The Bouquet in the Vase
Alex, are you sure theyre coming tonight? Maybe give them a ring, remind them what time it is?
Emily was standing at the hall mirror, fiddling with her earring. Her hands were shaking a bit, not that shed admit it. Thirty. A nice round number and, for once, she just wanted everything to go wellno rows, no eye-rolling, no feeling like shed somehow missed the brief for Being an Adult Woman.
Alex emerged from the kitchen holding a mug of tea. He was thirty-two and delightfully skilled at multitasking: drinking tea, reading something on his phone, and supposedly listening to his wifeall at the same time. At least in his mind he was.
Ill pop them a call, dont worry.
Im not worried. Im only asking.
Em, theyll come. Mum said three.
And its only half twelve. Ive got to set the table, finish the cake, get changed.
He actually looked up from his phone this time. Really looked.
You look lovely already.
Alex.
What?
Stop getting distracted. Ring them.
He smirked, set his mug on the shelf and dialled. Emily retreated to the kitchenshe didnt want to hear his mums voice, not that shed ever admit she cared. Quite the opposite, really. After three years, Emily could write a dissertation on how Diana Green spoke, from her inflections to the ominous pauses before graciously saying something that was, somehow, always just a bit unnecessary.
Relations with her mother-in-law had never properly taken off. Not that theyd argued, oh noit was subtler than that. Polite smiles that somehow skirted around both of them. Questions that sounded like concern, but were more like a quiz. And that ever-present humEmily was simply not the right fit. Not quite the wife Alex *should* have brought home.
Diana Green was sixty-one, still doing accounts for a property firm, always ramrod-straight and precise with her words. She never raised her voice; that, perhaps, was the trickiest bit. You can shout back at someone who shouts. Someone whos perpetually calm just leaves you boiling quietly, unable to argue at all.
Frank Green, her father-in-law, was a different kettle of fish. Sixty-four, retired engineer, loves football and a good steak-and-kidney pie. Emily had a soft spot for him. He was the straightforward type, told it like it was: Em, thats a cracking roast, or Alex, youre a numpty for not listening to your wife. He didnt hover over social nuances. He just lived.
Alex came back into the kitchen.
So?
She says theyll be here at three. All fine.
Thats it?
Thats it.
Emily rearranged the chopped veg pointlessly.
She didnt ask about presents or anything?
Emily, can you not wind yourself up?
Im not! I just itd be nice if they brought some flowers. You know, standard birthday etiquette.
Theyll bring something.
How do you know?
Theyre normal people.
Emily didnt answer. She picked up the knife and started slicing tomatoes: neat, steady, methodical. It helped.
The morning had actually started wellcredit where due. Alex woke her up at eight, which was rare on a Saturday. She opened her eyes to find him standing by the bed, hair a mess, wearing his most tragic old t-shirt, a small box in hand. Like a giant boy and, honestly, rather endearing.
Happy birthday, Em.
She propped herself up.
Youre up early?
On purpose. For you.
She opened the box. A ring, simple silver with a little blue stoneit looked like something in between aquamarine and whatever elseshe didnt know gemstones, but it was undeniably lovely. Clearly chosen by him; exactly what she wouldve picked herself.
Alex
Dont start blubbing. Thats an order.
Im not.
Good.
She slipped it onto her middle finger. Fit like it was made for her.
How did you know the size?
Took one you never wear from the drawer. Call me Sherlock.
Sneaky.
Resourceful.
She laughed and pulled him into bed. They lay there another half hour, chatting nonsense about how the bedroom curtains were a crime against interior design, and how the neighbours cat was yowling through the night again. One of those mornings youd bottle, if you could.
He went to sort out breakfast; she lay there admiring her new ring, thinking that thirtywell, it was only a number. She had a good husband, a cosy little flat, decent enough job. Today look set to be a good one. She didnt know what was coming.
Breakfast was pure British simplicity: eggs, grilled tomatoes, buttered toast, tea. A little jug with three yellow tulipscorner shop specialbut right then, on the table, they were perfect.
