Do you really think Ill be cooking for your mother every single day? the woman snapped.
How long is this supposed to go on? Amélie slammed the pan onto the stove. You think I was hired as a maid for your mother? Two months with no day off! She clenched the wooden spatula, her knuckles whitening under the strain. A longstanding bitterness rang in her voice.
Julien froze in the kitchen doorway, reluctant to step inside. His wife stood before the stove, where meat pattieshis mothers favoritesizzled. The scent of grilled meat and onions made his throat burn, perhaps more from the weight of the looming argument.
Amélie, why are you losing your temper? he said gently, trying to calm her. Mom just prefers homemade meals. She cant eat processed food, you know provisions.
I know! Amélie thumped the spatula onto the counter. I know everythingher hypertension, her diet, her balanced meals. But why must I spin my wheels here every night like a hamster on a wheel? I have a job too!
Outside, October twilight faded slowly. Shadows from an old apple trees branches, reaching through the kitchen window, danced on the walls, silent witnesses to their dispute. Julien glanced at the clockhis mother would soon return from her walk.
Maybe we should hire a housekeeper? he suggested, uneasy, aware that his wife opposed bringing strangers into their home.
Amélie gave a bitter smile. Sure, and how will we pay her? With the rent savings? You know how much Moms medication costs.
She turned back to the stove, wiping fresh tears with the kitchen towel. Three months earlier, when Marie moved in after a minor stroke, Amélie had been the one urging them to take her in. She had never imagined how much their lives would be turned upside down.
The front door slammed down the hallway. Light footstepsMarie had returned from her evening stroll. Amélie hastily dabbed her eyes with a towel and began plating the meat patties. Julien lingered in the doorway, unsure what to say or do.
A heavy silence settled, broken only by the clink of dishes and the faint hiss of the cooling pan.
Mom, how was your walk? Julien hurried into the hallway, eager for any escape from the tense conversation with his wife. Lately, he found himself dodging conflicts, hiding behind work, late returns, and endless urgent tasks.
Marie stood before the hallway mirror, slowly loosening the wool scarfa gift from her nowabsent husband. Her oncesteady fingers, skilled at the sewing machine, now struggled with a simple knot. The tremor that had appeared after the stroke worsened each day.
Oh, that was nice, my little Julien, she tried to smile, though it looked more like a grimace. The leaves were being raked in the park. Remember how you loved jumping into the piles as a kid? Id always tell you, Stop that, youll catch a cold! and youd laugh
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. The pallor of her face and the sweat on her forehead did not escape Juliens watchful gaze.
I feel my blood pressure acting up, Marie admitted. I probably walked too much today.
Ill get your medication, Amélie called from the kitchen. Despite her anger, she took her motherinlaws health seriouslyperhaps years spent working in a clinic had taught her the dangers of neglected illness.
Dont rush, Amélie, Marie said, settling heavily on the bench and pulling a medication blister from her coat pocket. Im playing the spy now, taking everything with me. Here are my assistants.
Her eyes lingered on an old wedding photo hanging on the wallher with her husband on their wedding day. Everything seemed distant now; she never imagined becoming a burden to her own son in his later years.
Julien rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water, nearly toppling a vase. He tried to meet his wifes gaze, but Amélie turned sharply toward the stove where the patties still crackled. The smell of grilled meat made him nauseousshe hadnt eaten all day, juggling work, errands, and cooking.
Whats for dinner tonight? Marie sniffed as she entered the kitchen. More patties? Amélie, why do you push yourself so hard? A simple soup would have been enough
Its fine, Mom, Amélie thrust a fork into a patty, pressing it hard enough to make it squeal against the pan. You like them, I remember.
The tone in her voice made Marie startle and pause at the kitchen threshold. In twenty years of being Juliens mother, she had learned to catch even the slightest tension in her daughterinlaws voice, and now it rang like a string pulled too tight.
The elderly woman shuffled slowly to the table, leaning on her sons arm. She sat, spreading her napkin on her kneesa habit from her teaching days. Julien placed her plate, a glass of water, and adjusted her chair.
You know Amélie began, then stopped, seeing her motherinlaw turn pale. Her temples throbbed with words she was holding back. Lets just have dinner.
