Room At The Table by Eirin Thompson
A mother waves her child goodbye in this touching short story by Eirin Thompson.
DEIRDRE had been fine all through the wedding preparations. Sophie had included her in everything, from choosing bridesmaids’ dresses to scouting venues.
They’d planned the menu between them, and Simon, the groom, had said that suited him very well – just tell him where to show up, and when.
Mother and daughter had sat together night after night, sewing favours for the guests and selecting fonts for the invitations.
It had been a pleasant way to pass the winter.
Then Sophie and Simon had started looking at houses.
Deirdre tried to be the calm voice of reason, entering into the spirit of the house-hunt yet cautioning the young couple against saddling themselves with too hefty a mortgage.
Did they really need a utility room? Or an ensuite? Could they justify the expense of a conservatory?
“We make a good team, Mum,” Sophie frequently said. “You’re always willing to listen, and you never try to take over. Thanks.”
Deirdre had glowed at her daughter’s praise.
No sooner was their big day behind them than the young couple had to move their first things into their new property, and then it was time to fly out to their honeymoon cruise.
Deirdre followed the series of photos on Facebook, delighted to see each new place they visited.
“Maybe we should go on a cruise for our thirtieth wedding anniversary, Brian,” she suggested.
All in all, everything went off very well, until that day in the butcher’s . . .
****
“Morning, Deirdre. I like your coat.” Anne, an old friend from school, was behind her in the queue.
“Thanks, Anne, I got it from a catalogue last year.”
“It suits you. How are the kids?”
“Sophie’s just returned from her honeymoon, so she’s getting back in the swing of things at work.
“And Johnny’s still at uni, with a part-time job in the pet supplies shop.”
“And how are you?”
“Me? I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. Arriving at the front of the queue and returning the butcher’s greeting, she found herself dissolving into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered as, clutching her bags, she left the shop.
She became tearful again that evening when she had to explain to Brian and Johnny why they were having packet soup and tinned custard for tea.
“We always have pork chops on a Monday,” Brian said.
“I know!” Deirdre sobbed, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “But as I started to ask for them I realised that I’d never be asking for four pork chops again.
“I’ve been buying four pork chops for twenty years, and now it’s three.
“Sophie’s gone and she’s never coming back. Next it’ll be Johnny. Our little family has broken up and I’m so . . . sad.”
Brian looked at her like she’d lost the plot.
“Wasn’t that the point of raising our children?
“So they could grow into strong, independent adults and make their own way in the world?”
“I know!” Deirdre wailed. “But it still hurts.”
“You’ve spent months getting Sophie married off and into her own house,” he pointed out.
“It’s not like she’s eloped, caught you by surprise.”
“Maybe you should give Mum a hug,” Johnny suggested.
Brian tentatively wrapped his arms round Deirdre’s shaking form.
“Oh, don’t bother if your heart’s not in it!” Deirdre snapped and shrugged him off. “I’m going to lie down.”
She muddled through her week, going to work, doing the laundry, cleaning and cooking in the afternoons.
Tuesday meant lasagne, Wednesday was chicken curry and Thursday was fish pie. Somehow none of these so sharply pointed out that the household was one diner down as the pork chops had done.
On Friday Sophie sent a long text saying it had been a tiring week and asking if she could invite herself and Simon to tea tomorrow.
Of course, love! Deirdre texted back. Fancy anything special?
The reply was instant.
Any chance of pork chops?
Mealtimes brought home to Deirdre that Sophie had left for good . . .
****
Anne was again in the queue at the butcher’s.
“I don’t have to ask how you are today. You’re glowing. Are you using a new skin cream?”
Deirdre grinned.
“Sophie and her husband visited at the weekend, and we’ve arranged that they’ll come to us for tea every Monday from now on.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. What are you cooking tonight?”
“Chops. Five of them, now that we’ve added Simon to our table.
“With pineapple, at Sophie’s insistence.” “Sounds a bit Caribbean.” “Sounds a bit pregnant!” “Oh, Deirdre! You must be thrilled!”
“I am,” Deirdre agreed, smiling. “Brian actually cried and went round hugging everybody.
“We’re going to squeeze in a cruise during the quiet second trimester, so we can be there to help once the baby comes.” Deirdre sighed blissfully.
“I’m going to love being a grandma. Before long, I’ll be buying six pork chops!”
The End.