Beverly, has George told you yet? the motherinlaw began, voice wavering like a tidepool echo. Listen! There will be up to twenty guests, so well start the preparations this evening. Ill arrive early, around six oclock.
In the evening? Beverly asked, skepticism curling around her like smoke. No, I never agreed to that.
Hold on, Im not finished. Ive already sent George the shopping list; he promised to buy everything.
George had always been the stalwart for his older sister, Emily. By the time she turned thirty, shed married twice and divorced twice, each time blaming the wrong fellow. Their mother, Margaret, had repeated from the day he was born:
A sister needs a brothers aid.
And George obliged. Money when Emily was temporarily out of work, fixing the leaky radiator in her rented flat, endless trips hauling boxes after each split.
Then, finally, he married.
Beverly, his wife, had tolerated it all. But when, for the fifth time that year, Emily asked to borrow their car for a few days because it had given out again, Beverly said, gently but firmly:
George, isnt it enough? We need the car this weekend too. I thought we had plans
Whats the problem? Cant you walk?
No. You cant trek to my parents cottage on foot. Theyve gathered two buckets of cucumbers for us. I thought you heard me when I mentioned it.
I heard something, but you understand Emily has an emergency.
Again? What kind?
Im not sure, George muttered, but she needs it more.
No, George. This time it wont work! Either you refuse her, or you buy me a car. Im tired of the tram when a car could ferry me where I need to go.
George, for the first time, considered refusing his sister, but Margaret flung the conversation back onto its familiar rails:
Youd abandon your sister for your wife? Shes alone! Who else will help her?
So George helped again, despite the growing rift with Beverly. Days passed without a word between them, and George finally snapped:
Why are you silent? Offended?
As if! It took you three days to notice? Beverly snapped.
I just cant see what you want me to do.
Beverly laughed at the absurdity:
Really? You dont get it? Your little sister whisked you away for the whole weekend because she needed to get to a friends cottage. I thought youd just give her a lift, but you ended up staying two days. Does that bother you?
What could? A few drinks, perhaps. Her ex was there, someone I got along with. We had to mark the occasion. Why should I be the fool who drives?
You could have called.
You could have, too, George shot back.
I did! Your phone was off. Imagine what I was supposed to think? I was on edge, wondering where my husband was, while he decided to take a break from me, Beverly vented.
Stop making stories up, George waved his hand, as if the phone itself were a phantom.
He stepped onto the balcony, finally answering the ringing. He knew his wife would not forgive another chat with his sister.
Hi, brotherinlaw! Emily chirped through the line. My anniversary is in two weeks! Thirty years! You know, the usual?
George glanced at Beverly, who was pouring soup as if it were rain.
So what do you need? he asked.
You always understand me! Emily giggled. I want to celebrate at your place! You have a big lounge. My rented flat is cramped, the landlord will nag, and a restaurant is pricey.
Maybe we could use a café? Ill add whatever you need.
Are you mad? Emily exclaimed. Its an anniversary! You want me to foot the bill for a venue when you have your own flat? And youll have to pay anyway. Im not a millionaires daughter.
Let me talk to Beverly first. Its her flat too. Maybe she has her own plans.
Too late! Emily cut him off. I told everyone the party will be at your house. Clear the flat for the whole day, okay? Mum says shell cook everything.
George sighed, covering his face with a hand. While he wrestled with a way out, the phone buzzed again. This time a message from Margaret:
Emily said to draft a menu. Heres the list. We still need the groceries. Tell Beverly to help. And she can assist with cooking too.
At that moment, Beverly, unaware of Emilys looming celebration, settled into her armchair, phone in hand, ready to watch her favourite series. When George entered the room, eyes lowered, she understood instantly.
So what now? she asked calmly, pausing the show.
Beverly, listen Emily anniversary, thirty years. You know, a date. She wants to mark it.
Beverly lifted her head.
Let her celebrate then. Are we forbidding her?
George scratched the back of his neck.
Its not that. She wants to celebrate at our place.
What?! Beverly sprang up. Our flat?
Yes, but only one night. She says the restaurant is expensive, and her home is cramped
And what? You agreed?
I said Id speak to you first! But Emily has already invited everyone. Mum is already planning the menu
Beverly closed her eyes, inhaled heavily.
George, are you an adult or just a conduit for Emilys wishes?
What are you starting?
Im starting? Beverlys voice turned ironic as she held up the phone. And what, nobody even called me? This is my flat, not a transit hub for your relatives. Emily wants to party here, Im supposed to help her, assist your mother, and nobody even asked me?!
At that moment the phone rang again.
