My son rang me in the afternoon and told me hed be stopping by in the eveningnot alone, but with a girl. He sounded a bit hesitant, like hed carefully rehearsed how to break the news, but with a touch of pride. I asked if theyd be staying long, and he mumbled that it was just to introduce her, nothing special,” though from his tone I knew it was everything but nothing. I said that was fine, told them to pop round, and, for reasons I couldnt explain, wandered straight into the kitchen even though I didnt really need to be there.
I decided to make a pavlova roulade. While whipping the egg whites, I wondered what she might be likeyoung, modern, maybe a bit brash, or perhaps shy. Honestly, her lips hadnt crossed my mind then.
They arrived, my son walking in first.
Mum, meet Emily, he beamed.
I looked up and for a brief moment, the room seemed to freeze. The very first thing I noticed were her lipsfull, shiny, perfectly rounded as if inflated with a bicycle pump. I was quite taken aback and caught myself trying not to stare, though my eyes kept drifting back.
She reached out a hand, smiling politely. Very pleased to meet you.
I returned her smile reflexively, and thought, if my late mother-in-law could see this marvel of modern beauty, shed chat about it with every neighbour for a month. For our generation, lips like that arent fashiontheyre a bit of a shock.
We sat at the table. My son started being unusually attentive, moving her chair closer, fussing about whether she was comfortable or too chilly. She placed her phone right next to her plate, as though it was joining us for supper, and started chatting about herself.
Im quite careful with my diet these days. Everyone is now, arent they?
Thats sensible, I replied. Health should come first.
She nodded. I barely touch bread anymore.
I nodded again, secretly thinking that if Id spent my whole life without bread, Id be a much grumpier woman.
When I brought in the meringue roulade, my sons face lit up.
Mum, did you make this yourself?
Was I supposed to order one? I chuckled.
Emily eyed the roulade, then glanced at me, then back at the roulade, pulling a curious face as if it was suspicious.
It looks lovely, of course. But its just pure sugar and cream. An absolute calorie bomb.
I bit my tongue, trying my best to keep quiet. My son gave an awkward laugh.
Mums cakes are always delicious, he said.
Im sure they are, she replied. I just dont eat things like that.
At that, something inside me started to simmer. It wasnt about the roulade, or even the words, but the way shed said it. I looked at my son, then at her, and realised that if I stayed silent now, Id be silent forever.
I set my teacup down, just a tad louder than necessary. Well, each to their own. Were obviously a lot less fancy.
She gazed at me, wide-eyed above those extravagant lips, and smiled vaguely, as though shed missed my point entirely. I already knew this evening was only just beginning.
After my remark about us simple folk, silence fell around the table. My son stared into his tea. Emily sipped her water, studying me properly, no longer smiling.
I really didnt mean to offend anyone, she said at last. Its just different these days. We pay more attention to what we eat.
I pay attention to my health too, I replied. Its just in my day, we didnt count every single calorie.
My son jumped in quickly. Lets not, Mum, please?
I looked at him and realised he was desperately trying to keep the peace, scared of upsetting anyone. Instead of feeling hurt, I actually found it a bit funny and sad at the same time.
Emily looked at the roulade again and said, I just dont get why people still bake so many sweets. Its really unhealthy.
And that was the last straw. I put down my fork and, in a tone that even surprised me, said, And I cant understand wanting lips you can barely eat with. But you dont hear me complaining.
My son lifted his head.
Mum
Emily blushed, her lips more noticeable than ever, and shot back, Thats none of your business.
Quite right, I said. And neither is my roulade.
A pause followed. Her phone buzzed on the table, but neither of them reached for it. My son looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. And as I sat there, for the first time in ages, I realised Id spoken from the heart instead of pretending to be fine with everything.
Emily was the first to stand.
Thank you for dinner, but I should be off.
Of course, I replied. No ones keeping you.
My son went to see her out. In the hallway, their whispered argument reached my earshis frustrated just wait a bit, her sharp Did you hear how your mother spoke to me? The door shut, and the house fell so silent I could hear the ticking of the old wall clock Id been meaning to throw out for ages.
Ten minutes later, my son returned. He sat down at the table, looked at the roulade and asked, Why did you do that, Mum?
How should I have acted? I asked. Pretend everythings just grand?
He sighed, rubbing his face. You dont get it Everythings different now.
I said, I do get it. But if someone walks into your home and calls your baking a calorie bomb as their first comment, thats not about health. Thats about manners.
He sat there quietly, then said, She says shell never come round again.
Thats fine, I replied. I had no plans to visit her either.
He managed a tired, cheerless grin. Honestly, I get weary of it all too. The calorie counting, the endless dos and donts.
I nudged the plate with the roulade towards him. Then have a slice. And drink your tea before it goes cold.
He took a fork, broke off a piece, tasted it and said, Its delicious.
We sat in silence, but it was a comfortable silence now. After a while, he stood, hugged me and said, You really are one of a kind, Mum.
And you, my obedient boy, I teased.
He left late into the evening. I sat a bit longer in the kitchen, enjoying another slice of roulade. The world changes, I thought, and I dont have to embrace everything new. Sometimes its enoughand rightto stay true to yourself, even if that seems wrong to someone else.
