You ought to be glad my mum is eating your food, I snapped at Claire, my wife.
Did you put my boots on again? Claire burst into the hallway, eyes fixed on the open wardrobe door. I told you not to touch my stuff!
My dear, whats the tone? Margaret, my mother, adjusted her scarf in front of the mirror. Its drizzling outside and Im only wearing my evening shoes. Is that so terrible?
Its not about whether its terrible, Claire crossed her arms, irritation bubbling up. Its about respecting personal space. I dont traipse into your room or pilfer your belongings.
Margaret pursed her lips and gave Claire the look I later described as regal: a slow, slightly narrowed gaze paired with a condescending smile.
How considerate of us, she said. Back in our day eight people shared one room and no one complained about personal space.
In your day they perhaps didnt complain, Claire muttered, but times have changed.
What are you muttering about? Margaret leaned in, pretending not to hear. Speak up, Im not a spring chicken any more.
Claire inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Living with my mother for the past three months had been a trial. Wed been forced to give up the flat wed rented together in Croydon to keep up with the mortgage on a new house in Kent. The build ran over schedule, so we were now squeezed into Margarets twobedroom flat.
Im going to the corner shop to pick up some rubber boots for you, Claire forced a smile. So you dont have to suffer.
Oh, no need! Margaret flailed her hands. My shoe cupboard is bursting at the seams. Better buy yourself a pair of boots so you dont waste my space.
My space, Claire thought. Not old or everyday but unmistakably my. It seemed a tiny way of marking ownershipwhether to share or not.
Fine, Margaret, she said. Im off to work now. Ill be late, I have a meeting.
Again? Margaret shook her head. James will come home tired and hungry, and his wife wont be there.
James is an adult; he can heat his own dinner, Claire replied, pulling on her coat. Everythings already in the fridge.
Stepping out into the crisp spring air, she felt the wet snow underfoot turn to a grey slush. She really does need those boots, Claire admitted, heading for the bus stop.
At the office, the day crawled by. Claire worked as a graphic designer for a printing firm and normally dived headfirst into projects. Today, however, her mind kept looping back to the morning clash, the missing packet of expensive tea, and the time Margaret had accidentally shrunk her favourite cardigan in hot water.
You seem a bit on edge today, her colleague Natalie said over lunch, sliding into the seat opposite her. Motherinlaw again?
Claire offered a weak grin. You can tell.
Natalie patted her hand. Spill.
Nothing special, Claire waved a hand. Just the usual domestic annoyances piling up.
And James?
James loves his mum, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.
Neutral never works, Natalie shook her head. Sooner or later youll have to pick a side, and its better if hes on yours, otherwise
Otherwise what? Claire lifted her chin. Ill leave him because of his mother?
Not because of the mother, but because of his stance, Natalie corrected. Believe me, Ive been theremy first marriage fell apart after five years, mainly because the husband always sided with his mum.
Well manage, Claire said confidently. In a few months the new house will be finished and things will settle.
Hope so, Natalie sighed, not sharing the optimism.
That evening Claire decided to surprise James with ingredients for his favourite carrot cake. Saturday was looming, and a early bake would be a nice treat for the whole family.
The flat was quiet. Only the kitchen light glowed. She slipped off her shoes and entered, stopping at the doorway. Margaret was perched at the table, happily tucking into a casserole Claire had prepared for breakfastenough for three.
Claire! Margaret exclaimed, startled. Back already? I thought youd be later.
The meeting got cancelled, Claire said, eyes wandering to the almostempty casserole dish. Wheres James?
Hes out with his mates, said not to wait for him, Margaret waved a hand. I decided to have dinner. The supermarket chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Its lovely, by the way!
Claire placed the grocery bags on the table, thinking shed now have to rise an hour earlier to make a new breakfast. Shed been hoping for a liein on Saturday.
Margaret, that casserole was meant for breakfastfor everyone, Claire began, trying to stay calm.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! Margaret flapped her hands, but there was no real remorse in her eyes. I thought it was just sitting there in the fridge. No matter, youll whip up something else tomorrow. Youre such a brilliant cook!
Claires lips pressed together. Margaret knew the casserole was for breakfast; Claire had mentioned it at dinner the night before when they were planning the weekend menu.
Alright, Claire said. Im going to change.
As she unpacked the bags, she realised the chocolate shed bought for the cake was missing.
Margaret, have you seen the chocolate? It should be in the bags, she called back to the kitchen.
Margaret gave a guilty smile. Oh, Claire, sorry! I took a single bar for my tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A wave of anger rose in Claire, not over the chocolate itself but over the continual trespassing of boundaries, the casual disregard for her possessions.
That was for Jamess cake, she replied shortly.
Buy another tomorrow, Margaret shrugged. The shops just across the road. No big deal.
Claire nodded, suppressed her irritation, and retreated to the bedroom. She felt a sting of hurt and fury but didnt want to turn it into a fullblown argument. Margaret would likely brush it off anyway.
James returned late, finding Claire already in bed with a book.
Hey, love, he leaned in for a kiss. How was your day?
