Emma, where are you off to? I asked, surprised to see my wife heading for the bedroom.
To the little bed, love. Whats the fuss? she replied wearily.
And the dishes? I snapped.
All the guests had already gone. The party had been lively and noisy. The only other person left in the house was my motherinlaw, but shed already turned in for the night. Emma packed the leftovers into containers, shoved the crockery into the sink and decided that was enough. I wasnt about to agree.
Ill do them tomorrow! Or you can wash them yourself if youd rather! I said.
Max, weve got my mum staying over. I cant imagine the look on her face when she sees this mess in the morning! Emma protested.
Oh, come off it! A few plates arent the end of the world. The important thing is the party went well. We had a great time, even danced a bit! Im knackered and want to get to bed. Please dont nag me. Ill tackle the washing tomorrow; Ive no energy left tonight.
Are you feeling faint, love? she teased.
Picture this: while you were sipping your drink, I managed to clear the whole flat, cook enough food for a regiment, and even decorate the tree. Thank goodness the girl helped. You promised you’d come home early and pitch in too.
I didnt make it. The car broke down. I told you that! I retorted.
Thats exactly why Im telling you I need to go to sleep! If you dont like the dishes in the sink, you know where the sponge and detergent are. Off you go! Im heading to bed! Emma snapped, and I didnt press the point any further. I was exhausted, craving the pillow and darkness.
I lingered online a while longer, never getting around to the sink, and eventually drifted off, still a little cross. I was worried that tomorrow my motherinlaw would lecture me about my wifes slackness, but I had no intention of scrubbing the plates.
We all woke late on the first of January, having gone to bed around four in the morning. Margaret, my motherinlaw, had celebrated so hard the night before that she slept the longest.
Emma was the first adult up. Instead of grabbing a cloth, she brewed herself a mug of coffee and settled down to read a short story online. Thats how she always starts her mornings, especially on New Years Day, and she wasnt about to deny herself that pleasure.
The smell of coffee drifted into the kitchen, rousing me.
Morning! I called, glowering at the sink. Still not done?
Good morning, sunshine! Lets keep the day bright. If you want coffee, help yourself; Ive made enough for two in the kettle. she replied with a grin.
I poured a cup, took a seat at the table, and remembered the cake Id missed yesterday. I cut myself a slice.
Want a piece? I offered.
No, thanks. Quick carbs for breakfast are a nightmare. I ate a heap yesterday; Ill be on toast for the next two days. Enjoy, my slender cypress! she teased, gesturing at the slight belly that peeked out from under my tshirt.
Ha! Ill burn it off at the gym later! I laughed.
Fine, fine, eat if you must. Its your call! she said.
Coffee and cake lifted my spirits.
Has Lucy gotten up yet? I asked about our daughter.
She got up, had some cereal with milk and then went back to bed, I reckon. I havent seen her, but I heard her moving. Emma answered.
Almost silently, Margaret slipped into the kitchen. I braced myself for a tirade, but she surprised me.
My word, Ive always dreamed of seeing a scene like this! she said with a smile.
What do you mean? I asked, puzzled.
If you only knew how dreadful it is to wash dishes after New Years or any holiday. Its pure torture! Im so glad youre not like your father! she declared.
What are you getting at? I thought this would drive you mad! I replied.
Nonsense! It was your father who drove me nuts with his obsession over washing up before bedtime. He always insisted the dishes be done that evening, and especially that I did them. We argued over it more than once. I eventually gave in, so Id wash late at night, hating every minute. Ive often yielded to him on household chores she mused.
My father had passed away five years ago from a heart attack. My mother had long since moved past that grief, yet now she was spouting strange recollections. Id always thought shed been the one pushing for spotless homes, but her words suggested otherwise.
Mum, are you serious? I asked.
Absolutely! Your dad was a stickler for cleanliness. It drove me mad, but he had a lot of good qualities, so I learned to accept it. At times it was so extreme I felt the house had to be surgically clean. Sometimes I wonder if that obsession contributed to his early deathfocusing too much on empty things like unwashed dishes after a party. she went on.
That sounds a bit over the top, Mum! I interjected.
Emma, lost in her reading, barely heard the exchange.
No, son, I truly believe that. My old friend Gene used to worry about the tiniest things. I tried to explain it to him, but his upbringing made him stubborn. Remember your grandmother? She was obsessed with order, making the kids scrub everything to perfection. Perhaps thats why he turned out the way he did. Margaret continued, then turned to me. Emma, youre doing great! Dont let anyone get under your skin!
What? I snapped my eyes away from my phone when she called my name.
Good on you for leaving the dishes for the morning! Ive always wanted to act that way. And Max, well done for not giving your wife a hard time over nothing! she praised.
Yeah, not giving a hard time! Emma smiled, recalling our argument from the night before, but she didnt want to stir the pot with my mother present.
I think thats the way it should be! Margaret said cheerfully, pouring herself a cup of tea. The wife does all the holiday prep, and the husband only helps with the cleaning, and even that sporadically. So for the sake of fairness, we should give him the least desirable chores! she winked toward the sink.
The least desirable? I asked, guessing what she meant.
The worst of them! she snorted, nodding at the piledup crockery. Come on, Emma, lets watch some telly and look through yesterdays photos. We took loads. Max, youve finished your coffee, so you can have the sink to yourself! she declared.
Oh, Im thrilled! Max, youve got a wonderfully considerate mother! Im delighted! Emma said with a disarming grin, standing up and clutching her nowcold coffee.
They left the kitchen together, leaving me alone with the mountain of dishes. I stared at the full sink, grimaced, and muttered, Why did I even start this conversation? as I turned the tap on.
If Emma and I were both there, I might have found an excuse, but you cant argue with your motherinlaw. And so a new tradition slipped into our young marriage one that Emma adored and I loathed.
Life isnt always fair, is it?
