Short Story: Inner Enemy

Mar 20, 2024

Susanne and I are siblings. I don’t like her and, unsurprisingly, she doesn’t particularly like me either. Everyone said we’d grow out of our mutual animosity, but the past thirty-five years have proven them wrong. We both politely attend family events and support our mother, who despite her fragile health, hardly needs our assistance. Both my sister and I know this, but if we didn’t act this way, we'd have nothing to talk about. She has everything I lack in life, and I possess everything she misses out on.

Susanne, verging on martyrdom, is the perfect mother to her four children, cherishing the fading memory of her late husband. Every Christmas, the children, the youngest of whom is already ten, have to draw some family scene featuring their father. Their father, whom even the older two barely remember, passed away nine years ago. Truth be told, I barely remember him either. John was a stern, very rigid man. Things had to be exactly as he wanted them to be, and he rewarded deviations with hours of punitive silence. I wasn't particularly fond of him. Once, when the eldest nephew was just three, he spilled milk on the carpet. John made a huge fuss about the machine-woven, synthetic carpet, and after dramatically cleaning up part of the spill, he refused to communicate with the toddler. Susanne tried to intervene; I tried to distract my nephew from his father's behavior, but most of the afternoon was still incredibly awkward. I had no idea what Susanne saw in John, but it wasn't my business anyway. The point is, when John passed away, Susanne was left alone, and their relationship and the man’s paternal merits were placed on an almost unreachable, towering pedestal. From then on, Susanne compared everyone to John, and unsurprisingly, John always emerged superior from any comparison. My sister didn’t stand a chance at another relationship. Of course, our mother kept suggesting she find another man, but realistically, with four kids and the shadow of a deceased husband, there wasn't much hope.

It was March 26th, and I was waiting for my sister at Piccadilly to buy our mother a birthday gift. The celebration was the next day at Susanne's. She had already procured the ingredients for the birthday cake, which she would surely transform into a dazzling dessert by the next day. I didn’t even have the energy to buy a greeting card. I had returned from New York the previous night, where two days of nearly non-stop negotiations, business dinners, and a long flight drained me. As a corporate lawyer in the midst of a significant acquisition, I simply didn't have the patience or energy to fuss about cakes or frivolous greeting cards. My sister arrived looking neat but with tired eyes. As it turned out, the youngest nephew was feverish and couldn’t sleep all night due to a suffocating cough. As she told her story, we headed down Regent Street and entered our mother's favorite clothing store. While Susanne browsed, I tried to stay awake. Shopping invigorated my sister; it bored me to death. Although I could afford quality garments and accessories, I never felt the thrill my sister did when shopping. To me, shopping was a task – approached with clear objectives, efficiently, and preferably quickly. Moreover, I hated trying things on. If it were up to me, I'd never buy anything other than stockings, scarves, and loose sweatshirts – items that didn’t require trying on. Yet, every day, I had to squeeze myself into a suit.

As I was pondering this, Susanne came up to me with a colorful scarf. It looked good, though I knew our mother already had about fifty scarves. Since I had no ideas, I agreed to it. We walked to the cashier and I paid. Susanne lived off her husband's life insurance since she couldn't work with four kids. Hence, our unspoken agreement was that she would cook, organize, and host, and I would pay. This way, I didn't have to let anyone into my apartment or deal with the aftermath of guests.

After the quick purchase, Susanne promised to wrap the gift, and then we parted ways. I headed towards the subway, eager to get home and take off my not-so-high-heeled, but painfully tight, pointed shoes.

Just as I entered my apartment, my phone rang. It was my mother.

‘Hello, Mom!’

‘Hello, Sarah! What time do we need to be at your sister's tomorrow?’

‘I guess around four,’ I replied, aware that my mother's question was not a simple one. Her questions were never just for information.

‘Oh, I'll be at the hairdresser's until half-past three, I won't make it,’ I understood the situation. That meant I had to pick her up by car because she wouldn't arrive on time by public transport. I got frustrated. I never understood why she couldn't just straightforwardly ask for something.

‘I think it's okay if you arrive a bit later. After all, you're the guest of honor, we'll wait,’ I answered calmly.