Three oclock for the guests, he announced, buttering toast, so weve a few hours to ourselves.
The cakes not done.
Righttwo hours.
And the table.
Alright, one hour.
Alex.
What?
Be more useful.
To his credit, he was. He dusted the lounge. Moved extra chairs in. Dug out the wedding tableclothcream with embroidered flowersstill pristine, never used because it was too nice.
Lets use it today, Emily declared.
Its a celebration, after all.
She smoothed it down on the table, feeling it was the perfect day at last for it.
Cakes were her specialityapple sponge, classic, reliably delicious. The apples were still from her mums garden, stashed in the cellar since autumn. She mixed them with cinnamon, poured the batter, and let the oven hum away, filling the flat with that warm, homey smell that meant all is well.
You know, Em, you really dont need to panic about my lot, Alex perched on a kitchen stool, they dont dislike you, I promise.
I know.
Do you? Because each time, you go all tense when they come.
What do you mean?
Tense. Like youre waiting for a disaster.
Emily didnt answer straight away. She stirred the batter, gazed out the window.
Remember last Christmas?
Mm.
When your mum said I dont salt the roast potatoes enough?
It was just salt, Em.
I know. But its always something. The salt, or the curtains, or how Ive lost or gained weight.
He fell quiet.
She doesnt mean it nastily.
I know, but it doesnt help.
He came and hugged her.
Everythingll be fine today. Promise.
She let herself believe it, just for a second. Sometimes pretending is halfway to believing, anyway.
At half past one, she went to get changed. She picked out the dress shed bought for the occasion: dark blue, elegant-but-not-flashy, just nice enough for a birthday where you wanted to feel good. She zipped it up, checked herself in the mirror.
Not bad. Pretty good, actually.
She brushed on some soft pink lipstick, only a hint of makeup. A spritz of perfume, last years gift from her mate RosieSummer Meadowlight, a bit floral, warm.
Alex whistled when he saw her.
Oooh.
Oooh what?
Justyou look amazing.
Thanks.
You should wear blue more.
You say that every time.
Its always true.
She smiled, checked the cakeit was perfectly golden, the smell of cinnamon and apple filling the kitchen. She set out the plates, straightened the cutlery.
The table looked beautiful. Shed done a spreadsalads, roast chicken with potatoes, jars of last years homemade pickles. Sliced bread in a basket. Winenice, but not posh. It all looked the part.
Looks brilliant, said Alex, surveying the scene.
I do try.
Three on the dot, the bell rang. Diana Green was never late. Emily respected that, secretly.
Alex went to answer. Emily stayed in the kitchen, took a deep breath and followed.
Out in the hallway, coats were coming off. Diana, in a burgundy blazer and neat trousers, looked as poised and official as ever. Frank was in his dependable grey sweater and gave Emily a bear hug.
Happy birthday, Emily! Thirty, proper grown-up now!
Thank you, Frank.
None of this Frank. I told you, just Frank!
Diana waited her turn, then gave Emily a peck on the cheek, careful not to smudge any lipstick.
Happy birthday, Emily. Thirtysuch a wonderful age.
Thank you. Please, come throughthe tables all ready.
Frank beamed as soon as he saw the spread.
Now *this* is what Im on about! Alex, you lucked out, son.
I know, Alex replied, and for once didn’t sound sarcastic.
Diana surveyed the tablenot judgy, just taking it in. Finally:
Very nicely laid out, Emily. The tablecloth is beautiful.
Wedding present, Emily said.
Ah, finally using it then?
Well, its a special occasion.
They sat down. Alex poured the wine. Frank rubbed his hands together.
Well, lets be upstanding. To the birthday girl!
They toasted. Emily felt something inside begin to ease. Maybe, just maybe, it would all be fine.
Hows work, then? Frank asked, helping himself to salad.
Alright. We finished a project last week, so its quieter.
What kind of project?
