Dear Diary,
I could hardly believe my husbands disdain as he sniffed the kitchen air. You really thought serving borscht to guests was a good idea? he grumbled, his nose wrinkling at the whiff of tomatobased stock and last years cabbage. Theyre the kind who spend their evenings hopping between fastfood chains and restaurants in London. Why not cook something a bit more exciting? Borscht againhow dull!
Evelyn, my sisterinlaw, snapped back, Therell be meatballs, a mayodressed salad, and pancakes. And a slice of ham, too but honestly, stop pestering me, you old fool. Ill manage without you. Get out of here before I smash you with the ladle. Waitstay! Turn the pot off in five minutes; Im heading out, she said, tugging off her apron in a sudden change of heart.
Where are you off to? he asked, bewildered, tugging at his trousers and blinking toward the stove.
To the meeting they said would start in ten minutes. Ill grab some extra bread; someone always comes hungry, I replied, fixing my hair in the mirror. My short, curled bob should be tidy, but it never looks right to me these days. Once I was a blooming beauty, but now I feel like a wilted flower that no one can revive.
Will they be able to help themselves? he wondered.
Dont you worry, love. Theyll manage on their own. Just remember the pot, and dress properly, pleasestop roaming around in just your underpants, I retorted, feeling my irritation rise.
Whats gotten into you today? he asked, hurt creeping into his voice.
I dont know! Youll never understand, I snapped, and shuffled toward the lift, hips swaying with each step.
My thoughts spiralledmy son returns every couple of years with a new girlfriend, each more pretentious than the last. Some are vegans, some are on strict diets, others complain the food is too salty or too fatty, and they never seem to have a proper knife for a restaurantstyle meal. Its enough to make anyones blood boil. Their girls sniff at everything I cook, so I decided this time to keep it simple: just a hearty, everyday dish, enough to keep them from starving.
The street greeted me with a fresh May breeze. I breathed in the clean air, feeling revived just as I spotted my sons silver hatchback pulling up. Harry, now thirtyseven, still drifts between freelance gigs and tinkering with software, never settling. He dreams of a stable family and a child of his own. I yearn for a grandchildmy friends children are already grown, while Im left feeling a bit left behind. His girlfriends all seem alike, reluctant to think about motherhood.
Mum, well come up anyway, Harry said, embracing me. Meet Emily.
Hello, Emily replied cheerfully, a smile brightening her face.
I blurted, Oh hello, feeling a wave of relief that at least one person seemed normal, without any pretentious airs.
Finally, someone who looks like a regular person, I thought, smiling warmly at my sons new partner. She looks decent, like a sturdy country girlgood enough.
Shall we sit? Harry asked.
Hold on, Mum, theres a bag of drinks and a gift box for you in the boot, Emily added, eyes twinkling.
A gift? I asked, intrigued. Emily beamed. She works in environmental protectionshes brought a sustainable cleaning kit for the kitchen.
I hesitated, thinking she might be another overthetop type, but accepted the bag and set the box down. Harry fumbled with the heavy package, muttering that Emily couldnt lift much. I took the bag stiffly, as if I were a robot, and placed it by the hallway.
We all gathered around the table after the usual round of greetings. Emily didnt flinch at the sight of borscht; she ladled it eagerly and began to eat, though she seemed shy about talking about her work. Its an official role, right? I asked.
Yes, Im employed, she said quietly.
See, Harry? You still have no formal paperwork, your employment record gathering dust for a decade. What happens if you fall ill? What about your pension? Time flies, and youre already thirtyseven. The thought had been nagging me for a while.
Oh, Mum, Ill never make it to retirement, he muttered.
Its easy to think that, until the day youre sitting on your arse, I replied bluntly.
Enough, please stop spoiling my stomach. Dad, pass the pancake and cheese, he said, trying to raise a toast, but I kept cutting him off.
Emily, feeling more at ease, stood up. The borscht is delicious, Evelyn. May I help clear the table? she offered.
We began moving dishes to the kitchen. Spotting the messy stovetop, Emily exclaimed, Your gift is here! I almost forgot! She opened the box, revealing a collection of ecofriendly cleaning products, explaining, These are biodegradable, made from fruit and veg extracts. The company produces almost everything you need for a green household.
Shall we try them now? she suggested, looking radiant. I can treat the stove, and while the solution works, Ill wash the dishes with this special gel.
I instinctively shielded the stove. No, love, I havent cleaned it in three daystoo embarrassed to show it to anyone.
Dont mind, I grew up in the countryside; Ive seen worse, Emily laughed. Just spray it yourself, and Ill finish with a sponge.
She worked efficiently, while I crumbled bread on the table, peppering her with questions about her education, her parents, and how she met Harry. Her answers were sensible and honest, easing my mind. When she tackled the stove, the grime disappeared with little effort.
Thanks for the lovely gifts, Emily, I admitted, still halfexpectant of a trick. There was always a catch in these situations.
Just then, Harry clinked a glass and called everyone back to the sofa. He hugged Emily tightly, his hand resting gently on her belly, and announced, Emily and I have decided to get married.
My word! I gasped.
And thats not all Harry continued, pausing for effect, then whispered to Emily, causing her to blush. Were expecting. Expect a grandchild this winter.
Bless my soul! I exclaimed, throwing my arms wide. The Holy Mother has heard my prayers; the heavens have shown mercy!
I embraced Emily, calling her my sunshine, my little angel. Dont jump around, my dear. I know how to handle a pregnant woman, I warned, halfjoking.
Emily, eyes glistening, whispered, Could you share some of your recipes with me? I cant cook like you, especially the borscht.
Emily! I shouted, delight spilling over. Its been my dream to pass my culinary knowledge on, to share the love Ive saved for a grandchild!
And so, thanks to you, dear diary, my modest wish finally feels within reach.