Fine, she set the book aside. And yours?
Great! Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Long time since weve gone out.
Claire hesitated, unsure whether to mention the casserole and the chocolate. She didnt want to seem petty.
Is mum still up? James asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her own room watching TV.
Ill pop in and say hello, he said, heading out.
From the hallway she heard Margarets muffled laughter. Claire wondered if her mother had embellished the story of the casserole for Jamess benefit.
James was back a few minutes later, looking relaxed.
Your mum loved the casserole, he said, slipping under the covers. She said it was fingerlicking good.
Yes, I know, Claire replied dryly. It was for breakfast.
So what? Make something else tomorrow. At least mum appreciated your cooking.
Jamess tone grew sharper. Claire, its not about the casserole. Its about my mum constantly taking my things without asking, eating food I set aside for special occasions, ignoring my opinions.
Come off it, James waved a hand. Its just a casserole. Mum was hungry.
And the chocolate for your cake? She ate that too, just because.
What chocolate? James frowned.
I bought it for a surprise cake tomorrow. Your mum just took it for her tea.
And what now? Youre upset because she just took it?
Its not just the chocolate. Yesterday it was my tea, the day before my boots. Always something mine, always without asking.
James sat up, bewildered. Are you serious? Youre counting every little thing? Splitting everything into mine and hers? Were a family.
Family means respecting each others boundaries, Claire said quietly. It means asking before you take, not eating whats meant for everyone.
Youre blowing this out of proportion! James raised his voice. You should be happy my mum eats your food; it means she likes your cooking. Thats a compliment!
Claire stared at him, eyes wide. The notion that he couldnt see the problem left her stunned.
A compliment? she asked. So if I cook dinner and your mum devours it while were not there, thats a compliment, not disrespect?
Stop dramatising! James snapped, pulling the blanket up. Im exhausted, had a tough day, and youve turned this into some ridiculous argument over a casserole!
He jumped up, grabbed a pillow, and announced, Im going to crash on the sofa. Ive got an early start tomorrow. Good night.
Claire was left alone, tears sliding down her cheeks. She hadnt expected such a reaction. Shed hoped James would understand, would side with her, but instead he chose his mothers side without even trying to see her point of view.
The next morning Claire woke to the smell of pancakes. Margaret was bustling in the kitchen, and James sat at the table with a grin as if yesterdays fight never happened.
Morning, love, James said, smiling. Mum decided to treat us. Have a seat.
Claire reluctantly sat. Margaret slid a plate of pancakes toward her.
Eat up, dear. Ive also made some scrambled eggs, will bring them over shortly.
Thanks, Claire whispered. Just a coffee for me, Im not hungry.
Not hungry? Margaret exclaimed, arms flailing. Ive made a feast! Youll hurt my feelings if you dont eat.
James watched, waiting for Claires reaction, as if a refusal would be a declaration of war.
Fine, she said, picking up a fork. Just a little.
Good girl! Margaret cooed, patting Claires head. We cant have you turning into a waif.
James muttered something under his breath but stayed silent. Claire chewed mechanically, thinking this was no longer her home. Had it ever really been?
After breakfast, when Margaret left for the shop, Claire decided it was time to have a proper talk with James. She could no longer put it off.
James, we need to talk about your mum, she began, sitting opposite him on the sofa.
Again? he grimaced. Everythings fine. She even made us breakfast.
Thats a nice gesture, Claire agreed. But the real issue is the lack of respect for my personal boundaries. I feel like a guest in my own flat, not a member of the family.
James sighed. Claire, my mums used to being the lady of the house. Change is hard for her. Hang on a bit longer; well move soon.
What will happen when we move? Claire asked quietly. Will she still pop over to our new place and start running the kitchen? Take my things without asking? Eat what Ive prepared for everyone?
James looked away. Shell visit now and then. Shes my mum, after all.
And you dont see a problem with that? Claire leaned forward. Im not against your mum; Im against the disrespect of my space, and you seem blind to it.
Im bothered that you split everything into yours and hers, James retorted. Were a family; we share.
Sharing, yes, Claire said. But with consent, not because someone snatches what isnt theirs.
They stared at each other, and Claire realized James wasnt grasping the core of the issue. To him, his mother would always occupy a special, untouchable position.
You know what? she said finally. Im going to my sisters cottage for the weekend.
What? Over a casserole? James asked, eyebrows raised.
Its not about the casserole, Claire shook her head. Its that you wont listen to me. I need time to think.
She rose, gathered a bag, and headed to the bedroom. James stayed on the sofa, staring into space.
As she opened the door, he called, What should I tell mum?
Tell her the truth, Claire replied. That Ive gone to think about our future, and you should do the same.
She stepped out into the cool spring air, a strange lightness in her chest. The decision felt impulsive but also right. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzed with a message from her sister confirming the key to the cottage was with a neighbour. Claire inhaled the fresh air, ready for a quiet weekend with her thoughts, and later, a serious conversation with James about family, boundaries, and respect. Even the smallest thingslike a breakfast casserolematter when theyre about being heard.
