Whos going to cook for us if you leave?
What are you doing? Where are you going? And who will make our dinner? her husband muttered, watching Claire storm out after a clash with her motherinlaw.
Claire stared out the window at a bleak, gray morning despite springs arrival. In their small northern town the sun was a rarity, which perhaps explained the towns habitual grumpiness and the cold reception visitors received.
She realized she smiled less and less each day. The permanent crease on her forehead seemed to add a decade to her face.
Mom! Im going out, her daughter Chloë called.
Yes, yes, Claire answered distractedly.
Yes, what? Give me some money.
Arent walks free anymore? Claire sighed.
Mom! Why are you asking so many questions? My friends are waiting, hurry up! Why so little? Chloë snapped.
Its enough for an icecream.
Stingy! Chloë shouted, slamming the door without waiting for a reply.
Claire recalled the sweet little girl Chloë had been before puberty set in.
Claire, Im hungry! Is it ready? Thierry, her husband, complained.
Its on the table, she said, indifferent.
Can you serve it for me?
She nearly knocked the pot over. What audacity
We eat in the kitchen, Thierry. If youre hungry, eat. If not do whatever you want, she replied, sitting alone at the table.
Fifteen minutes later Thierry appeared in the kitchen.
Its cold yuck.
You shouldve come earlier.
I asked you! No tenderness, no effort! You know I watch football! Thierry grumbled, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth. Not very good.
Claire rolled her eyes. He had become obsessed with footballParis matches, pricey tickets, accessoriessomething hed never cared about before.
Without sitting down, Thierry grabbed a beer and some chips, then returned to the television. Claire stayed behind to clear the dishes.
She had cooked for nothing; nobody appreciated her work.
She was exhausted after her shift as head nurse at the hospital. Every day she dealt with irritable, sick patients, the stress of work following her home, where chores piled up endlessly.
Is there any left? Thierry rummaged in the fridge for another drink. Why is it empty?
You drank everything! Do I also have to shop for you? Show some decency, Thierry! Claire snapped.
Youre too sensitive he muttered, slamming the fridge door and heading out to restock before the next match.
Claire went to bed, knowing a demanding day lay ahead, but sleep eluded her. She worried about Chloëwhere she was, who she was with. Night had fallen and Chloë still hadnt returned. Claire hesitated to call, fearing another tirade.
Youre humiliating me in front of my friends! Stop harassing me! Chloë shouted over the phone. After that, Claire stopped calling, reassuring herself that her daughter had just turned eighteen. She didnt want to work or study; she had finished school and taken a break to find herself.
Halfasleep, Claire heard Thierrys jubilant shouts, likely after a goal, followed by lively chatter with a neighbor who had dropped by unannounced. The neighbor stayed with his partner to support their team together. Later, Chloë staggered home, grabbed food noisily, and went to her room. When the house finally quieted, just as Claire felt she might collapse, the cat began meowing for its dinner.
Is there anyone in this house besides me who can feed the cat? Claire exclaimed, exasperated and on the brink of patience. She hoped someone would hear her, but her daughter, earbuds in, made a mocking gesture, while Thierry snored in front of the TV, a can in his hand.
Ive had enough really enough! Claire thought.
The next morning the phone rang; it was her motherinlaw.
Claire, dear, remember we have to sow the seedlings? And we should go to the countryside to do some cleaning
Yes, I know, Claire sighed.
Then we go tomorrow.
Claires only day off was spent in the fields under Marthes stern gaze.
No, hold the broom like that! the older woman instructed from a bench.
Im almost fifty, Marthe, I think I know how to sweep Claire replied.
Oh, if only Thierry were here
Where is your Thierry? Why didnt he come help his own mother in the country? Why did we spend three hours on the bus? You keep talking about Thierry, Thierry
Hes tired.
And me? Do you think Im not tired?
That remark sparked the argument. Claire regretted not staying silent. Marthe was a talkative, onesided justice champion who never sided with Claire. All her life, Marthe idolized Thierry and treated Claire like a workhorse she tolerated out of necessity.
They each took a separate bus home. The following day Marthe complained to her son, and he erupted.
How dare you speak to my mother that way? Thierry barked.
Because without her
What? Without who? Claire crossed her arms, realizing she no longer wanted to accept such treatment.
Then youd still be working at the dispensary! he retorted, recalling that Marthe had helped Claire land a position at the regional hospital. The salary was higher, but the stress and gray hairs were worth it. Claire had often regretted leaving the quiet dispensary for that stressful hospital.
What are you doing here? Thierry interrupted, seeing what Claire was preparing.
What Claire had done was something Thierry could never have imagined.
