The Brazen Daughter-in-Law

The whole family of my husband unanimously agrees that Blythe, as a daughterinlaw, is useless and completely shameless. At first the situation even looks promising: Blythe makes heroic efforts to please her new relatives and win their approval.

Whenever a holiday arrives, the whole clan drifts in a long procession to their modest rented flat, because Blythe not only handles the kitchen like a virtuoso but also conjures imaginative entertainment to delight the beloved guests. The relatives never wait for a formal invitation they simply invite themselves. A typical example occurs early in Blythes career as a daughterinlaw.

Hello, Blythe! Happy SaintGeorges Day! croaks the husky voice of my sisterinlaw on the phone, her speech slurred as if shes chewing something hard.

Oh, really Blythe stammers, skipping over the autumn puddles, thank you. Ive been so caught up in the daily whirl that I completely forgot todays date work, trips to the doctor she pours out, because, as everyone knows, sharing personal woes brings strangers closer. Blythe desperately wants to belong. She continues without pause, But you called at the perfect moment; Ive just come back from my first ultrasound, so you, Vicky, will be the first to hear what were expecting

She isnt allowed to finish Vicky is glued to the news, the murmuring of the broadcaster rising, evidently reporting another world disaster. Vickys reaction swings from horror to relieved joy that, thank God, she herself is fine. Impatient to get to the point of her call, she brusquely cuts off Blythes rambling:

Bottom line, Blythe, well drop by this evening, get the table set! Mum, dad, my husband, and little Iris all of us. Im off, the news are showing a volcano erupting on some tropical islands, its a nightmare!

But nothings ready! We hadnt planned anything! Blythe manages to blurt out, frozen midpuddle as cold water seeps up the side of her shoe. She hops onto dry ground.

Blimey! Weve got loads of time! Youre our culinary genius, Blythe, a real wizard, and Im hopeless in the kitchen. Right, thats it, cheers! See you at six.

Right, right, right! Vicky peppers every sentence with that phrase, thinking it cuts straight to the heart of the matter. Blythe later thinks, bitterly, If only your tongue were shorter and your mind longer!

Her real name is Evangeline, and she prefers it, but the new relatives find it pretentious. Blythe, Blys, or simply Blythe sticks. Even Blythe reminds her of the lowly roots from which she crawled before clinging to their beloved George, making her place in the family hierarchy crystal clear. So theres no point in raising her nose. Blythe is Blythe a tiny cockroach with a moustache. End of story.

Evangeline regards it as a matter of honour not to fall flatfaced before her husbands kin. She stocks up on provisions and throws herself into cooking, aiming not just to feed the guests but to earn genuine admiration. Besides the staple hot dishes, the table brims with fancy bites: colourful canapés, tempting tartlets, cherrystuffed tomatoes, mini cucumbers, mushroomcheese bites, crisp Italianstyle bruschetta, and more. To keep the company entertained, Blythe designs simple games, prints out props on her printer, and arranges modest prizes. Even with heroic effort, satisfying the whole extended family proves no easy feat.

Is it all homemade again? the fatherinlaw asks, eyeing the overloaded table skeptically. I was hoping for a pizza. When will you start earning enough to order takeaway? Im fed up with your endless home cooking.

Blythe swallows the sting silently and, the next time, orders pizza, sushi, and a wok of noodles. By then they have a first child, and juggling a newborn makes throwing lavish feasts physically impossible.

Ugh! the relatives protest. No homemade food? Not even a simple salad? Come on, George, your wife has gone soft. How can you serve guests only bread and oversalted noodles?

Its not just bread, its pizza, George murmurs timidly.

Its plain bread! Two slices of salami, a pinch of cheese! Thats the cheapest you could find, and Ill tell you, George: skimping on close people is uncouth! his mother scolds, while Blythe turns a deep shade of red, hurt. She thinks, Tell them something, speak up! Explain that I never invited them, they showed up unannounced, theyre all a nuisance, I dont want to see or hear them any more! Yet she remains silent, lacking the courage to confront the united, friendly pack. Someone always adds:

Well, what isnt made by your own hands isnt valued.

George tries to defend his wife, but does so delicately, cracking jokes.

Blythe, dont take it so personally Theyre simple folk, they say what they think. They dont wish you harm, youre dear to them.

Right, dear indeed!

Of course! Why would they keep dropping by if you werent liked?

Freeloaders coming for a free meal! Evangeline thinks bitterly, but she keeps quiet.

