April 12
The wicker fruit basket sat on the kitchen table like a silent accusation. I, Margaret Hughes, glanced at it once more and let out a heavy sigh. From the adjoining room the muted drone of the television driftedmy husband, David, was glued to another fishing programme on the BBC. He seemed utterly unfazed by everything.
Margie, the teas getting cold, David called out.
I winced. Even he couldnt manage to reheat his own tea.
Im coming, I replied, reaching for a jar of homemade jam from the fridge.
Passing the hallway mirror, I instinctively smoothed the few silver strands at the front of my hair. How swiftly time flies. It feels as if only yesterday I was walking down the aisle with David; now were celebrating our daughter Eleanors sixtieth birthday.
The thought of Eleanor tightened my chest. Its been a week since we argued, and she hasnt called. As usual, Im the one deemed at fault, even though my intentions were good.
On the table, next to Davids unwashed mug, lay a modest wooden frame holding a wedding photographyoung, beaming. Im in a flowing dress, hes in a smart suit. Who could have guessed that forty years later our lives would dissolve into routine, halfspoken grievances, and lingering resentments?
Whats the holdup? Davids voice rang again.
I brushed away the memory and carried the tray of tea and jam into the living room.
Still moping over it? David asked without looking away from the screen.
And you, I see, are completely fine! I snapped. You could at least have called Eleanor, apologised.
What for? David finally turned to me. For the gift we gave her? Thats absurd.
I set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa.
It was a dreadful gift, David. I know that now.
Just a regular tea set, he shrugged. Quite pricey, mind you. We spent thirty pounds on it.
It isnt about the money, I sighed. You should have seen her face when she opened the box. Shed despised that set thirty years ago, yet we kept it and presented it as a birthday present! She thought we were mocking her.
We werent mocking anyone! David snapped. We thought it was a lovely gift. Its a beautiful, almost antique piece.
I shook my head. Men often miss the subtleties. The set had been given to us at our own wedding by distant relatives of Davids. I remembered young Eleanor twirling one of the cups in her hands, exclaiming, Mum, this is such oldfashioned prettiness! All those flowersit looks more like a garden than a cup. Since then the set had sat untouched in the sideboard until the idea of gifting it to her for her jubilee sprouted.
Tastes change, David persisted. Vintage is all the rage now. All those hipsters are hunting for oldworld items.
Eleanor isnt a hipster! I protested. Shes the chief accountant at a respectable firm. Her flat is minimalist, not a grandmas china cabinet.
So she could have simply said thank you and put it on a shelf, David muttered. Instead she made a scene in front of all the guests.
I recalled the moment. Eleanor opened the box, stared silently at the set for a few seconds, then looked up at us.
Is this the set from the sideboard? she asked softly.
Yes, love! I answered brightly. Remember how you always said it was beautiful?
Silence hung in the room. Eleanors face went pale.
I never said it was beautiful. I hated it, and you both knew that.
See, youre exaggerating again, David said, sipping his tea. A gift you dont like isnt the end of the world. What else is wrong?
There is, he admitted. The biggest problem is that we dont truly know our own daughter. We have no clue what she likes or how she lives.
David snorted. Dont dramatise. Shes just got a difficult temperament, thats all.
I was about to argue when the phone rang. I hurried to answer, hoping it was Eleanor.
Hello?
Margie? Its Dorothy, a familiar neighbours voice crackled. Could you pop over? Im struggling with these new tabletscant make heads or tails of the instructions.
Ill be right there, I said, hanging up.
Who was that? David asked.
Dorothy Clarke. I need to help her with her medication for a bit.
Your charitable runs again, he grumbled. Whos going to cook dinner?
I exhaled heavily. Theres borscht in the fridge; just needs reheating.
I slipped on a light cardigan and left the flat. The stairwell greeted me with the usual smellsfried fish from the downstairs flat and cigarette smoke drifting up from the fifthfloor couple.
Dorothy lived alone; she opened the door the moment I arrived.
Come in, Margaret, she chirped. Ive baked a cake; lets have a cup of tea together.
I tried to decline, but she was insistent. While she bustled about in her kitchen, I examined the photos on her wallDorothy with her husband, her daughter, her grandchildren, all smiling.
Hows little Ellie doing? Dorothy asked, placing a tray of tea on the table. She coping after the divorce?
Shes managing, I replied evasively.
And her son? Kirills at university now, right?
Yes, third year.
Dorothy sat down beside me, eyes softening. You seem a bit down today. Something on your mind?
I could no longer hold it in and spilled everything: the cursed tea set, the fight with Eleanor, Davids stubbornness.
You know, Dorothy said after I finished, you just need to talk to Eleanorwithout David. Admit that the gift was a mistake.
She wont pick up the phone, I sighed.
Then go to her, Dorothy shrugged. She doesnt live far away.
The thought settled in my mind. Why not simply visit? Pride? Fear of hearing that weve become two clueless old folk, unable to understand our own child?
Youre right, I said finally. Ill go to her today.
Good, Dorothy nodded approvingly. Now lets try some of that cake.
