Id had enough of my motherinlaws New Year whims, so I slipped out to my friends flat.
Whos cutting the salad like that? TamaraGrace snapped, eyeing the massive cubes of carrot. Those pieces are the size of pig feed! They wont fit in anyones mouth. Ive told you a hundred times the dice should be dainty, elegant, so the flavours can shine, not as if youve hacked them with an axe. Her voice drowned out the telly, where Victor Lowe was once again arguing about the best way to heat the sauna.
Olivia stood frozen, knife poised over a bowl of boiled carrots. The clock read 4:00p.m. on 31December. Her back ached as though shed been unloading a coal wagon, not standing by the stove since dawn. Her feet were swollen in house slippers, and a fresh nick throbbed on her finger.
TamaraGrace, Olivia inhaled deep, trying not to let hysteria wobble her voice, these are normal cubes, standard size. Thats how we always cut them. If you dont like them, you can simply skip the salad. We have three other dishes coming.
Skip it? the motherinlaw flared, nearly toppling the gravy boat. Whats this, a chat with my sons wife? Ive come over to celebrate, to bring the family together, and youre serving me a slice of stale bread? Victor! Can you hear how your wife is speaking to me?
Victor, lounging on the sofa untangling a string of fairy lights, sighed heavily. He despised conflict, so hed adopted the ostrich method: head in the sand, wait for the storm to pass.
Olivia, love, he called from the couch, maybe cut the carrots a bit smaller, will you? Mums just trying to help. Shes a former chef, after all.
I was the head chef of the mess hall! TamaraGrace puffed, adjusting the hefty brooch on her chest. My sanitation standards were stricter than a dental drill. And you, Olivia, your kitchen is a disaster. The dish towel is stained, yet you wipe your hands on it. Absolutely unsanitary!
Olivia set the knife down. Inside her, a slowburning fury began to rise the sort that usually ends in irreversible fallout. It wasnt her first New Year with the motherinlaw, but it felt like the heaviest yet. TamaraGrace had arrived two days earlier, ostensibly to help, but really to inspect every nook and hand down verdicts: daughterinlaw a slob, son underfed, no grandchildren (apparently because the daughterinlaw was either a hypochondriac or selfish), and the flat was decordeprived.
The towels clean, Olivia replied calmly. I grabbed it this morning; a drop of beet juice fell on it. TamaraGrace, could you step out of the kitchen? I need to roast the goose, and its getting cramped in here.
The goose? the motherinlaw squinted. How did you marinate it? In mayo, like last year? Thats vulgar! The bird should soak in a cranberryjuniper glaze for two days. I sent you the recipe on Facebook. Didnt you read it?
I went with my own recipeapples and honey. Victor loves that.
Victor likes only what you feed him! Youve ruined his stomach with your cooking. Hell have gastritis, look at how pale he sits. I used to make him steamed meatballs and thin soups as a child
Olivia sensed that in a heartbeat the goose would be flung out the window rather than into the oven, or perhaps straight at the second mums head.
Alright then, she said, wiping her hands on her apron. The goose goes in the oven, the salads are ready. All thats left is to set the table and pull ourselves together.
Pull yourself together? TamaraGrace gave her a assessing stare. You could at least sort your hairit looks like a tumbleweed, and those circles under your eyes could use a cucumber mask. Victor will look at you and lose his appetite. A man should see a queen, not a dishwasher.
Olivia swallowed the comment. For Victor, for the holiday, for the sake of not starting the year with a blowup, she placed the heavy roasting tray in the oven, set the timer, and slipped into the bathroom.
She turned the tap on and finally let the tears flow. For five minutes she sat on the tub edge, wailing, mascara running. She was thirtyfive, head of a logistics department, overseeing twenty staff. Shed bought the flat with Victor, using her inheritance. Why should she endure humiliation in her own home?
Because family, a voice inside whispered, sounding oddly like her own mothers, you must be wiser, you must endure. A thin peace is better than a loud quarrel.
Olivia washed her face, plastered on patches, forced a smile at the mirror. Alright. Six hours left. Well listen to the chimes, eat, shell go to bed, and tomorrow Ill send Victor and his mum to look at the Christmas tree while I curl up with a book.
She emerged from the bathroom, hoping for a truce. The flat smelled of pine and roasting meat. Things were finally settling.
In the bedroom, her darkblue velvet dress, bought specially for the occasion with half her bonus, lay on the bed.
Olivia, are you really going to wear that? TamaraGraces voice floated in from the hallway, as she breezed in unannounced.
Its my festive dress.
Goodness, the velvet is as heavy as a sack of potatoes. Youll look like a teatime hag. And the colour is dreadful. New Year should sparkle! I have a sequined cardigan you could borrow if youll fit into it.
