I work thirty hours a week in a nursing practice. I do the laundry because Thomas supposedly never knows which detergent is for dark clothes. I write shopping lists, organize our daughter Luise’s appointments with the orthodontist and Emil’s football practice. I remember to make sure the lunchboxes are clean, that we buy more toilet paper, and that Emil needs his money for the school trip on Thursday.
And on Sundays I cook in advance because Thomas is often at work until late and I don’t want to be standing at the stove every evening at 7:30.
But for him it was simply « food ».
« I’m going to your mother’s now, » I said.
Thomas sat down. « Sabine, please don’t make such a fuss. »
I laughed briefly. It sounded strange. « Theater? You gave away something I worked half a day for. Without even asking me. And now I’m supposed to be grateful that your mother was happy? »
He rolled his eyes. He always did that when he knew I was right but didn’t want to give in.
His mother, Ingrid, lived just two streets away. When I rang the doorbell, she answered after a while, wearing a dressing gown. She did indeed look pale. For a moment, I felt guilty. Then I saw my containers behind her on the dining table. Neatly arranged. My handwriting on the small labels: Monday, Tuesday, Children, Defrost.
“Oh, Sabine,” she said, smiling weakly. “Thomas is such a good son. He noticed right away that I wasn’t feeling well.”
I nodded. « That’s nice. Really. But he should have asked me first. »
Her smile faded slightly. « He didn’t want to burden you. You’re always so busy. »
There it was again. That seemingly gentle thing that often came across as a small pinprickle from Ingrid. She said it kindly, but in the end I always ended up looking overwhelmed, cold, or like someone who made a drama out of nothing.
« He didn’t relieve me of any burden, » I said quietly. « He took work away from me and created new work for me. »
Ingrid crossed her arms. « So I’m not allowed to accept the food now? Should I throw it away? »
« No. Of course not. » I noticed my voice trembling. « But you can’t pretend this is normal. These meals were planned. For my family. »
The front door opened behind me. Thomas had followed me. Of course. He stood next to his mother, not next to me. This small detail hurt almost more than anything else.
« That’s enough now, » he said. « Mom isn’t feeling well, and you’re arguing over a few cans. »
I turned to him. « A few cans? Tell me, do you even listen to yourself? »
He remained silent.
« It’s not about cans, Thomas. It’s about the fact that you take my time for granted. You don’t ask, you decide. And your mother expects it now, too. »
Ingrid gasped audibly. « I’m not expecting anything at all. »
“Yes,” I said. For the first time, I looked her straight in the eye without immediately backing down. “You call Thomas when the heating makes noises, when the trash needs to be taken out, when you’re out of milk. And he jumps to it. That’s your right. But then he takes away our time, my food, my plans. And I’m supposed to pick up the slack afterward.”
Thomas blushed. « You’re making me look like a bad man. »
“No,” I said. “I’m portraying you as a man who thinks his wife will take care of everything.”
The hallway fell silent. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.
Then Ingrid started to cry. Not loudly. She sat down on the chair and pressed a tissue to her eyes. In the past, that would have instantly melted me. I would have apologized, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I was simply tired. So incredibly tired.
« I didn’t want to cause any trouble, » she said.
“Then we’ll do it differently,” I replied. My voice was calmer than I felt. “If you need help, just say so. We can go shopping, we can cook something. But not by Thomas taking everything out of our fridge without consulting us. And not by me cooking for four people in the middle of the night.”
Thomas said nothing at first. Then: « What do you want now? »
This question. As if I had to draw him a blueprint for respect.
« I want you to go shopping tomorrow. Alone. With a list, if you need one. You’ll cook three evenings this week. You’ll take care of Luise’s appointment on Wednesday and Emil’s sports gear. And if your mother needs something, we’ll talk about it beforehand, as long as it’s not a real emergency. »
He looked at me for a long time. « Cooking three evenings a week? I work too. »
I felt tears welling up, but I didn’t let them fall. « Me too, Thomas. And apparently I work again after that, only nobody calls it work. »
At home, he didn’t say a word at first. He loudly loaded the glasses into the dishwasher, as if someone were being punished. Later, when the children were asleep, he stood in the kitchen doorway.
« I didn’t think about it, » he said.
« That’s the problem. »
He nodded. No grand confession, no wonderful reconciliation. Just a nod. The next morning, he actually went shopping. He called me from the supermarket and asked where to find couscous. I almost laughed.
But I just said, « With rice and noodles. Please take a look for yourself first. »
Maybe he’ll learn it. Maybe I’ll have to remind him often. But I never want to pretend again that my time is less valuable just because it’s mostly spent in our kitchen.
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