Designing the interior for a new shopping centre. Im part of the team.
Brilliant, Frank said, genuinely impressed. Creative work, that. Not for everyone.
Diana ate slowly, listening in. Then:
Emily, have you ever thought about working a bit closer to home? Both your commutes must be a pain.
Well, work is work, Emily said, I like it there.
Just checking.
Alls well, really, Diana.
Brief silence. Frank livened things up again:
Ooh, who did the chicken? Yours?
Yup.
Give Diana the recipe, she hasnt done roast this good in ages.
Frank, Diana said coolly.
What? I mean it. No point keeping quiet.
Im not keeping quiet.
Emily grinned, got more bread. Back at the table, Alex squeezed her hand under the table. It helped.
They chatted about the neighbours leaky pipes, about Dianas favourite detective show, about a new park that had opened nearby.
About half an hour in, Diana said, as if it was just small talk:
We didnt bring a present, you know. We thought of giving you money, but it seemed easier to ask first what you might want.
Emily paused, glass halfway to her lips.
For a moment, she felt nothing more than bewildered annoyance. It was her birthdayher thirtieth, at thatand here they were, eating her food, drinking her wine, and announcing their presentlessness as if it were a helpful bulletin.
I see, she said.
Well, just let us know what you want, or well sort something later.
All right, Diana.
It just wasnt very convenient this time.
Emily nodded, took a sip of wine, and stared somewhere just past everyones shoulder.
Alex watched her. She could feel his eyes, but she didnt turn.
Frank, oblivious, finished a mouthful of bread. Eventually, he noticed the tension, and fell silent too.
More chicken, anyone? he ventured.
Nobody answered.
Diana quietly tucked into salad. She didnt seem embarrassed. She rarely looked embarrassed. She truly believed shed said everything by the book.
And that unwavering composurethat was the worst bit of all. If shed looked awkward or said, Sorry, love, bit of a muddle, it would have been something. But she just sat, eating her salad.
Diana, Emily said, surprising herself how steady her voice came out. Can I ask you something?
Of course, Emily.
Did you always know you wouldnt bring a present?
A tiny pause.
Wed discussed it, yes. Figured itd be better to ask what you want.
So you knew.
Emily, its not a disaster. Well sort something.
Im not saying it is. Emily put her fork down. But Id have understood if youd given the heads-up. Then I wouldnt have expected.
Did you expect something?
A pause.
Diana Emily kept her tone gentle, though her insides felt brittle. Its my thirtieth. Ive looked forward to this. Ive been cooking all day, I just wanted it to feel special. The present doesnt matter. A bunch of flowers would have been lovely.
Oh Emily, youre a grown woman, Diana replied, completely unchanged in tone, as if that closed the matter. Its only flowers.
And that, that phrasegrown womansomething clicked in Emily. Not dramatic, but definite.
Exactly, she said. A grown woman. Congratulations to me.
She got up, gathered plates, and went into the kitchennot to run away, just to breathe a moment. She stared at the window. Children were whizzing round on their bikes. The sky was grey, but dry.
Em?
Alex had followed her in, closing the door quietly.
You alright?
Of course.
Youre not.
Alex, go to the guests.
Emily.
She turned to face him.
Alex, I really dont want a scene on my birthday. Sit there, Ill come back in a second, and all will be normal. Okay?
She was out of order.
I know.
She really was. It wasnt nice.
Alex. Please. Just go.
He studied her a moment. Then left. She heard him open the living room door.
And then, floating through, his voicesteady, but not loud:
Mum, I want to say something.
Emily froze.
Alex, whats up? Franks voice.
One minute, Dad. Mumthat wasnt fair, what you said to Emily.
What did I say? Diana, as calmly as before.
Saying you didnt bring a present and might give one later. On her birthday. Its rude.
Oh Alex, dont be silly. Were going to get her something.
Mum, its not about the present. Its how you said it. And then telling Emily shes a grown woman when she tried to explain how she feltthats not fair. Shes allowed to have feelings, Mum.
