“MY FIRST CHRISTMAS WITH MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW ALMOST BECAME MY LAST. BUT THE SON DIDN’T KEEP SILENT…”
(full translation with name adaptations: Kate → Catherine, John → Ilya, Liz → Lisa, Oliver → Oleg)
I’ve always been the one doing the feeding. Especially after we got married – all the family dinners, the big holidays, Christmas… it was all on me. I loved it. But after my husband, Oleg, died, it’s like that part of me disappeared.
Now I cook rarely, only the simplest things, so I don’t forget the taste of food. But Christmas is different. Christmas is when my son Ilya comes over for a traditional roast dinner. That’s my moment. My scene. My warmth.
But this year, the atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly became tense.
This was the first Christmas that Lisa, Ilya’s wife, was spending with us. While they were dating, she was always away at her parents’ house. I understand – you want to be with your family during the holidays. But this year I was really curious how Lisa would fit into our atmosphere.
I got up at the crack of dawn and started cooking in advance, because we have an early dinner, and there are always plenty of snacks and desserts. I made a traditional dinner, as we always like: baked chicken, potatoes with gravy, and a lot of small dishes – everything that Ilya loves.
But Lisa? Oh, she clearly wasn’t into it.
I was putting the finishing touches on the chicken when she walked into the kitchen. Phone in hand, a look on her face like someone had tainted the air. She looked round and said with obvious disdain:
Catherine, why don’t we order in? Well, not everyone likes it… I’m not sure everyone likes your food at all. Christmas is supposed to be fun for everyone, and so is the food.
Her words hit me right in the chest.
Ilya was standing in the doorway. He was chewing on a carrot without looking at me, as if I didn’t even exist. I felt my heart clench. But I didn’t say anything. Tears came, but I held back.
The guests had already started to gather – some in the hall, some by the tree. I didn’t want to spoil the holiday. I’d rather have pain in my chest than on my guests’ faces.
When we all sat down at the table, I silently poured gravy, trying not to look at anyone. The table was bursting with food, everyone ate with gusto and, to my surprise, praised each dish.
It’s delicious, isn’t it? – Ilya suddenly said loudly, addressing everyone.
Yes, it is! – exclaimed my brother, putting on more potatoes. – These are my sister’s dishes! How can you not like it?
Liza was worried,” Ilya continued. – She said that Mum’s food would spoil the dinner and suggested to order food from outside.
For a second there was a dead silence at the table.
What rubbish! – my brother muttered, pouring gravy over the potatoes.
Ilya looked at me and smiled. Then I realised that his silence wasn’t indifference. He was waiting for the moment. He wanted to be heard – and for Lisa to understand.
Lisa’s face flashed with shame. I felt a little sorry for her. The first Christmas in our family, and already such a stigma.
Later, when I was washing the dishes and putting everything in the dishwasher, Lisa came into the kitchen again.
Catherine… I’m sorry,” she said quietly. – ‘I was wrong. I really am. I’m so ashamed.
Forgive… for what exactly? – I asked.
Yes, I felt sorry for her, but the pain was still there.
It’s just… Ilya talks about your food so much. All the time. Even when I make macaroni and cheese, he says, ‘Mum’s is better.’ I saw the table, smelled the smells… and I was scared. I wanted to protect myself. I stupidly said something I shouldn’t have.
Lisa, understand,‘ I smiled, ’the relationship between a man and his mum’s kitchen is a whole story. But I can teach you how to cook like me. Everything I know how to do comes from my mum. And I’d be happy to pass that on to you.
You would? Even after I’ve behaved so horribly?
Really,” I said, with a real, kind smile.
I took her to the tree, where her present was.
It still pains me to remember that moment. But I’m glad her words were out of fear, not anger. She just felt threatened that Ilya liked my food so much. She could have built her cooking place next to me.
And I’ll help her.
What would you do if you were me? Would you stay silent until the right moment, like I did? Or would you answer right away?
