Living with my son Andrew and his strong-willed wife Kate was nothing like the peaceful retirement I had dreamed of. I had exaggerated my leg injury just enough to convince them to let me stay with them. Andrew was always kind, but Kate clearly wasn’t happy about having me around. I tried hard to keep things calm, but it wasn’t easy.
One crisp fall morning, I saw Kate outside struggling with a rake. I couldn’t help but shout, “Kate, you’re doing it wrong!” She didn’t even look at me, so I hobbled closer, using the limp I had exaggerated. “Try making smaller piles first, then combine them,” I suggested. She stopped, leaned on the rake, and said coldly, “I thought your leg hurt. Maybe it’s time for you to go home?” I clutched my leg dramatically and said, “I’m trying to help despite the pain, and this is the thanks I get?” She sighed, touched her baby bump, and muttered something about stress before going back to work. Just then, their grumpy neighbor, Mr. Davis, appeared. I greeted him cheerfully, but he just grunted and went inside. Miserable, just like Kate.
Inside, I noticed dust on the tables. Kate was on maternity leave, and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t keep the house tidier. Later, when she started cooking, I offered some advice, but she told me sharply to leave the kitchen. That night, I overheard Andrew and Kate talking quietly. Andrew said, “We talked about this. It’s for the best.” Kate sounded tired and replied, “I know, but it’s not easy.” I peeked and saw Andrew comforting her. It annoyed me that Kate always seemed to be the one suffering while I was the one putting up with her sharp words.
During dinner, I couldn’t resist mentioning that her pie was undercooked. Kate snapped back, “Why don’t you bake one yourself and bring it to Mr. Davis?” I scoffed. “That grump? He can’t even say hello.” She smirked and said, “He’s not so bad. Besides, I’ve seen how he looks at you.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t forget the comment.
The next morning, I was surprised when Mr. Davis came over. “Margaret,” he said stiffly, “would you like to have dinner with me?” I crossed my arms. “It’s Miss Miller to you.” “Alright, Miss Miller,” he corrected himself, “would you let me take you to dinner?” Curious, I agreed.
That evening, I stood nervously at his door. The meal was nice, but everything changed when I mentioned my love for jazz. His face softened. “I’d play you my favorite record, but my player’s broken.” Without thinking, I said, “You don’t need music to dance.” He stood, held out his hand, and we danced in the lamplight while he hummed. For the first time in years, I felt seen. Peter—he asked me to call him that—became the best part of my days. We laughed, cooked, and read together. I felt happy again. Kate’s snide remarks no longer bothered me.
When Thanksgiving came, I invited him to join us so he wouldn’t be alone. But just before dinner, I saw him talking quietly with Kate. I overheard him say, “The record player will be here soon. Thanks for helping me.” Kate replied softly, “I appreciate it more than you know.” My heart sank. I stormed in. “Was this all a setup?” They froze. Kate stammered, “It’s not what you think—” but I wasn’t listening. Andrew stepped in. “Mom, we meant well. This was my idea too. We thought you and Peter might be good for each other, but neither of you would make the first move. The record player was just a little push.”
Furious, I turned to Peter. “I expected this from her, but not you.” Calmly, he said, “It started with the record player, yes. But Margaret, you changed me. You made me feel something I thought was gone. I didn’t fall for you because of a plan—I fell for you because of you.” My anger softened. “Why should I believe you?” “Because I love you,” he said simply. “All of you—bossy, particular, and full of heart.” I nodded slowly. “Alright—but the record player stays with us. We’ll need it for dancing.” He laughed with relief, and from that day on, we were inseparable. Thanksgiving became our favorite holiday, filled with jazz, warmth, and a love that grew stronger every year.