Silence.
Alex, are you really siding with your wife against your own mother?
Mum, Im not siding against anyone. Im saying shes right. Thats all.
Emily stood at the sink, not meaning to eavesdrop, but unable to leave. She listened because she was stuck.
Frank, are you hearing your son? Dianas voice, perhaps a touch sharper.
Diana, actually, hes got a point, Frank replied, sounding sheepish. I was thinking we shouldve got flowers, at least. Or a cake.
Emily exhaled, quietly. She rinsed her glass, straightened her blouse, and walked back.
They fell silent as she entered. She took her seat.
Cake? she offered, businesslike.
Emily Diana began.
Its fine, Diana. Really. Emily locked eyes with her. Id rather not have a post-mortem for my birthday. Ill get dessert.
She cut the sponge, serving everyone in a manner that was almost disconcertingly neat. Poured the tea.
Frank ate his slice in silence, then: Lovely cake, Emily. Youre smashing.
Thanks.
Diana sipped her tea, small and delicate. Alex flicked his gaze between mother and wife, completely adrift.
Another twenty minutes or so passed. The room sat uneasily, like a polite room after an ill-judged toast.
Eventually, Diana finished her tea and said, Well, we ought to get going. Its nearly dark.
It wasnt; it was half four and broad daylight.
As you like, Emily replied.
Thank you for everything. Delicious.
Youre welcome.
Frank stretched his back. Alex, come see us out?
Of course, Dad.
Emily stayed sitting. She heard coats rustling, Franks soft voice, Dianas equally soft answer. Then the door closed.
Silence.
Emily stared at a half-eaten slice of cake, traced a finger round an embroidered flower on the tablecloth.
Alex returned, dropped into the chair opposite, rubbed his face.
Theyve gone.
I heard.
Quiet.
Em.
Dont.
Dont what?
Dont justify anyone. Not her. Not you. Just hush, for a bit.
He hushed.
Outside, a car went past. A window banged somewhere. The fridge hummed.
It hurts, she said, at last. Not about the present. You get that, right? Its not about the present.
I know.
She couldve just I dont know. Said sorry. Or nothing. But grown womanthat was so much worse.
He nodded.
Ill speak to her later.
Dont.
Emily, I should.
Not now. Wait until I can talk about it calmly.
He looked at her, then got up, circled the table and sat next to her.
Em, I want your birthday to be good.
It is. Loads of its been good. The morning was lovely.
And the ring?
Its perfect. She looked at her hand. Perfect.
And the cakes perfect.
I always do cake well.
He squeezed her hand.
Hey, Ive got an idea.
What?
Lets get out, just you and me?
To where?
I dunno, that placePalette, the bar on Astley Road. Or just a walk.
Im in a dress.
So? Its a birthday dress. Youll look the part.
She smiled, weak but real.
Table needs clearing.
Well manage in the morning.
I cant leave it overnight!
Emily, you can. Itll survive.
The gravyll congeal.
Ill put the chicken in the fridge. The rest can wait.
She looked at him, and for a second, everything felt lighter. Just because he was there, looking.
Alright, she said. Lets go.
He put the chicken away, she grabbed her coat and bag, checked herself in the hall mirrorstill a tad battle-worn, mascara a shade too smudged under one eye. She fixed it with a finger.
Ready?
Ready.
The lift smelt as drab as ever. Out in the evening, the air was chilly but finea spring smell, damp earth and first shoots of green. The streetlights were already on, though it was barely dusk.
Nice out, she observed.
Yeah.
They strolled arm in arm. She didnt pull away.
Palette Bar was tucked into the side street, all soft light and lingering jazz. Theyd come once before, for their anniversary, and shed liked it for its cosiness and the tables spaced at a pleasing distance from eavesdroppers.
They took a table near the window. A waitress brought menus.
Whatll you have? asked Alex.
Red wine. And a cheese board, if theres one going.
