“Son Doesn’t Want to See Me Anymore”
Mum, what have you said to my wife? She was about to pack her bags and leave.
I just told her the truth, darling. You must see, shes not right for you. Emily would be so much better.
Whos Emily? What nonsense have you dreamt up now?
Ive always known my son was special. My firstborn, my dearest treasure, and the apple of my eye. When he grew up and married, I simply couldnt accept it. It was unthinkable to imagine someone taking my place in his heart. It was painful to let go, but I handed him over to another woman, however reluctantly.
My son was my world. I would have done anything for his happiness and well-being. I raised him single-handedly, as my husband was always away, travelling around the country for work. It was no easy feat, but I played both mother and father. I learnt to fix his bicycle tyres, play football and toy soldiersall to keep close to him. I know, deep down, he was grateful. After all, he was my only true delight, my golden boy.
But his wife? She could never love him as I do. She didnt care for him, not reallynever cooked, left dishes unwashed in the sink, her belongings scattered everywhere. She wasn’t one to keep a tidy home, not in the least.
Yet I still longed to be near him, to care for him as I always had. So every week, Id visit his flat, gather up his laundry and take it home to wash and press for him. I had my own key, and Id slip in quietly while they were both at work, tidying things while she, that bothersome shrew, was out.
I simply couldnt leave things as they were. My son had university and a jobhe was far too busy for washing and ironing, especially when, even after three years of marriage, his wife never bothered to learn how. I always washed his socks with a child-friendly powderhes still allergic to the usual brands, which she never knew or cared to learn.
His jumper, the one Id knitted for his birthday, was ruined: stretched out and covered in bobbles, because she washed it in boiling water and then pegged it up as if it were a rag. I had to unravel the entire thing and start over. It was always simpler to do it myself rather than fix her mistakes.
But my daughter-in-law simply never understood my motives. She said it wasnt up to her and that I ought to teach my son some independence. How could they expect me to let him wallow in filth because shed grown up in a pigsty and was content with chaos? I loved my son and only wanted him healthy and happy. If I could help, how could I refuse?
My husband would scold me over it, saying I fussed too much over a grown man whod made his own choices and now must live with them. But I couldnt put my mind at rest knowing my boy was cleaning, ironing and cooking alone while she lounged about on the sofa.
So I decided to do his washing one final time and leave him be. The next morning, once theyd gone to work, I gathered every bit of their washing, including some of hersher pile was starting to smell, and I wasnt about to have her dirty things near my sons clean ones. I sent my husband off to visit one of his friends (hed been underfoot for too long anyway), and set to work.
I washed blankets, clothes, all of itpressed everything neatly, and packed it all into a great sack to carry back to my sons. Thankfully, he lived nearby, just across the crescent from me. Still, his flat was on the fourth floor, my legs arent what they used to be, and the lift was out of order for repairs. But I had no choice; there was no other time. So I braved the stairs, climbing them slowly for what seemed like hours.
Each step was a struggle, the bag weighing me down, my thoughts swirling with worry for my boy, imagining him surrounded by dirt and squalor. I cried as I climbed, aching for the boy whod been the centre of my world. All I wanted was to keep caring for himor at least for him to find a woman whod cherish him and keep things in order.
Finally, I arrived at his door, and as usual, let myself in silently. I quickly deposited the bundle of freshly laundered clothes, shutting the door gently behind me: the neighbours dog had a yapping bark that wouldve set off the whole building.
To my surprise, there was unfamiliar footwear scattered in the hallway. It hadnt been there when I left before, which was odd. Perhaps my son and his wife had come home early, and shed made her usual mess.
As I stepped further in, I spotted his trousers on the bedroom floor. I thought perhaps Id missed them in my last wash, so I bent to pick them upwanting to iron them right then so hed have them fresh for the morning. But as I knelt, I heard noisessoft moansfrom the bedroom. Lifting my gaze, I saw my son in bed with another womannot his wife, who was blonde, but a dark-haired lady.
I froze on the spot, shocked. My son caught sight of me and burst out,
Mum, get out! Really, enough is enoughyou never give me a moments peace!
I modestly closed the door and called out, Come, please, I need a word. After a few minutes, he came into the kitchen, wearing the dressing-gown Id given him last Christmas.
Mum, why are you here? Have you still got our keys?
Of course, darling, you gave them to me last year, so I could pop round now and then, I answered simply.
Well, most people warn before dropping in, he retorted.
I only came to do your laundry. I said as much before.
I expected you tomorrow, he grumbled, turning away.
After a pause, I dared to ask, ‘Sorry to ask, but has your wife dyed her hair?’
No, Mum, thats not my wife. Its someone else, he mumbled, embarrassed.
Are you cheating on her?
I suppose youll judge me for it.
Never, love. Whatever you choose, Ill always be on your side.
He sighed, thoughtful. ‘Well, I must admit, I rather like this Emily far more. My wifewell, shes too focused on her career and never keeps house. But Emily she cooked for me, tidied up the kitchen, and shes just so kind and attentive. Still, Ill stay with my wife. Its probably just a passing thing.’
Whatever you do, darling, Ill always stand by you. Ive washed everything for you with your favourite powder. Here are your things. If a girl like Emily looks after you, I wont bother you anymore. I turned to leave.
I was glad, truly, that he had found someone worthy. The kitchen was spotless, the floor clean, soup on the hob. That girl clearly knew how to keep a home, and she looked pleasant as well. No doubt my son realised for himself where true comfort lay.
A week later, with my mind (almost) at ease, I bumped into my daughter-in-law at the local shop. She was, as usual, buying all sorts of exotic and pricey foodsavocado, some odd green fruit, rye crispbreads, buckwheat and kefir. I approached and asked,
Oh, Sarah, going on a diet then?
Hello, Mrs. Foster. Yes, your son and I want to slim down for the summerwere thinking of a holiday to the Canary Islands, and want to look photogenic, she said, all haughtiness.
With my son? I thought you two had split up.
What? Where did you get that?
Oh, but hes got someone else nowEmily.
Emily? I dont know anyone called Emily. We havent even argued!
I saw her myself, dearthey were, well, together, and then the kitchen was tidy, dinner cooked. I assumed he’d told you by now. Well, good luck in finding another chapmaybe one who can share your buckwheat and kefir.
What kitchen? Whos Emily? Are you mad? Youve done enough to turn your son against me, now youre making up new women and inviting them into his bed? Thats it. Let us live! You, honestly, are insufferable! Sarah threw her basket down and stormed out. I never would’ve guessed she was such a firebrand, but I was even more stunned when my son left Emily for what amounted to a dragon in skirts.
A little while after, my son rang:
Mum, what did you say to my wife? Shes about to leave.
I told her the truth. Shes not right for youEmily would be better.
Emily? What Emily? What are you on about?
Well, thats how it seemed. I thought you and Sarah were over and youd chosen Emily.
I havent left anyone. And there is no Emily! Please, dont call, and were changing the locks. Its over, Mum. Forget about me.
And so it was. Looking back now, I wonder how it all came to this.
