Family Borscht, the husband muttered, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the kitchen air. The scent was a strange mash of fried tomatoes and last years cabbage, as if the whole of Londons takeaway scene had been squashed into a pot. You could have made something more exciting than this a proper roast perhaps, he grumbled.
Maggie Thompson snapped back, her voice a growl. Therell be meatballs, a salad with mayo, pancakes, and sliced vegeverything. But leave me alone, old fool, Ill manage without you. Scram before I give you a ladle on the head. Waitstay. Turn the pot off in five minutes, Im heading out. She yanked off her apron in one swift motion.
Where are you off to? he asked, adjusting his trousers and glancing nervously at the stove.
To meet the lads, they said theyd be here in ten minutes. Ill pick up some extra breadsomeone never gets enough.
She stood before a mirror, trying to tame her short, bobbed hair. It lay as it should, yet Maggie hated the sight; the days when she was a blooming beauty felt like a distant, stubborn dream, now replaced by a wilted autumn she could not halt.
Theyll pull themselves up, wont they? he wondered, puzzled.
Molly, stop flickering in and out of my vision. Ill handle the pot, but dress yourself, for heavens sakestop roaming about in just your underwear, she snapped. Why are you so cross today? he ventured, feeling the sting of accusation.
I dont know! Maggie snapped back, Youll never understand, you simple man. She swayed her hips and trudged toward the lift.
Her anger swirled like a storm. Her son, Tom, came home every year with a new girlfriendalways some selfstyled vegetarian, dietobsessed, too salty, too greasy, never having a proper kitchen knife. They sniffed the air, never satisfied with Maggies cooking.
This time she decided she would not try to impress. She would simply make a humble, everyday stewenough to fill bellies, to keep hunger at bay.
The street welcomed her with a gentle May breeze. She inhaled the clean air, steadying herself before a silver sedan rolled up, bearing her sons face. Tom, now thirtyseven, drifted through life as an internet freelancer, tinkering with software, always rushing, always longing for a stable family and a child. Maggie dreamed of a grandchild; all her friends already had grandchildren, while she remained childless. Toms girlfriends were all the samemarried, hesitant to bear children.
Mum, why did you go out? We could have carried the pot ourselves, Tom said, embracing her. This is Emily, he added, introducing his new partner.
Hello, Emily Clarke replied with a bright smile.
Maggies mind fluttered. Finally, someone who looks like an ordinary person, not a circus act. She smiled sweetly at the new daughterinlaw, thinking, Lets hope this one works out; she looks as plain as a countryside maiden.
Ready to go? Tom asked.
Hold on, Mum, theres a bag of drinks and a box in the bootEmilys gift for you.
What?! Maggie exclaimed, eyes widening as Emily beamed.
Emily explained, I work in environmental cleanup, so the gift is right on themesomething for the house.
Maggie, feeling a sudden surge of suspicion, thought, No, Im jumping to conclusions again; shes another oddball. She took the bag stiffly, as if she were a robot, and carried the box up the stairs, barely noticing the tender glance between son and girl.
They all sat down after the usual whirlwind of greetings. Emily, unimpressed by the borscht, ladled it calmly, her voice shy as she talked about her job. She described herself as a lowlevel member of an ecological monitoring team, but Maggie caught only fragments.
Is your job official? Maggie asked.
Yes, Im registered.
See, Tom, youve been without a proper contract for ten years. What if you fall ill? What about your pension? Time flies, and youre already thirtyseven.
Toms cheeks flushed. Mum, I wont even see my pension.
Dont be so sure; one day youll sit on your arse, Maggie declared.
Enough, stop ruining my stomach. Dad, pass the pancake and the cheese, Tom tried to say, but his father kept cutting him off with sudden toasts and wishes.
Emily, still sipping the soup, rose. The stew is wonderful, Mrs. Thompson. May I help clear the table?
The women began to collect the dishes and carry them to the kitchen. Spotting the messy stove, Emily clapped her hands. Heres your gift! I almost forgot!
She opened the box, revealing ecofriendly cleaning products. These are biodegradable kitchen cleaners made from vegetables and fruit. They dissolve in water and dont harm the environment. Want to try them now? Her face lit up, looking exceptionally pretty.
No, love, dont touch the stoveI havent washed it in three days, it would be shameful, Maggie protested, shielding the burner with her back.
Emily laughed. I grew up in the countryside; Ive seen every type of stove. Go ahead, spray it, and Ill finish with a sponge.
She worked deftly, while Maggie rolled crumbs across the table, peppering Emily with questions about her schooling, her parents, and how she met Tom. The answers were proper and respectable, satisfying Maggies curiosity. Then Emily turned to the stove, cleaning it with ease, the grime disappearing like mist.
Thank you for the lovely gifts, Emily, Maggie said, still wary of hidden motives.
A clink of glasses from the living room summoned everyone back to the sofa. Tom hugged his girlfriend tightly, hand resting gently on her belly, and announced, Well, dear mum, Dad Emily and I have decided to marry.
Oh! Maggie gasped.
And thats not all, Tom added, pausing the chorus of exclamations, then giving Emily a playful kiss that turned her cheeks pink. Were expecting a babyprepare for a grandchild this winter.
Blessed be this happiness! Maggie shouted, waving her arms. The Holy Mother has heard my prayers; the angels have smiled upon us!
She flung her arms toward Emily, Come here, my sunshine, my little angel, she cooed, shushing Toms jittery movements. Be gentle, I know a thing or two about handling expectant mothers.
Emily, tears glistening, whispered, Maggie Thompson, could you share your recipes? I cant cook a stew like yours, especially not a borscht.
Emily! Maggie squealed, her mind spilling over with joy. Its my dreamto pass my knowledge on, to give love unspent, to see a grandchild.
And so, in that strange, dreamfilled kitchen, a modest wish became a bright, impossible reality.