He ordered. She took off her coat, looked round the place. There was an older couple with novels at a corner table. In a bar. Reading. It was so absurdly British, she almost laughed.
Alex.
Mm?
You did the right thing saying something earlier.
He looked at her.
You overheard?
Yes. Didnt mean to.
Dont apologise.
You were right. It mattered.
He nodded.
I know you dont like me interfering.
I dont like it when you do it at the wrong moment. Today was the right one.
Mums probably cross with me now.
Probably. Her prerogative. Im still cross too.
Were both allowed our feelings.
They brought the wine and cheese. Emily sipped.
Good one.
I picked at random.
She laughed. Not because anything was hilariousjust because, suddenly, it was easier to laugh.
Alex, can I ask something, honestly?
Of course.
Do you get why I find her tricky? Deep down?
He thought a moment.
I think I mostly dopartly. But not completely. Shes my mum, so I just grew up with her.
Exactly. Emily swirled her wine. She isnt a bad person. Genuinely, shes not. Shes just so used to being right. And if people do things differently, its kind of a challenge. I always do things differently. Different tastes, different job just different.
Youre good.
I know. She grinned. Just not the same. And thats tricky for her.
Shell get used to it.
Maybe. Three years, shes still adjusting.
Emily.
What?
Im on *your* team. You know that?
She glanced across at himreally looked.
I know. You showed that today. It counts.
They fell quiet. The jazz played on. The couple with books whispered over their drinks. Out the window, a dog-walker passed, the dog wearing a tartan coat.
Tell me something good, Emily said suddenly.
What?
Anything. A story. Go on.
He grinned.
Sam at work tried to fix the printer. Stuck a 50p coin in it by mistake.
How?
Claims it was an accident. No one believes him.
She laughedSam was thirty-five, not much for grown-up behaviour.
See? Everyones got their dramas.
They stayed a good hour and a half. Finished the wine, had fizzy water, chatted about summer plans, maybe a weekend in the Cotswolds, how the neighbours cat was offensively loud.
Emily felt something inside beginning to settle. Not vanish. The days sting wasnt goneshed remember it, would still wince when Diana called next week. But for the moment, it was all alright. There was jazz, and red wine, and thirty years under her beltnot such a bad sum, all things considered.
Shall we? Alex asked eventually.
Lets.
On the walk home, the evening had darkened. She took his arm.
Back home, the table was just as it had beenhalf a cake under a tea towel, wineglasses waiting, that special tablecloth.
Nevermind, said Emily, kicking off her shoes. Well sort it tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Alex agreed.
She went to the lounge, flicked on the lamp, soft and warm. Changed into her PJs, pulled out her hair grips, collapsed onto the sofa.
Her phone had a handful of cheery messages. Rosie had sent a string of birthday emojis. Her mate Holly wrote, Dirty thirty! You legend! There was a voice note from her mum, which she saved for the morning when her head would be clearer.
One from Frank Green too. She hadnt spotted it straight away.
Simple: Emily, sorry about today. Shouldve got flowers. Dianall ring tomorrow. Happy birthday again. Youre a star.
She read it twice, then stashed her phone.
Alex! she called.
Yes?
Your dad texted.
He appeared in the doorway.
What did he say?
He apologised. Said Diana will call tomorrow.
Alex nodded.
There you go.
Yeah.
So things will be fine.
Emily glanced at her ring, then at the lamp, then out the window to the neighbours house lights.
Well see, she said. Not cranky. Just matter-of-fact.
Alex joined her, plopping down beside her. He flicked the telly on, left the sound at a whisperjust pictures.
Birthday, he mused aloud.
Mm.
So, whats thirty like?
Hard to say, Emily replied. Ask again in a year.
He took her hand. She let him.
So they sat therequiet, with a messy table in the next room, the unsliced cake under a cloth. The disappointment still hung around, but dulled a bit. There was the ring, and Franks oddly sweet message.
Sunday morning, half eleven, the doorbell rang. Emily, still in pajamas, was clearing the table. Alex opened up.
