I remember how, years ago, my husband George sniffed the kitchen air with a sour expression and muttered, You really think feeding guests with homemade stew will impress them? The whole place reeked of a tomato base and last years cabbage the sort of stuff they only get at greasy takeaways in the capital. You could have cooked something more exciting than that old stew, he complained.
Meatballs will be ready, theres a salad with mayo, and pancakes, I snapped back, feeling wounded, and a platter of sliced veg but leave me be, you old fool. Ill manage without you. Get out before you get a ladle on the head. He paused, then, Wait! Stay. Turn the pot off in five minutes; Im leaving, I added, tugging off my apron in a sudden change of mind.
Where are you off to? he asked, adjusting his trousers and glancing nervously at the stove.
To meet the visitors. They said theyd be here in ten minutes. Ill grab a bit of extra bread; someone always arrives hungry.
I stood before a mirror, trying to tame my short, curled hair. It sat the way women my age usually wear it, but I disliked it. Gone were the days when I was a blooming beauty, holding on as long as I could. Now the wilt was inevitable, and no one could halt it.
Are they just children? Theyll get up on their own, George wondered.
Enough, George, stop flitting about. Ill handle the pot, and for heavens sake dress properly, not wander about in your underwear, I snapped.
Whats got you so cross today? he pleaded.
I dont know! Youll never understand, you brute, I snapped, and stalked toward the lift, hips swaying.
Why was I so angry? My son, Paul, came home every one and a half to two years with a new lady, each one more vulgar and haughty than the last. Some were vegetarians, some on diets, some loved salt, some hated fat, some even complained they never had a proper dinner knife in the house. They turned up, sniffed, and found nothing of my cooking to their liking. I decided, this time, not to strive for perfection, just to make a simple, everyday meal so they wouldnt go away hungry.
The street welcomed me with a fresh May breeze. I breathed deeply, steadying myself before I spotted Pauls sleek silver car pulling up. He was thirtyseven now, still without title or rank, making his living fiddling with internet projects, always in a rush. He longed for a proper family, a child. I, too, dreamed of a grandchild; all my friends already had nannies, while I felt left behind. His girlfriends were all alikemarried or not, none wanted children.
Mum, why did you get up? We could have brought the food ourselves, Paul said, hugging me, and this is Emily.
Hello, Emily replied politely, curtsying.
I let out a surprised gasp, Ah hello. Inside, relief washed over me: at last one of the lot seemed ordinary, without pretence. Maybe with her things will settle, she looks like a proper country girl, I thought, smiling faintly.
Shall we sit? Paul asked.
Hold on, Mum, theres a bag of drinks and a box of a present for you in the boot, Emily said, eyes sparkling.
What? Really? I asked, intrigued, as Emily beamed.
She works in environmental care, a champion for a clean world. The gift matches her field, youll see at home.
I felt a sudden hesitation, thinking perhaps Id judged too quickly, that she might be another fanciful addition. Mum, could you carry the bag yourself? Ill take the box, Emily cant manage something heavy, Paul offered, struggling with the weight.
I took the bag robotically, already consigning the new relationship to the back of my mind, and placed it on the landing.
We all gathered around the table after the usual greetings. Emily didnt flinch at the stew; she took a spoon and began to eat. She spoke shyly about her work, barely audible. Are you officially employed? I asked.
Yes, Im on the payroll.
See, Paul, youve been without a proper contract for ten years. What if you fall ill? What about your pension? Time flies, and youre already thirtyseven. The question had haunted me for years.
Oh, Mum, I wont live to see a pension, dont worry.
I think youll be surprised when the time comes, and you end up sitting on your rear end, I warned.
Enough, stop, youre ruining my digestion. Father, pass the pancake and cheese. Paul tried to raise a toast, but I kept cutting him off, booming my own wishes.
This stew is wonderful, Agnes, Emily said, blushing, May I help clear the table?
We began moving dishes to the kitchen. Spotting the cluttered, notquiteclean stove, Emily splashed her hands, Your gift is here! I almost forgot! She opened the box, revealing ecofriendly cleaning supplies. These are biodegradable kitchen cleaners, made from fruits and vegetables. They dissolve in water and dont hurt the environment. Our company produces almost all household chemicals this way.
Shall we try them now? she suggested, looking radiant. I can treat the stove, and while it works, Ill wash the dishes with this special gel.
I stepped back from the stove, No, dear, I havent cleaned it in three days; Im embarrassed.
Come now, I grew up in a village and have seen every sort of stove, Emily laughed, Just spray it yourself and Ill finish with a sponge.
She worked swiftly, while I rolled crumbs across the table, peppering her with questions about her education, her parents, how she met Paul. Her answers were proper and satisfied my curiosity. She tackled the stove with ease, the grime disappearing under her sponge.
Thank you for the lovely gifts, Emily, I admitted, still wary of any trick.
Just then Paul clinked a glass, calling everyone back to the sofa. He embraced Emily, hand resting gently on her belly, and announced, Weve decided to marry.
Ah! I gasped.
There’s more, Paul added, pausing the inevitable chorus of exclamations, then whispered to Emily, who flushed, Were expecting a child; this winter well have a grandchild.
What joy, Lord! What happiness! I exclaimed, arms flailing. The Holy Mother has heard my prayers, the heavens have shown mercy!
Come, dear Emily, my sunshine, my angel, I said, opening my arms, while gently shushing Pauls clumsy movements. Be careful, I know how to handle expectant mothers.
Agnes, could you share your recipes? I never cook as well as you, especially the stew, Emily murmured, tears glistening.
Emily! I cried, losing reason to delight, It has always been my dream to pass my knowledge and unspent love on to my daughterinlaw and, through her, to my grandchild.
Thus, my modest dream, once hidden, finally found its way to life, thanks to you.