Thanks, but I like the dress. Victor does too.
Victor doesnt care, he just hopes you dont slice him. As a woman to a woman, I say: it doesnt work. It highlights every flaw. Youd be better off at the gym than polishing the nightstand.
Olivia began to dress in silence. Her hands trembled, the zipper snagged.
Let me help, or youll tear itthough the fabrics pricey, even if its useless, TamaraGrace tugged the zipper, sending Olivia stumbling. There, see? I warned you. Dont complain later when Victor starts looking at younger women.
By ten oclock the table was set. Crystal glittered, candles flickered, the goosegolden, fragrantsat proudly in the centre. Victor slipped on a shirt, TamaraGrace emerged in that same sequined festive top, piling on gold jewellery until she resembled a Christmas tree.
Olivia felt like a squeezed lemon. She had neither appetite nor mood; she just wanted the evening to end.
Lets welcome the old year! Victor announced brightly, popping champagne. Its been a tough one, but we made it. The important thing is were together!
Indeed, a tough one, TamaraGrace added, raising her glass. Especially for memy health is a mess, blood pressure spikes, no help at all. My son works, my daughterinlaw is always busy with her career. No grandkids. Loneliness
Mum, we call, we visit, Victor tried to defend himself.
Visit once a week just for the record. Lets not get gloomy. Lets drink to a new year where some of us finally remember what being a proper housewife means.
Olivia took a sip, feeling the champagnes bitterness.
Try the salad, she offered, sliding a plate of herring and beet over to her motherinlaw. TamaraGrace speared a piece, sniffed, grimaced, and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed deliberately, eyes rolling.
Well, she finally said, the herrings oversalted, the beets undercooked, it crunches. And the mayodid you drown it in vinegar? Its practically a pickle.
Its lemon juice, as per the recipe, Olivia murmured.
Lemon in a herring salad! Who taught you to cook? Your mothermay she restwas no chef either. Youve been fed halfready meals all your life, youve turned into a kitchen disaster.
That hit a raw nerve. Olivias own mother had died three years earlier, a hardworking woman who never dabbed in juniper marinades but kept the home warm. The sting was palpable.
Dont bring my mother into this, Olivia whispered, blood rushing to her face.
What did I say? Speaking the truth isnt a sin. Victor, pass the bread, this salads impossible to swallow.
Victor passed the loaf without meeting Olivias eyes, chewing silently, trying to become invisible.
Then something clicked for Olivia. The anger, the hurt, the exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a cool composure. She turned to her husband, the man whod promised to stand by her through storms and sunshine, now watching his own mother trample her mothers memory.
Victor, does it taste alright? she asked.
A bit fine, he replied, startled. Olivia, lets not argue at the table. Mums just voicing an opinion.
Opinion, right.
Olivia stood slowly.
You heading for the hot dish? TamaraGrace commanded. Sit down, its still early.
No, Im not after the hot food.
She left the living room, stripped the velvet dress, hung it neatly, put on jeans and a cosy sweater, tossed a small gym bag with toiletries and a spare set of pajamas. In the hallway she layered a puffer, hat and boots.
From the living room came TamaraGraces voice: I keep telling the neighbour why you need that multicookerfood in it is dead! A proper pot on the stove does the trick Victor, wheres Olivia? Shes taking forever. Is she upset? Shes acting nervous, you should get her a doctor.
Olivia peered into the doorway.
Im not upset, TamaraGrace. Ive just drawn some conclusions.
Victor dropped his fork.
Olivia, where are you off to? In jeans?
Im leaving, Victor.
Going to the shop? Need something? Ill run!
No. Im leaving the house. Celebrate the goose. Its with apples, not juniper, so sorry. Toss the salads, theyre awful.
Olivia, stop making a circus of this! TamaraGrace snapped. Sit down! Guests are at the door, the chimes are an hour away!
I have no guests, Olivia replied calmly. I have two strangers in this house. One who hates me, the other who couldnt care less. Happy New Year to you both.
She turned and headed for the front door.
Olivia! Olivia, stop! Victor lunged, overturning a chair. Are you mad? Its night! Where are you going?
To someone who values me.
She opened the door.
If you walk out now, Victor shouted, fear and anger mixing, Mum will be furious! Youll tear the family apart!
You tore the family when you let her trample my mothers memory, Olivia said, slamming the door.
Outside, soft snow fell, quiet except for distant fireworks. The cold air hit her, oddly comforting, and she felt oddly light.
She dialled her friends number.
Sophie? You awake?
Olivia? Whats happening? Were in the middle of a party! Need a rescue?
Sophie, can I crash at yours? Right now.
A pause, then Sophies tone turned serious.
Whats wrong? Victor gave you a hard time?