Ah, the cherry on the cake, she hissed, waving the handset. Your mother, she flicked the device at George.
Beverly, has George told you yet? the motherinlaw crooned again, as if time were looping. Look! Up to twenty people. Well start prepping this evening. Ill be there about six, the night before.
Evening? Beverly smiled skeptically. No, I never signed up for that.
Hold on, Im not done. George already has the grocery list; he promised to buy everything.
Suppose Beverly tossed the thought aside. And the money? Where will we get it?
George promised to help, Margaret replied shortly.
Ah, so you want to turn my flat into a restaurant and expect us to foot the bill? Beverly snapped.
Emily isnt a stranger! Cant you spare a day, chop some veg, make salads, sandwiches Youre the lady of the house!
Margaret, Beverly interjected, I just learned about the party. I never gave permission for Emilys birthday in my flat.
What, my flat? You and George are married. Everything is joint! the motherinlaw snapped.
Dont say that. If it were Georges flat, youd say the same. Then Id be just a dependent.
Stop the nonsense. Conversations over. By Friday we need to buy everything, Margaret declared, then hung up.
What was that? Beverly asked George, hearing the brief beeps.
Stop playing the victim! George finally snapped. Youve been told youre wrong. Admit your mistake and stop resisting.
Beverly was stunned. She rose, opened the wardrobe, and silently pulled out a massive sports bag. She then slipped into the bedroom, opened the chest of drawers, and began methodically folding Georges Tshirts and jeans.
Meanwhile George, feeling triumphant, flung the fridge open, grabbed a bottle of ale, slammed the door, and plumped himself onto the sofa in front of the television as if nothing had changed.
He imagined Beverly would cool off and everything would return to normal. She might sulk a bit, then calm down. He even turned on the football, expecting her to wander in and call him to dinner. He was wrong.
Half an hour later, Beverly stood in the hallway with a shopping bag, the sports bag now bursting with Georges belongings. George stepped out of the lounge to fetch another drink, only to find her there.
Whats this now? he muttered. What kind of theatre is this?
Beverly stared at him, cold as winter glass:
This isnt theatre, George. Its the end. I will no longer be a shadow in my own life, a servant in our flat, a backdrop for your mothers and sisters whims. If you want to be the good son and brother, please. Return to your mother. Prepare for the party together. Im sure shell gladly give you a corner of her lounge.
Are you serious? he stepped toward her. I wont go back.
Absolutely serious, Beverly nodded. Im done. Ive endured so long I now question myself. Enough. If you havent learned to respect me in three years, the future wont get any brighter.
Beverly you cant just wreck everything! In a heartbeat!
You cant ruin whats already shattered.
George smirked, still not grasping that Beverlys decision was final.
And so, Beverly added, all your shirts and jeans are here. No need to thank me. Pack up and leave now.
He tried to say something, but Beverly opened the front door. George stood, cheeks flushing, lips clenched, still hoping she might relent. Her calm only fed his fury.
Well, good luck! he shouted. Think youll find someone better? Youll have to look far and wide!
Beverly sighed, stepping back:
Finding someone like you now thatll be a challenge. Thank heavens.
Youll regret this! George roared, lunging for the bag. Youll crawl on your knees when you realise no one wants to talk to you! Without me, youre nobody!
If nobody means a person who lives in their own flat, works, doesnt tend to inlaws, and refuses abuse, then Im happy being no one.
George left, and Beverly remained alone. She drew a deep breath, moved to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and watched as her exhusband shoved the bag into a taxi boot with his foot.
Months slipped by.
The divorce was bitter. George tried to paint Beverly as mercenary and greedy. The biggest battle was over the car bought during the marriage. He insisted hed paid for it alone; Beverly merely drove it.
Your Honour, I paid the full amount, the vehicle is in my name! he declared confidently. My wife contributed nothing!
Beverly, icecold, spread a folder of bank statements, receipts, and a signed deposit agreement onto the table.
Im not claiming his share, but I wont give up mine, she said evenly.
Justice sided with fairness.
George fumed. The car was now his, but hed have to sell it and split the proceeds. He exited the courtroom, face twisted with rage.
At home, no support awaited, only a torrent of accusations.
Are you an idiot? Margaret shouted. You gave her everything! The car! The flat! At least get a decent solicitor!
On top of that, George had taken out a loan to fund Emilys anniversary at a restaurant, because hed set her up with the flat. Now he occupied a cramped corner in Margarets spare room.
Beverly, for the first time in ages, slept peacefully. She resolved: she was still young enough to walk away from men like George. Decent partners were plentiful; the trick was learning, in time, who was who.