There was a brief silence on the line.

‘Or you could take a taxi,’ I continued.

My mother was still silent, then she said, ‘Alright, we'll see. Bye!’ and she hung up.

I had barely counted to twenty in my head when my phone rang again. It was my sister.

‘Hello!’

‘Hi! Why can't you pick up mom tomorrow? It's not a big detour, and she seems so fragile lately.’

‘She didn't tell me to pick her up and she's not fragile. Didn't you hear how she yelled at that punk guy who was messing with the trash cans…’

I couldn't finish because Susanne interrupted.

‘I can't believe you can't do this much! All you have in your life is your shiny career, but you'll realize how much time you've wasted when your life becomes empty and there's no one around you.’

I sighed. I knew these were our mother's words, which I had heard a million times before. I always make wrong decisions, I can't live with anyone, family isn't important to me, even though it's the only thing that matters in life, and so on.

‘Alright, call her! I'll go for her at three forty-five.’

With that, I hung up the phone. I really felt like I needed a break. Half of the weekend was gone, there's a family afternoon tomorrow, and on Monday, I have to work at full throttle to finish the contracts on time.

Then there was a knock. I was sure it was Tom and Elena from next door. And I wasn't mistaken. Tom and Elena had lived in the apartment next door for two years and during that time, we became quite close. Somehow, they always showed up just when I'd had enough of the world, and they always managed to cheer me up. They had brought a bottle of rosé and a few dried-out store-bought pastries, which honestly tasted better than what the dinner next day would. We talked for three hours, and I laughed so much that my muscles ached from it. I slept deeply that night, and didn't wake up until after ten the next morning. Jet lag always hit me harder when I was coming back from America, than when I was heading there.

I went to the neighboring Thai diner and ordered some noodles for myself. After eating, I headed over to a café two blocks away and, among young people on their laptops and cheerful tourists, drank a strong coconut latte. I finally started feeling more human. It was half past one, so I had to start heading home to prepare for the big family gathering. It was the fifth one this year. First, we always began with the twins' birthday in January, followed by Susanne's and my eldest cousin's birthday in February. The attendees were always the same: my sister, her four children, our mother, and my mom's two friends who didn't have children. They channeled their maternal instincts through my sister's kids, while my mother, with a slightly smug grin, relished in the joy of her beautiful family. These gatherings were always awkward and tense. I always felt that, apart from Susanne and my mother, no one really enjoyed them. To truly belong in this elite club, you needed to have at least one child and a husband. Whether the husband was alive or not was irrelevant. In this world, neither the girlfriends nor I belonged to the elite.

Sighing heavily, I slipped into a mauve sweater and beige canvas pants. Instead of the usual bun, I tied my hair into a loose ponytail. A touch of makeup and I was ready. I grabbed my car keys and headed to the underground garage. My footsteps echoed, and the sound lingered for a while. There was nobody else there. I got into the car and drove out into the March sunlight, squinting because I left my sunglasses upstairs. A quarter of an hour later, I arrived at my mother's hairdresser's. Luckily, I found a spot almost right in front. After waiting for ten minutes, my mother appeared, dressed elegantly, with a perfectly styled hairdo. Her face was cold and stern. I was sure the twenty-minute ride to my sister's place wouldn't be pleasant.

After a brief greeting, she didn't say much at first but eventually began to speak.

‘How was America?’

‘Good, productive. If all goes well, we'll sign the contract at the beginning of next month.’

‘And what about your new boss?’ she inquired.

‘He seems to like me. Only performance matters to him, and since I know what I'm doing and work efficiently, we get along well.’

‘What about the leakage? Have you found a professional to fix it?’ she probed.

‘You won't believe my luck! Tom's neighbors know a good painter. He said to wait another two weeks for the wall to dry, then he'll fix it in a day.’

My bathroom had a leak two weeks ago because the upstairs neighbor was renovating, and they improperly installed the washing machine. It flooded their bathroom and a bit of mine too.

‘And what are you getting for young Peter's birthday? Have you decided?’

I sighed.

‘Mom, my cousin's birthday is in three weeks. I'll figure it out by then.’

