I Refused to Endure My Mother-in-Law’s Tantrums at Christmas Dinner and Left for a Friend’s Place

I could no longer bear my motherinlaws tantrums at the New Years table, so I slipped out to my friends flat.

Whos slicing the salad like that? Hollis shouted, her voice cutting through the chatter and the hum of the telly, where the nightly news was still reporting the latest football scores. Those cubes are the size of bricks! No one can fit them in their mouth. Ive told you a hundred times the garnish should be dainty, elegant, let the flavours breathe, not chopped with an axe. Her words drowned out even the clatter of the kettle.

Emma froze, knife poised over the bowl of boiled carrots. The clock read four oclock on the thirtyfirst of December. Her back ached as if shed spent the morning unloading a freight train, and her feet throbbed in the worn slippers. A fresh cut on her finger throbbed.

Mrs. Elspeth, Emma breathed, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, theyre just normal cubes. Thats how we always cut them. If you dont like them, you can skip the salad. Weve got three other dishes coming up.

Skip it? Elspeth flared, nearly knocking over a gravy boat. Whats this, a conversation with my sons wife? I came here to celebrate, to bring the family together, and youre giving me a piece of stale bread? Tom! Can you hear how your wife is talking to me?

Tom, Holliss husband, sat in the lounge fumbling with a string of fairy lights. He sighed, the picture of a man whod rather bury his head in the sand than face a storm.

Come on, Mum, he called from the sofa, just cut the pieces a bit smaller, will you? Mum wants the best. Shes a former chef, she knows whats right.

I was the head chef at a country club! Elspeth declared proudly, readjusting the heavy brooch on her lapel. My kitchen standards were stricter than the health boards. And you, Emma, your kitchen is a disaster. That towels stained, and you use it to dry your hands. Absolutely unsanitary!

Emma set the knife down, a slow, simmering anger rising in her chest. This wasnt the first New Year with Elspeth, but it felt like the heaviest yet. Elspeth had shown up two days earlier, supposedly to help, but really to inspect every corner and deliver verdicts: daughterinlaw messy, son underfed, no grandchildren (because the daughterinlaw seemed either ill or selfish), and the flat décor tasteless.

The towels clean, I just got it this morning. A drop of beet juice fell on it, Emma replied calmly. Mrs. Elspeth, could you step out of the kitchen? I need to roast the goose; its getting stuffy in here.

A goose? Elspeth narrowed her eyes. Did you marinate it in mayo again, like last year? Thats vulgar! A proper goose needs to soak in cranberry sauce with juniper for two days. I sent you the recipe on Facebook. Didnt you read it?

I used my own recipe apples and honey. Tom loves that.

Tom loves whatever you force him to eat! Youve ruined his stomach with your rubbish cooking. Hell have gastritis, look at him, pale as a sheet. I used to make him steamed meatballs as a child, real soups

Emma felt the tension snap like a string ready to break. One more second and the goose would be flying out the window, or straight into the hands of her second mother.

Enough, she said, wiping her hands on the apron. The goose goes in the oven. Salads are ready. All thats left is to set the table and pull ourselves together.

Pull yourself together? Elspeth sneered, eyeing Emma like a judge. You could at least do a cucumber mask for your ragged hair and those dark circles. Tom will look at you and lose his appetite. A man should see a queen, not a dishwasher.

Emma swallowed the barb. For Tom, for the holiday, for not starting the year with a fight, she placed the heavy tray in the oven, set the timer, and marched to the bathroom.

The water ran, and she finally let the tears fall. She sat on the edge of the tub for five minutes, sobbing until her mascara ran. She was thirtyfive, a senior manager at a logistics firm, responsible for twenty staff. She and Tom had bought the flat together, staking their inheritance on it. Why should she endure humiliation in her own home?

Because family, a voice inside her whispered, sounding like her own mothers, you must be wiser, you must endure. A thin peace is better than a fierce argument.

She washed her face, applied a cooling pad, forced a smile at her reflection. Right. Six hours left. Well listen to the chimes, eat, and shell go to bed. Tomorrow Ill take Tom and the kids to see the Christmas lights, then Ill curl up with a book.

She left the bathroom, hoping for a truce. The flat smelled of pine and roasting meat. Things seemed to be settling.

In the bedroom lay her dress a dark navy velvet gown with a tasteful back cut, bought especially for the night with half her bonus.

Oi, Emma, you actually plan to wear that? Elspeths voice floated from the doorway as she barged in without knocking.