Ive left. Probably for good. Im on the doorstep with my bag.
Come on over! Bring the bag, Ive got plov, champagne, a mountain of mandarins! You know the code, right?
Got it.
Olivia flagged a taxi. The fare was absurd New Years night, after allbut she didnt mind. The yellow cab pulled up, she slipped into the back seat and, for the first time that day, actually smiled.
Sophies flat was a cheerful chaos. The hallway reeked of oranges and rice. Sophie, in a reindeerpatterned sweater, gave Olivia a hug that sounded like bones cracking.
Come in, love! Youre freezing! Misha, pour the drinks!
Sophies husband, Misha, and their kids, a dog, and a couple of friends filled the living room. No one sat at a table with stonecold faces. Paper napkins, a huge pot of plov, stacks of buttered sandwiches with smoked salmon, and a bucket of mandarins covered the makeshift buffet.
Olivia, right on time! Were about to make wishes! Misha shouted, grabbing a glass.
They handed her a glass and a steaming plate of plov.
Eat! Youre starving, arent you? Sophie whispered. You never get a moment to eat when youre cooking for everyone else.
Olivia tasted the plov. It was divineno sanitary inspections, no juniper, just love and spices.
What happened? Sophie asked as the clock struck midnight and everyone shouted Happy New Year! while popping champagne.
Olivia gave a quick rundown of the goose, the oversalty herring, the towelhair comment, and Victors silence.
Wow, what a bloke, Sophie said. And his mumtotal witch. You did right leaving. Dont waste your life on them. Youre gorgeous, smart; youll find a decent man wholl treat you like royalty and actually respect his mum.
Olivias phone buzzed, now on silent, lit up like a Christmas tree. Twenty missed calls from Victor, five from Mum. WhatsApp messages: Olivia, wheres the corkscrew? Olivia, wheres the napkin? Mums blood pressure is through the roof! You selfish, leaving us on New Years! She read them and laughed, tears of absurdity spilling.
The corkscrew they cant find she muttered, wiping her eyes. Two adults cant open a bottle of wine and locate a napkin. Pathetic.
Shoot, Sophie snatched the phone. Tonights yours. Lets dance!
They boogied until three in the morning. Olivia forgot about her aching back, the grudges, the cold. She felt alive.
Morning of January1st, she awoke on Sophies couch, head a little fuzzy but spirits high. She knew she had to go back homenot to apologise, but to close the chapter.
She arrived back at her flat around noon. The hallway was dim, smelling of stale booze and something burnt. The missing corkscrew lay on the floor. The living room was a mess: dishes piled, food remnants scattered. The goose sat untouched, one wing broken off, as if the housewifeturndishwasher had drained everyones appetite.
Victor lay on the sofa, a blanket over him, the motherinlaw nowhere in sight, the guest room door shut.
Olivia stalked into the kitchen, heels clicking loudly. She flung open the window, letting the crisp air rush in, and started the coffee grinderits roar like a cannon in the quiet.
Victor shuffled in, hair mussed, a guilty look on his face.
Did you actually show up? he rasped. Thanks for the party. Mum drank valerian all night.
Youre welcome, Olivia said, pouring coffee into her favourite mug. Did you like the goose?
We didnt eat it. No mood. Olivia, do you realise what youve done? Ive been humiliated in front of my mother. Shes thinking of moving out. She says she wont set foot here again.
Thats the best news of the year, Victor.
You youve become a stranger. Cruel.
Ive become myself, Victor. Im done being a convenience. I want happiness.
At that moment the door swung open and TamaraGrace staggered in, hand on her chest, a damp towel on her forehead.
Here she is, the monster! she croaked. Back already, after giving my mother a heart attack! Victor, Im calling a cab. I cant stay in the same room as this woman. Shes a beast!
TamaraGrace, Olivia said, meeting her eyes, a cab sounds perfect. Please take all your advice, recipes, and complaints with you. And next time, only come here if youre invited, and behave like a guest, not a health inspector. Otherwise the door stays shut.
Muminlaw gasped, clutching at air like a fish.
Victor! Did you hear? Shes kicking me out!
Victor stared at his wife, Olivia standing by the window, lit by winter sunlight, calm and untouchable. He recalled the previous night: the mothers whining, the terrible dinner, the feeling that something vital had slipped away. He realised if he didnt choose a side, hed lose Olivia forever. She wasnt threatening him; she was stating facts.
Mum, he whispered, Olivias right. Youve gone too far.
What?! TamaraGrace shrieked. And you youre siding with me? Traitor!
Mum, lets get you to the station.
No, Ill manage! My legsShe slipped into the taxi, left the cracked house behind, and finally breathed in the cold night air, feeling for the first time in months that she could truly start anew.