‘One can tell you don’t have a family of your own; otherwise, you’d know you need to plan and organize these things in advance. Once you have children, you need to learn to plan ahead.’

I took a deep breath. We were on that topic again. No matter what I did, how well I performed at my job, how much I tried to organize my life, or how honest I was, as long as I didn't have a husband and children, I was an outcast in my own family.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. Thankfully, at my sister's place, the focus shifted to the grandkids, and my sister was too busy with dinner preparations to nag at me.

Around seven in the evening, I got up to leave. My mother decided to stay longer with her friends. I don’t think my sister was too thrilled about it, but she didn’t object. I took a deep breath of fresh spring air as I stepped out of the door. My lungs expanded, and I felt relieved to be free.

Two years passed before I found a man I loved with all my heart, who loved me back. He was the polar opposite of both my father and John. He laughed, spoke his mind, and didn't care if I obeyed the silly societal rules imposed on me. He loved my independence and was inspired by my work. Knowing how distressed family gatherings made me feel, he planned surprise trips for us during those times, sparing us the interrogation and indignation about not having kids yet. Apparently, one isn't truly grown-up until they've become a parent.

My mother and sister couldn't stand Richard. Whenever we were alone together, they would nitpick about what Richard did wrong or what he failed to do. My mother would compare him to my father, and my sister would contrast him with John. Amid memories of their perfect marriages, I defended my living relationship. The situation escalated to the point where both my mother and sister felt offended by both Richard and me. By the fourth year of our relationship, Richard stopped accompanying me to family gatherings. Neither my mother nor my sister inquired about him. We had our wedding at the city hall surrounded by friends, followed by an intimate dinner. Neither my mother nor my sister attended.

The following year, I became pregnant, hoping it might change things, especially since my mother always wanted another grandchild.

After Stevie was born, my mother and sister visited us twice, each time while Richard was at work.

During their second visit, my mother looked around our newly renovated apartment, glanced into the crib, and said:

‘I see you're doing well. The renovation must have been expensive.’

‘We managed it economically,’ I replied.

‘Do you have savings? Children can be expensive, especially now that you're not working,’ she probed.

‘Richard earns well, and we have set aside some money.’

‘You've lost the pregnancy weight quickly,’ my sister chimed in, ‘Don't let your milk supply decrease because of it!’

‘I have milk, Stevie feeds well,’ I responded.

‘Did the doctor say the baby's development is on track?’ My mother interrupted.

‘Yes, he's gaining weight at the right pace.’

‘When will you start baby swimming? All our children went, and it was beneficial,’ my sister asked.

‘I don't know. He's still very young, and I'm exhausted from the nightly wake-ups.’

‘Well, someone who only works wouldn't know about that, right?’ my sister smirked.

I was growing increasingly irritated.

‘Even when I was working, I had nights when I was on call,’ I retorted. My mother raised an eyebrow.

‘By the way, when are you going back to work?’ She asked, pouncing like a cobra.

‘I don't know yet.’

‘You should start planning your career. Who knows how long Richard will stay? How will you and Stevie manage?’

That was the breaking point. I exploded, telling them to leave and never come back. I struggled to keep my voice steady; I wanted to scream. As I shut the door behind them, I felt immense relief, as if I had finally set down a massive burden I had carried all my life. Standing there, tears streamed down my face. Excluding my family from my life was excruciating, but for the first time in decades, I could breathe. I heard Stevie begin to cry. I went into his room, sat in our rocking chair, and began to breastfeed. Exhausted, I fell asleep with him in my arms. When my husband returned, he found us like that. I woke to him gently taking the sleeping baby and placing him in his crib, covering me with a blanket.

I grabbed his hand and said:

‘I sent them away, once and for all.’

He looked at me in bewilderment.

‘Who?’

‘My mother and my sister. I told them to never set foot in here again.’

‘I'm sorry it turned out this way, but I think it'll be easier for you like this.’

I nodded and snuggled closer. He pulled my favorite chocolate bar from his jacket pocket.

‘I brought this for you,’ he said. ‘I knew you'd have a tough day.’

I smiled through my tears and kissed my husband.

– Eszter