You dont need that much, do you?
How convenient! I scrape every penny, Im barely getting by, and youre planning a restaurant for your birthday? Isnt that a bit over the top?
James, its a milestone. It should be memorable. You dont turn thirty every day, he replies.
And a month ago I celebrated a minibirthday at home. I managed it without a fuss, didnt I?
Emily stares at James, arms folded, her eyes hard. Shes furious. It isnt just that his birthday dinner will cost them a hundred pounds. She feels, on the contrast, like a servant or a poor relative.
James simply confirms her suspicion.
You kept saying you dont need much!
Emily freezes, her eyebrows rise. She did say that, but not from a place of comfort.
Right, she says slowly. I said I could do without a new dress, I could bake the cake myself, I could do my own manicure and pedicure. Because I finally want my own flat, James, not because I enjoy being cheap.
James purses his lips, looking annoyed. He seems unwilling to dig into the real issue, acting like a petulant teenager: I want it, thats it. Forget the rest.
Youre only twentyeight, youve got your whole life ahead. Im hitting a round number, I want this to feel like a proper celebration, not just a casual gettogether.
Emily drops her gaze. Casual gettogether Exactly how it was.
She remembers spending an entire week planning the menu for her own birthday, ticking off ingredients. She bought vegetables on discount a little wilted but still usable for a salad. She hunted for coupons, compared prices in different supermarkets. She baked a cake from an online recipe, using a frosting of whipped cream and condensed milk. Not because homemade is better or because she loves cooking, but because it saved money.
Despite the scrimping, the birthday goes well. Guests smile, praise the salads, eagerly eat the homemade pizza. She smiles too, wearing an old dress and nails painted with cheap clear polish.
The cash gifts almost cover the expenses. Emily pretends shes satisfied, but later, alone in the bathroom, she breaks down. She cries for herself, for the exhaustion of constantly having to stretch the dress, the hair, the family celebrations.
In the three years shes lived with James, frugality becomes her second name. She knows how to squeeze extra cashback on bread, buys cheap processed cheese instead of real block cheese, and can spot genuine sales from gimmicks.
Clothes? As long as theyre clean and not ripped, she doesnt care. All those looks, images, and brands arent for someone hunting the cheapest toothpaste. Theyre not for someone who just wants a place of her own.
Having my own flat is important, James says, trying to support her. Then I wont be asked to foot the bill for every whim, and you wont have to spend half your salary on rent.
The only way James contributes to the household budget is by transferring his paycheck. Thats a decent amount, but Emily sees couples who keep separate finances as frightening, and women who have to save for maternity leave even more so. James treats money like a teenager who could blow it all on chips and fizzy drinks.
It isnt surprising, because Emily does the maths: utilities, transport, food. She cuts costs to stash a planned sum. She books haircuts with apprentices to stay within limits. Sometimes it goes badly, but it stays cheap.
They move toward their goal slowly, but it feels like theyre walking side by side rather than together. Emily never tells James how much effort it costs her, never complains, never whines. She stays quiet when he orders a pizza for lunch, simply because hes too lazy to go to the canteen and wants a treat.
You know, James I really dont need much, Emily says, looking away. Just a bit of genuine respect. I dont enjoy scrimping, but I do it because Im thinking about our future. Yet sometimes it feels like we have no future at all.
I work, James snaps. I bring money home. What else do you want? Do I not have the right to a celebration?
Realising she isnt leaning toward compromise, he retreats toward the bedroom. Emily stays alone in her cheap robe, under the single working bulb of the chandelier, thoughts of a mortgage that seems out of reach at this pace swirling around her.
Her heart aches with both pain and doubt. Maybe shes overreacting? Maybe James is right?
The next day she meets her friend Claire at a café. Emily needs someone to talk to.
I can see you didnt just drop by to admire the linoleum patterns, Claire says, noticing Emilys gloom. Whats wrong?
Emily sighs, rests her hands on the table, and briefly recounts yesterdays argument. She explains how it hurts when a shared dream is funded by only one person, how James puts his anniversary above her birthday.
Youre clever, that Ill give you that, Claire smirks after Emily finishes. So youre saving on yourself and expect him to carry you?
Were saving Emily begins.
Yes, yes, Claire cuts in. Youre saving, hes spending. Does he ever have to deny himself anything? Does he ever thank you for the sacrifices?
Emily shrugs. Her husband isnt ungrateful; he just believes thats how things should be, that domestic magic happens on its own.
Does he know how much being a woman costs? Claire presses. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, decent lingerie, not grannys knickers Thats just the baseline. Are you his partner or his convenient maid in a threadbare robe, handling all the calculations, the organising, the doing?
Stop Emily tries to protest, lacking confidence.
I wont stop. Let me tell you why hes so eager for a restaurant. He knows youll bend over backwards. Youll wear out your shoes, stop dyeing your hair with cheap dye, but youll still give in. And hell feel like a king. After all, a fancy restaurant is a proper anniversary.
So what should I do? Emily asks, bewildered.
Stop being such a doormat. Find a lover with a flat. That would solve everything.
Claire!
Fine, fine. A backup plan. Stop skimping on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Good, let him have it. But you need a dress, shoes, a matching clutch, a proper hairdo, and even some gold earrings. If youre going out, you wont show up in a tracksuit with stretchedout knees.
The dress is easy. I just need to fit into my old schoolgirl gown
Emily, are you even listening? Stop cutting corners on yourself!
Emily sighs. Switching gears isnt easy, but she knows Claire has a point.
Alright. Ill try
That morning Emily tells James she needs to book a salon appointment manicure, haircut, styling. Hes surprised but shrugs.
Later she shows him a pair of shoes she likes.
Look, these black ones go with almost any dress, and I can wear them again later.
Eight pounds? Emily, I could upgrade my computers memory for that!
What can I do? Its my birthday, I have to look presentable. The restaurant wont accept me in sneakers. Youll have to skip a gift, but your anniversary will be unforgettable. By the way, Ive already spotted a boutique; take me there and well pick a dress together.
James grunts but doesnt argue, perhaps hoping shell change her mind. She doesnt. By evening shes already eyeing earrings in front of him.
How about these? Theyre lovely and cheap just twenty pounds. Others of the same weight run thirty or more. Well need a clutch to match after the dress, of course.
James, pale and gulping, mutters:
Maybe we should skip the restaurant Home is fine too.
Emily just smiles. They decide to keep the celebration lowkey and familycentric. Did they make up? Not entirely. Did he understand anything? Perhaps. What Emily certainly realises is that until she respects herself, no one else will.