It was Diana, alone, holding a bouquet: white chrysanthemums, a hint of green. Modest, shop by the tube sort of thing, cellophane still on.
Emily came out and paused in the doorway.
They faced each other.
Emily, Diana said. Her voice was the same, but softer, maybe. I came to here.
She offered the bouquet.
Emily took them.
Thank you, Diana.
I got it wrong yesterday. That wasnt fair.
A pause.
I hear you.
You were upset.
Yes.
This came out easilyno anger, no tears. Just yes.
Diana nodded, short and firm.
May I come in?
Of course.
They went to the kitchen. Emily filled the kettle. Dug around for cups.
Alex? she called.
In here, he replied from the sitting room.
Tea?
Please.
Emily found the little blue vase (another wedding present), filled it, placed the flowers on the windowsill.
Diana sat silently, watching.
Nice vase, she said quietly.
Also from our wedding.
Youve kept a lot.
We have. Looked after them.
Tea made, they satfor onceall three. Everything felt tentative, like treading on ice to see if itd take your weight.
Ill phone Frank, tell him things are fine, Diana said. He was worried.
Good. Hes always been lovely.
A pause.
I do try, Diana whispered, mostly to herself.
Emily looked at her, sensing something honest in those words. She triesmaybe not the way youd hope, but she does.
I know, said Emily. I do, too.
They finished their tea. Diana got her coat on in the hallway.
Happy birthday again, Emily. Thirtyeverythings ahead of you still.
Thank you, Diana.
After the door clicked shut, Emily stood a moment. Then went back to the kitchen.
The chrysanthemums stood on the sillwhite, a little awkward, cellophane off but the ribbon still on. Not special, but well, they were flowers.
Alex came up behind her, hugged her.
Hows it feel? he asked.
Alright.
You talked?
Best we could.
Thats something.
Thats something, she agreed.
They stood, quietly.
Alex, Emily said. You know what I think?
What?
Family is like a subject you have to keep sitting the exam for, day after day. You never finish. Tricksy, but true.
Big thoughts, for a Sunday morning.
Just sometimes, I have them.
He kissed her on the head.
Shall we do breakfast?
Eggs?
With tomatoes.
Sold.
She grabbed his handjust a gentle squeeze, just like hed done under the table, back when it had all begun.
The chrysanthemums caught a stray shaft of sunlight through the window, looking a little brighter.
Maybe it meant nothing. Or just perhaps, it meant just enough.
***
That evening, Emily called Rosie, who picked up immediately.
So, how was the party, give me every detail!
Long story.
Ive got all night. How are you?
Emily paused.
You know, she said at last, Ive always struggled with the mother-in-law thing. But today something shifted, just a inch or two. Maybe thats what people mean by family valuesnot storming out, not blowing up, just carrying on, even when it stings.
Blimey, Rosie said. Thats deep for a Sunday.
Or maybe Im just tired of being cross.
That works too.
Emily giggled.
Rosie, come by next weekend. No reasonjust because. Ill bake cake.
Cinnamon?
Cinnamon.
Say no moreIm there.They chatted a whileabout nothing much, about everything. After the call ended, Emily sat in the kitchen for a moment, feet tucked under her on the wooden chair, mug warm in her palms. The flat was quiet but not empty: it held the hum of Saturday night, the faint lift of music through floorboards above, the promise of tomorrow.
When she went to close the curtains, she glanced at the chrysanthemums one last time. The white blooms glowed softly against the blue-violet of dusknothing dramatic, but quietly lovely in their own small way.
Emily stepped back, surveying the ordinary miracle of her life: cake crumbs, a wedding vase, her favourite mug, the promise of friends, and, somewhere in the other room, the steady truth of someone whod chosen her back.
She touched her new ring, thought of birthdays past and those still to come, and feltunexpectedlyready.
Whatever family meant, however messy and unfinished, shed keep turning up. Day after day, bouquet after bouquet.
That was enough; for tonight, that was everything.