Around the table, a heavy hush settled. Only cutlery tinkled against plates, and the wall clockan heirloom from Juliens grandmothermechanically ticked away the seconds of the suffocating silence. Marie barely touched her food, casting sideways glances at her son and Amélie.
In recent weeks she had often noticed such looks, heard snippets of conversation, sensed how the atmosphere shifted when she entered a room.
Maybe I shouldnt have agreed to come she thought bitterly. Yet aloud she managed only, The patties are delicious, Amélie. Almost like the ones my mother used to make
I cant take it anymore, Amélie blurted, her voice trembling as she set her fork down. I really cant.
The clocks ticking grew deafening. Marie froze, spoon hovering inches from her mouth, and Julien paled, realizing his deepest fear was materializingone hed harbored these past weeks.
Every day its the same, Amélies voice steadied with each word. I get up at six, work by eight. At noon I rush to the pharmacy for meds, then after workgroceries, cooking, cleaning When do I get to live? When can I rest?
My dear Marie began.
Im not your daughter! Amélie exploded, standing abruptly, her chair clattering against the wall. You have a son; let him handle the cooking. Im exhausted! Do you understand? Exhausted!
Julien made a small gesture. Amélie, but
What did I say that was so terrible? she shouted, almost laughing. Its true! Youre always caught up with work, and Im supposed to tear myself between the hospital and the house? Your mother is your responsibility!
Marie laid her spoon down, hands trembling more than usual. Im just a burden she whispered softly. You know, Amélie, I get it. Do you think I dont see how tired you are? How angry? I pray every night for the strength to manage on my own
Mom, stop, Julien tried to wrap his arms around her, but she slipped away gently.
No, son, let me finish, Marie straightened her shoulders, like when she faced a rowdy class. I taught for forty years. Do you know what I learned? To listen. And I do listen, Amélie, when you cry in the bathroom. I see your hands shake in the evenings
Amélie remained frozen by the stove, her fingers whitened from gripping the countertop. Small tears rolled down her cheeks.
I was young once, too, Marie continued. I dreamed of my own life. Then my motherinlaw fell ill I cared for her ten years. Every day blurred into a fog of work, cooking, injections, treatments. My husband at work, my little son I thought I was losing my mind.
Mom, why are you saying this? Julien whispered, confused, his gaze shifting between his mother and his wife.
Because youre wrong, son, Marie stood from the table. Youre wrong to put it all on Amélie. Tomorrow Ill call social services for a caregiver
How will we pay her? Amélie asked, not turning.
Ill use my pension, and we can rent the flatmore expenses, of course.
Julien watched the two most important women in his life, feeling his world turn upside down. All these years hed hidden behind his job, pretending nothing had changed
No, he rose, straightening his back. No caregiver. And we wont rent the flat.
But how Marie started.
Starting tomorrow, Ill ask my boss to let me work remotely three days a week, Julien declared firmly. Well take turns cooking. Mom, could you teach me your famous patties?
Marie blinked, surprised. Of course, my son but will you manage?
Men can cook too, Amélie managed a smile for the first time that night. But be careful, your son likes to experiment. Remember his curry borscht?
At least it was original! Julien grinned, feeling the tension melt away gradually.
I can handle the cleaning, Marie offered suddenly. Vacuuming is tough, but dusting, tidying, even ironingIve done that all my life
Mom, Amélie interrupted, finally turning to the table. You dont have to do that
I want to! Maries eyes sparkled with the teachers fire again. Do you think its easy to do nothing all day? I just watch TV and look out the window. At least it gives me a purpose.
She burst into laughter, covering her mouth. Forgive us, children I saw how tired you were and said nothing. I was afraid to say too much.
Forgive me too, Amélie knelt by her motherinlaws chair, resting her head on her knees as she once had with her own mother. I said terrible things I was angry.
Marie stroked Amélies hair, tears sliding down her cheeks. Its settled then. Julien will cook Tuesdays and Thursdays
And every other Saturday, Julien added.
And every other Saturday, Marie agreed. Ill take care of the housework. And you, dear, she lifted Amélies chin, never hesitate to speak up when things get tough. Were a family.
The wall clock ticked on, the patties cooled on the table, and outside the last October rays faded slowly. For the first time in months, genuine warmth returned to the home.