Back home, David was still glued to the television, slumped in his favourite armchair.
David, Im heading to Eleanors, I announced.
Why? he asked, puzzled.
To apologise for the gift.
Again, youre being difficult! David snapped, turning toward me. A set she didnt like isnt the end of the world. She just hasnt developed a taste for such things yet.
Its not about the set, I said, sitting on the sofas edge. Its that we dont hear each otheror our daughter.
Fine, he said reluctantly. Just dont tell her I admitted I was wrong. I still think it was a good present.
I only shook my head. Forty years together and his stubbornness hadnt softened a gram.
Eleanor lives in a new suburb, in a sleek modern block. I boarded the bus, watching the passing countryside, pondering how hard it can be to communicate with those we love most.
The front door opened and my grandson, Tommy, appeared.
Grandma? he said, surprised. Why didnt you call before coming?
Surprise, I smiled, handing him a bag of scones. Mum at home?
Shes in her office, Tommy replied, taking the bag. Come on, Ill get her.
I followed him into the flat. Eleanors apartment always gave me mixed feelingsadmiration for her independence and a tinge of melancholy. Everything was contemporary, minimalist, bathed in pale tones. No sideboards, no crystal, no floral carpets. A different era, different values.
Eleanor emerged from her study, a hint of tension in her expression.
Mom? Is everything alright?
Nothings wrong, I said calmly. I just came to talk.
She glanced at the clock. I have a video call with London in half an hour.
I wont stay long, I said, settling onto the sofa. Eleanor, Im here to apologise for that gift. You were right, it was foolish.
She raised an eyebrow. Youre apologising for the tea set?
Not just the set, I interlaced my fingers. For us not understanding you, for living in the past and missing whats happening now.
Eleanor slowly sank into the armchair opposite me.
Mom, its not just the set, she began, choosing her words. It felt like a symbol that you still dont know who I am, what I do, what I love.
Thats true, I whispered. Were stuck in the past, seeing you as the little girl who once lived with us.
She sighed. What hurts most is that you never try to discover the real me. In all these years you never asked what music I listen to, which books I read, which films I enjoy. You just assume you know me better than I know myself.
Youre right, I felt the lump in my throat tighten. Parents often think their children are extensions of themselves, not separate people.
Thats exactly it! Eleanors voice brightened. Im also at fault. I never ask what youre up to, what worries you. I just pop in once a month, drop groceries, and leave, as if Im doing a duty.
Were all to blame, I said, a smile breaking through tears. But its not too late to fix things, is it?
Not at all, she replied.
So tell me, what music are you listening to these days? I asked. What do you like to read?
She laughed. Are you serious?
Very serious, I nodded. We still have twenty minutes before your call, then Ill leave so I dont interrupt work.
Alright, she thought for a moment. Im into jazzespecially the 1950s stuff. I read professional journals, but for pleasure I indulge in detective novels. Ive also started learning Spanish because I dream of going to Barcelona.
Listening to her, it felt as if I was meeting a new person for the first time. How much Id missed over the years.
What about your love life? I asked gently. Its been three years since the divorce
She smiled shyly. Theres someone. I havent mentioned him because hes seven years younger than me. I was scared you and Dad wouldnt understand.
Were oldfashioned, but not dense, I said. What matters is that hes a good person.
He is, Eleanor affirmed. He teaches history at the university. Tommy likes him.
Invite him over for dinner, I suggested. Well get to know him, and I promise no more sideboard gifts!
We both laughed.
You know, Eleanor said, Ive thought about the tea set again. Its actually quite pretty, very Provencal. Vintage pieces are quite coveted now.
Dont excuse me, I shook my head. It was a terrible gift.
No, really! she exclaimed. Im even considering taking it to the cottage we bought last year. Did I tell you about that?
No, I felt a sting of shame. See how little we know about each other?
Lets change that, she said, checking the time. Oh, I must get ready for the call. But youre welcome to visit this weekend, okay? Bring Dad along. Ill show you the cottage photos.
We embraced, and I felt something important return to my lifesomething I had almost lost through my own blindness.
On the way back, I stopped at the shop for a decent bottle of red wine and a box of chocolates. David met me at the door, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
How did it go? he asked.
Were mended, I replied, handing him the purchases. And guess what? Eleanor now likes the tea set; she wants to place it at the cottage.
See! I told you it was a good present, David declared triumphantly.
I merely smiled. Let him think hes won. What matters is that peace has returned to the family, far beyond any china.
David, I said as I headed to the kitchen, did you know our daughter is learning Spanish and plans to go to Barcelona?
No way! he exclaimed. Why would she need Spanish at her age?
Because life doesnt stop at sixty, I said, pulling out the wine glasses. And neither does ours. Perhaps we should learn something new ourselves.
He looked at me skeptically. Like what?
Like listening to each other, I poured the wine. And choosing gifts with heart, not from the sideboard.
Deal, he raised his glass. To a new chapter.
The fruit basket still sits on the table, but now I look at it differently. Sometimes even the most illjudged present can spark something genuine and lasting.
