around sharply.

Come on, what? Seven years, Oliver! Seven years Ive put up with this! She tossed her jeans into the suitcase, then carefully folded a blouse on top. Your mum asks every morning why I take so long eating breakfast. Your sister borrows my things without asking. And your dad

Emily bit her lip, stopping herself. Oliver set the mug on the dresser and stepped closer.

What about Dad?

Your dad told Lily on the phone last night that my roast was rubbish. Thought I didnt hear, but I was right outside the door. Emily cant cook for toffee, he said, not like our Jessica. Thats your ex-wife, in case you forgot.

Oliver rubbed his forehead. His dad had always adored Jessica, held her up as the gold standard, even though shed left Oliver for someone else three years ago.

Dad just

Just what? Emily pulled her lingerie from the drawer, tucking it neatly into the case. Just doesnt see me as family? Thinks Im temporary? Maybe hes right.

From the kitchen, raised voices eruptedOlivers sister, Sophie, gesticulating wildly as their mother shushed her, worried the neighbours would hear. These nightly rows had become routine. Sophie had moved back in after her divorce, bringing two kids along, turning their three-bedroom house into a cramped circus of seven.

Where will you go? Oliver asked quietly.

To Mums. She lives aloneshell be thrilled. Emily packed her books, the ones Olivers mother called silly novels. Ill figure things out from there.

What about us? Our wedding?

Emily paused, holding a framed photoher and Oliver at the seaside two years ago. Back then, everything was different. His parents had their own place, Sophie was still married, and they were just starting out.

What wedding, Oliver? She turned to him. We already live like husband and wife. Except Im not your wifeIm a lodger who pays bills.

Thats not fair

Not fair? Emily sat on the bed, still clutching the photo. Is it fair when your mum washes my clothes with hers and acts like I should be grateful? Is it fair when Sophies mates stay till 2 a.m. drinking wine in the kitchen, and Ive got work in the morning?

Oliver sat beside her. The kitchen had quietedhis parents mustve gone to bed. But Sophies kids were still at it, laughter and tiny footsteps thundering next door.

We could rent a place, he offered. I just thought

That saving money was more important than us? Emily shook her head. You know what hurts most? Its not living with your lot. Its that you always defend them. Always. Even when theyre bang out of order.

Oliver opened his mouth but realised she was right. When his mum nitpicked Emilys outfits, he stayed quiet. When his dad mocked her cooking, hed say, Just ignore him. When Sophie commandeered their room for phone calls, hed ask Emily to tolerate it.

I dont want to fight with my family, he admitted.

But youll fight with me? Emily stood, smoothing her hair in the mirror. Oliver, I love you. But I cant stay where Im not welcome. Where every move I make gets picked apart.

She remembered dyeing her hair lighter last month. His mum had sighed for days: Such a pretty girl, and now shes ruined it. His dad muttered about modern women with no sense. Sophie sneered, Bet that cost a fortune at the salon.

Remember when your mum found out Im an accountant? Emily continued. Couldnt you be a teacher? Or a doctor? Just counting money, is it?

Mums just old-school

Old-school, sure. But Sophies my age! Yet she acts like I owe herhogging the bathroom, leaving dishes, and if I complain, its waterworks.

Oliver recalled yesterdays row. Sophie had left a mountain of dishes, and when Emily washed up, Sophie wailed about being humiliated in front of the kids. Oliver had sided with his sister”Shes going through a rough patch.”

And Sophies kids? Emily zipped the suitcase. Yesterday, Alfie drew all over my paperwork. Know what Sophie said? Kids will be kidsat least your forms are colourful now.

She was joking

They were mortgage documents, Oliver! I spent all day redoing them! And you backed her upKids do silly things.

Oliver hung his head. Hed thought she was overreacting. So what if some papers got ruined?

I didnt realise it was this bad, he muttered.

Really? Emily stopped at the door. When your mum asks daily when well have kids, then adds, Jessica wouldve been a mum by nowthat doesnt sting? When your dad reminisces about Jessicas perfect Sunday roaststhats fine?

They miss her

Let them! But not at my expense! Emily lowered her voice as Alfie wailed next door. Im forty, Oliver. No kids because my ex didnt want them. No home because we sold it in the divorce. Then I met you, thoughtfinally, a family. Instead? Im a stranger in your house, where everyone thinks they can boss me about.

Em, love

No, let me finish. She held up a hand. Remember my birthday? I hosted, made dinner, invited friends. Your mum spent the evening moaningmusic too loud, laughter too loud, my friends not our sort. Then declared it was her house, and shed decide when parties happened.

Oliver remembered. His mum had been prickly, but hed assumed she was tired. Emilys friends were lively, maybe too much for his parents.

Thats when I knew, Emily said. Ill always be the outsider. Youll always choose them. Because theyre family, and Im just passing through.

Thats not true! I love you!

Love isnt just words, Oliver. She gripped the doorknob. Love is sticking up for me. Telling your mum, Dont speak to my girlfriend like that. Telling your dad comparisons are cruel. Demanding Sophie respects me.

We can fix this

Can we? She gave a sad smile. Youve said that for months. Well fix it, theyll adjust, give it time. But times run out. WorseIm turning into someone I dont like. Snappy, resentful.

She opened the door. The hall was quiet, just the kitchen clock ticking.

Know what I dream of? she asked, not turning. Waking up without someone judging how I eat toast. Coming home without walking on eggshells. Laughing on the phone without being told Im too loud.

Em, wait, Oliver caught her at the front door. Lets talk to them

You talk. She faced him. Tell your mum I dont need to be housewife of the year, but I deserve respect. Tell your dad Im not Jessicanever will bebut that doesnt make me less. Tell Sophie her chaos shouldnt ruin my life.

Oliver said nothing. Imagining that conversationhis mums tears, his dads bluster, Sophies dramaticsmade his stomach churn.

Im scared of upsetting them, he confessed.

But not me? Emily shook her head. Oliver, Im not asking you to choose. Im asking you to stand by me. Show them I matter. That Im not some freeloader.

She slipped on her coat, hoisted the suitcase.

Call me if things change, she said. But I cant stay where Im not wanted.

How long?

Dunno. A week? A month? Forever? She stepped onto the porch. Depends on you, too.

The door clicked shut. Oliver stood in the hall, listening to her footsteps fade. The kitchen light flicked onhis mum, fetching water.

Ollie, love, why are you up? She frowned. Wheres Emily?

Gone to her mums.

For long? She touched his forehead. You look peaky.

Oliver studied herkind, doting,

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