Zoe Wanted to Celebrate Her Milestone Anniversary at Our Place and Demanded We Vacate the Apartment

Zoe wanted to celebrate her milestone birthday at their place and demanded the flat be cleared out.

“Katie, has Tarquin already told you?” her mother-in-law began. “Listen! Therell be up to twenty guests. So well start cooking the evening before. Ill come round earlysay, around six.”

“What? In the evening?” Katie asked skeptically. “No, I never agreed to that.”

“Hold on, I wasnt finished. Tarquins got the shopping list. Hes promised to get everything.”

Tarquin always helped his older sister, Sophie. By thirty, shed been married twice, divorced twice, and each time, of course, it was the mans fault”just not the right one.” Their mother, Margaret, had drilled into Tarquin since childhood:

“Your sister needs your help.”

And so he helped. With money when Sophie was “between jobs,” with repairs in her rented flat, with endless moves after each divorce.

Then he got married.

Katie, his wife, tolerated it at first. But when Sophie askedfor the fifth time that yearto borrow their car “just for a few days” because hers had “broken down again,” Katie said, softly but firmly:

“Tarquin, enough. We need the car this weekend too. I thought we had plans.”

“Whats so important? Cant you walk?”

“No. You cant walk to my parents cottage. Theyve picked two buckets of cucumbers for us. I thought you heard me mention it.”

“Oh vaguely. But you seeSophies in a bind.”

“Again? What kind?”

“Not sure,” Tarquin mumbled, “but she needs it more.”

“No, Tarquin. Not this time. Either you say no to your sister, or buy me my own car. Im tired of taking the bus when my husband could drive me.”

For the first time, Tarquin hesitated. He was about to call Sophie to refuse when Margaret swiftly put things back in order:

“What, youll abandon your sister because of your wife? Shes all alone! Who else will help her but you?”

And so Tarquin helped, despite the fights with Katie. Once, they didnt speak for days. Finally, he snapped:

“Why wont you talk? Are you sulking?”

“Wow. It took you three days to notice?”

“I just dont get itwhats the problem?”

Katie laughed in disbelief.

“Seriously? You dont see it? Your darling sister took you for the whole weekend because she needed a lift to her friends country house. I thought you were just dropping her offnext thing, youre gone for two days. Doesnt that bother you?”

“Why should it? We had a few drinks. Her ex was there, and we got on fine. Had to mark the occasion. Was I supposed to just leave? Thatd be rude.”

“You couldve called.”

“You couldve too,” Tarquin shot back.

“I did! Your phone was off. What was I supposed to think? I was frantic, no idea where my husband was. And hed just decided to take a break from me.”

“Stop exaggerating,” Tarquin waved her off, then signaled a call coming in.

He stepped onto the balcony before answering. He knew Katie wouldnt appreciate another chat with Sophie.

“Hi, little brother!” Sophie chirped. “My big Three-O is in two weeks! You get it, right?”

Tarquin glanced warily at Katie, who was ladling soup.

“So what do you want?” he asked.

“You always read my mind!” Sophie laughed. “I want to celebrate at yours! Youve got that big living room. My rented place is tiny, and the landlady will moan. A restaurants too pricey.”

“What about a café? Ill chip in.”

“Are you mad?!” Sophie hissed. “Its my thirtieth! You want me to pay for a venue when youve got a whole flat? And youll have to pay either wayIm not some heiress.”

“Let me talk to Katie first. Its her home too. She might have plans.”

“Too late!” Sophie cut in. “Ive already told everyone its at yours. Clear the flat for the day, yeah? Mums handling the food.”

Tarquin sighed, rubbing his face. As he scrambled for an excuse, his phone buzzed againa text from Margaret:

“Sophies asked for a menu. Heres the list. Need groceries too. Tell Katie to help. And she should pitch in with prep.”

Meanwhile, Katie, oblivious to Sophies impending party, curled up on the sofa with her phone, ready to watch her favourite series. When Tarquin shuffled in, eyes down, she knew.

“So. What is it this time?” she asked calmly, pausing the show.

“Katie, listen Sophies turning thirty. Its a big one. She wants to celebrate.”

Katie looked up.

“Fine. Let her. Whos stopping her?”

Tarquin scratched his neck.

“Well she wants to do it here.”

“What? In our flat?”

“Just one night. Says restaurants are expensive, her place is too small”

“And you agreed?”

“I said Id talk to you first! But Sophies already invited everyone. Mums planning the menu”

Katie closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Tarquin. Are you actually an adult? Or just Sophies personal assistant?”

“Dont start.”

“Im starting?” She held up her phone sarcastically. “Funny, no one asked me. This is my home, not a transit hub for your family. Sophie wants a party here, Im expected to cook, cater to your mumand I wasnt even consulted?”

Just then, her phone rang.

“Ah, the cherry on top,” she muttered. “Your mother.” She waved it in his face.

“Katie, has Tarquin told you?” Margaret trilled. “Up to twenty guests! Cooking starts the night before. Ill be round by six.”

“Evening? No, I never agreed to that.”

“Hold on! Tarquins got the shopping list. Hell get everything.”

“Suppose he does,” Katie said coolly. “Whos paying?”

“Tarquins covering it,” Margaret said briskly.

“Oh, so youre turning my home into a restaurant, and were footing the bill?”

“Sophies family! Cant you help for one day? Chop some salad, make canapés Youre the lady of the house!”

“Margaret,” Katie cut in, “I just found out about this. I never agreed to host Sophies party.”

“Enough with my flat! Youre marriedeverythings shared!”

“Is it? If this were Tarquins flat, you wouldnt say that. Then Id just be the freeloader.”

“Dont be absurd. Shoppings done by Friday.” Margaret hung up.

“What was that?” Katie asked, hearing the dial tone.

“Stop playing the victim!” Tarquin snapped. “Youve been told youre wrong. Admit it and drop the attitude.”

Katie stared. She stood, walked to the wardrobe, and silently pulled out a large duffel bag. Then she went to the bedroom, opened the dresser, and mechanically began packing Tarquins shirts and jeans.

Meanwhile, Tarquin assumed hed won. He yanked open the fridge, grabbed a beer, and flopped in front of the telly as if nothing had happened.

He thought Katie would “cool off” and things would go back to normal. Shed grumble, then let it go. He even turned on the football, expecting her to call him for dinner.

He was wrong.

Half an hour later, Katie stood in the hallway with a bag in hand, the duffel stuffed with his clothes beside her. Tarquin wandered out for another beer and froze.

“Whats this? Some kind of performance?”

Katie looked at him icily.

“No performance, Tarquin. This is the end. Im done being a shadow in my own life, a servant in my own home, a backdrop for your familys whims. Want to be the perfect son and brother? Fine. Go back to your mum. Prep for the party. Im sure shell gladly give you a corner in her living room.”

“Youre serious? I wont come back.”

“Dead serious. I dont want you back. Ive tolerated so much, Ive started questioning myself. But Im done. If three years havent taught you to respect me, it wont get better.”

“Katie you cant just throw it all away!”

“You cant throw away whats already broken.”

Tarquin scoffed, still not grasping her resolve.

“Oh, and” Katie added, “all your shirts and jeans are here. No need to thank me. Leave now.”

He opened