Just my festive dress, Emma replied.

Honestly, Elspeth pursed her lips, that velvet is as heavy as a sack of flour. Youll look like a teapot turned upside down. The colour is mournful. New Year should be bright, glittering! I have a sequined cardigan I could lend you if you want to look festive.

No, thank you. I like this dress. Tom does too.

Tom doesnt care, as long as you dont throw a fit. And Im telling you, its not right. It highlights every flaw. You should hit the gym, not binge on biscuits late at night.

Emma began dressing in silence. Her hands shook, the zipper snagged.

Let me help, or youll rip it. Its an expensive piece, even if its a bit daft, Elspeth tugged the zipper, sending Emma stumbling.

By ten oclock the table was set. Crystal glittered, candles flickered, the goosegolden, fragrantsat proud in the centre. Tom donned a crisp shirt, Elspeth swanned in her sequined festive dress, jewellery sparkling like a Christmas tree.

Emma felt like a squeezed lemon, drained of mood and appetite. She just wanted the night to end.

Lets welcome the old year! Tom announced, pouring champagne. Its been a rough one, but we survived. The most important thing is were together!

Indeed, a rough year, Elspeth echoed, raising her glass. Especially for memy healths failing, my blood pressures all over the place, and no help at all. My son works, my daughterinlaw is always busy with her career. No grandchildren. Loneliness

Mum, we call, we visit, Tom tried to defend himself.

Call once a week just to tick a box. Fine, lets not dwell on sorrow. Heres to everyone becoming a better housewife and remembering their proper feminine role, Elspeth toasted, her voice dripping sarcasm.

Emma took a sip, the champagne burning on her tongue.

Try the salad, she offered, pushing a herring underthefur coat towards Elspeth. I made it with homemade mayo, just as you like.

Elspeth speared a piece, sniffed, winced, and shoved it into her mouth, chewing deliberately, eyes rolling.

Well she said finally. The herring is oversalted, the beet undercooked, crunchy as a shell. And the mayo Emma, did you splash in a bottle of vinegar? Its an acid assault.

Its lemon juice, as the recipe says, Emma whispered.

Lemon juice in a herring salad? Who taught you to cook? Your mother, bless her, wasnt a chef either, but she never fed us processed rubbish. Look at you, a pale handmaiden, Elspeth snapped.

The comment hit a raw nerve. Emmas mother had died three years ago, a hardworking woman who juggled two jobs to raise her daughter. Her mother had never made juniper marinades, but her home was warm and safe.

Dont speak about my mother, Emma hissed, blood hot in her face.

What did I say? Truth hurts, dear, Elspeth retorted. Tom, pass the bread, this salad is impossible to swallow.

Tom handed the bread without looking at Emma, his focus fixed on his plate, trying to become invisible.

Then something shifted in Emma. The fury, the resentment, the exhaustion all melted into a cold, sharp calm. She looked at Tom, the man whod promised to stand by her in joy and sorrow, yet now watched his mother trample her mothers memory and her dignity.

Tom, does it taste alright? she asked, voice steady.

What? Tom startled. Just okay. Emma, lets not argue at the table. Mums just giving her opinion.

Opinion, right, Emma said slowly. Fine.

She rose slowly.

Where are you off to? For the hot dish? Sit down, its still early, Elspeth commanded.

No, Im not going for the hot dish. Emma turned and walked out of the living room.

In the bedroom she stripped off the velvet gown, folded it neatly into the wardrobe, and slipped into jeans, a woolly jumper, and a packed sports bag with a change of clothes, toiletries, and a phone charger. She threw on a padded coat, hat, and boots.

From the living room, Elspeths voice drifted in: I told the neighbour not to buy that multicooker; it makes lifeless food! Use a proper pot on the hearth Tom, wheres Emma? Shes been quiet all evening. She looks nervous, like she needs a doctor.

Emma peered into the doorway.

Im not offended, Mrs. Elspeth. Ive simply drawn my conclusions, she said.

Tom dropped his fork.

Emma, where are you going? In jeans?

Im leaving, Tom.

Going to the shop? Need something? Ill run with you!

No. Im leaving this house. Celebrate the goose without me. Its with apples, not juniper, so enjoy.

Emma, stop this circus! Elspeth snapped. Get back at once! Guests are arriving, the clock will strike in an hour!

I have no guests, Emma replied coolly. There are two strangers in this house: one who hates me, and one who couldnt care less. Happy New Year.

She turned toward the front door.