Sometimes the guests call half an hour before arriving. When Blythe sees Vicky or motherinlaw on the screen, anger flares instantly.

Blythe, were wandering around the shopping centre near you, will pop in in half an hour, have a cuppa with you, sings the sisterinlaw sweetly.

I cant right now, the baby is sleeping!

Well be as quiet as mice! Just whip up something for us, be our host!

Even if Blythe doesnt pick up, they still show up and pound on the door, so answering the bell at least lets her brace for their intrusion.

No one cares that Blythe has a small child, that shes exhausted, that the guests are terribly untimely. Nobody worries that George is busy at work when someone needs a lift to the hospital, market, station, or cottage. George runs his own business, hes his own boss surely its not hard to help family? Shouldnt his conscience sting if he has to pay a cab for mum, sister, brotherinlaw, or uncle? That would be unfamilylike!

Eventually the couple rides out a second pregnancy, during which even George has epiphanies. The pregnancy is harsh. After six months George fears leaving Evangeline alone for long periods. One night he must travel to a nearby town for work, staying overnight, and asks his sister Vicky to look after Blythe just to stay over, call an ambulance if needed, and watch the older son.

Vicky drinks wine, chats incoherently into the early hours, though Blythe is desperate for sleep. Vicky collapses onto a sofa that doubles as a marital bed, because theres no spare bedroom except the infants crib. The sofa cant fit two, so Blythe spends the night on a hard kitchen stool, with no floor mat to lie on theyre scrimping for a future flat. In the morning Vicky rushes to work, and Blythe wanders the flat, realizing things have taken a serious turn. She calls a friend, who takes the baby and drives her to the maternity unit. Blythe is rushed into surgery to save the pregnancy. While shes in hospital, George erupts in a massive argument with his relatives.

Why should I ever ask you for anything again?! One time I asked for help, and what did I get? Sure, Ill be your free driver whenever you need, but the moment I need a favour, you send me away! From now on, dont even think of asking me to give someone a lift call a taxi!

After the initial shock subsides, Blythe delivers a second son, and the relatives slowly find a path to reconciliation, but the episode sharpens Georges claws. He keeps his promise and never transports anyone again, despite all the pleas. Technically the blame rests on Vicky, but the parents side with her, claiming Blythes frailty is her own fault: a normal woman should give birth as easily as she sneezes. They never dare blame their own son or brother, so each time George refuses, they mutter a cutting remark about the daughterinlaw, for she has turned George against his own family.

The uninvited visits never cease theyre comfortable and cheap. By the time Blythe is fed up with being the everwelcoming host, she decides to become the bad one and teach the presumptuous relatives a lesson, without saying a word.

One day the relatives turn up jubilant, celebrating a milestone the baby is three months old. Of course, nobody invited them.

Oh, you havent even started cooking! the guests exclaim.

Theres herring on the table, Ive already boiled beetroot and potatoes; youll find them in the pot, Blythe says with a sweet smile, rocking the infant. Four hands can whip up a salad in no time, right, Vicky? And you, Dad, go fetch a cake, any cake I cant eat anyway, Im on a diet. Ill go tend the baby, weve got gas, no time for cooking.

The relatives stare bewildered. They end up making the salad, buying the cake, and eating it themselves, leaving nothing for George, even though he could have a slice. Blythe doesnt even stay to sit with them; she retreats to the nursery, feeding the baby for an hour while he drifts contentedly on her chest.

At the next visit Blythe prepares nothing, telling the guests to peel the potatoes themselves.

There are frozen mushrooms in the freezer. Theyll make a treat, not a dinner! she says and walks away. The guests freeze, then start whispering. The motherinlaw enters with a stonecold face.

Blythe, weve noticed you have no bread. Lets all go to the shop, maybe pick up a few things.

Sure, whatever you need, just buy it.

They go for bread and never return, and from that day they stop surprising Blythe with impromptu visits. The family cements Blythes reputation as a terrible daughterinlaw: a useless mother, a chaotic housekeeper, an outright shameless, brazen nuisance, poor Georges pitiful victim! All the years she spent arranging lavish feasts are wiped from their memory as if they never happened.

Evangeline swallows the insult. No good comes from seeking good. At least now uninvited guests wont clutter their home, and they wont waste money on a ravenous clan. Blythe decides that, if extreme measures are needed, shell choose the extreme that brings her peace and comfort, not the audacious relatives.