Emma! Emma, stop! Tom lunged, overturning a chair. Are you mad? Its night! Where will you go?

To someone who values me, she said, opening the door.

If you walk out now, Tom shouted, fear and anger mixing, Mum will be devastated! Youll tear the family apart!

The family fell apart when you let her trample over me, Emma replied, slamming the door.

Outside, a soft, powdery snowfall fell. The street was quiet except for distant fireworks. The cold air hit her face, yet she felt none of itonly a lightness.

She dialed her best friends number.

Sophie? Are you up?

Emma? Were having a proper party! You coming?

Can I crash at yours? Right now.

A pause, then Sophie’s voice, serious: Whats wrong? Did Tom?

Ive left. Probably forever. Im by the lift. Ill be there soon.

Sophie, Ill be there. Bring the code for the intercom.

Emma called a cab. The fare was steepNew Years night, after allbut she didnt care. The yellow cab pulled up; she slipped into the back seat and for the first time all day managed a genuine smile.

Sophies flat was cramped, noisy, and brimming with warmth. The hallway smelled of mandarin oranges and spiced rice. Sophie, in a ridiculous reindeer jumper, hugged Emma so hard her ribs cracked.

Come in, love! Youre freezing! Milo, pour a drink! she shouted, referring to their golden retriever, who wagged his tail furiously.

A ragtag group of friends and family filled the living room: kids, a cat, a couple of neighbours, a bottle of prosecco, and a massive pot of aromatic rice. No crystal, no elaborate place settingsjust paper napkins, a mountain of buttered toast, and a bowl of pickled herrings.

Emma, youre right on time! shouted Mark, Sophie’s husband. Were about to make our wishes!

They handed Emma a glass, a steaming plate of rice, and urged her to eat.

Eat, you look famished, Sophie whispered. Youve been holding back all day.

Emma tasted the rice. It was divinesimple, fragrant, made with love, no healthboard inspections needed.

When the clock struck midnight, everyone shouted Happy New Year! and clinked glasses. Emma recounted the goose, the salad, the paperbag hat on her head, and the silence shed endured.

Blimey, what a load of nonsense, Sophie said. Your mums a proper witch. You did right walking out. Dont waste your life on them. Youre brilliant, youll find a decent bloke wholl treat you like a queen, not a maid.

Emmas phone buzzed with a flood of missed calls and messages: twenty from Tom, five from Mum, a dozen from group chatsEmma, wheres the corkscrew?, Emma, mums blood pressures off the charts!, You selfish, leaving us on New Years!. She read them, a bitter laugh escaping her.

Cant even find a corkscrew, she muttered, wiping tears. Two adults cant open a bottle of wine? Pathetic.

Sophie snatched the phone. Enough of that. Tonights yours. Lets dance!

They danced until three in the morning. Emma forgot the ache in her back, the sting of the day, the memory of being treated like a servant. She felt alive.

On the first of January, she awoke on Sophies couch, head throbbing but spirit fierce. She knew shed have to go homeno apologies, no returning, just a clean break.

She entered her flat at noon. The hallway was dim, the air thick with stale smoke and burnt toast. The forgotten corkscrew lay on the floor, the very one theyd couldnt find. The kitchen was a mess; the goose sat untouched, one wing torn off. Tom slept on the sofa, oblivious, the motherinlaw nowhere in sight.

Emma stomped into the kitchen, heels clicking, turned on the tap, and the sound of the grinder was like a gunshot in the silent house.

Tom emerged, hair a mess, eyes weary and guilty.

Did you show up? he croaked. Thanks for the spectacle. Mum spent the night on valerian.

Youre welcome, Emma said, pouring coffee into her favourite mug. Did you enjoy the goose?

We didnt eat it. No appetite. Emma, do you realise what youve done? Youve embarrassed me in front of my mother. Shes leaving now, says she wont set foot in this house again.

Thats the best news Ive heard all year, Emma replied dryly.

Youve become a stranger, Tom. A cruel stranger.

Ive become myself, Tom. I wont be your convenience any longer. I want happiness.

The front door burst open, and Mrs. Elspeth stormed in, wet hair clinging to her face, a towel dripping from her shoulders.

There she is! The little shrew! she shrieked. Back after making my mothers heart race! Tom, Im calling a cab. I cant be in the same room as that monster!

Mrs. Elspeth, Emma said, meeting her gaze, a cab is a great idea. Please take allAs the cab doors closed and the snow fell silently outside, Emma stood alone in the doorway, finally free from the shadows of a family that never belonged to her.