Chapter Two: Who Am I To Disagree?

Emily was prepared. The ceaseless battles with the sharply pointed words and the seemingly happy smiles, the unwavering criticism of her clothes and her hair and her shoes given in the guise of advice, all the many ways in which she was entirely unsuited to be a Gilmore – she was prepared for it all. She was even prepared for the blandly happy expression Richard had when surveying her clashes with his odious mother; she had long since realised that, like most mother-in-laws, Lorelai could do no wrong in her son's doting eyes.

But she was not prepared for the neat 'FOR SALE' sign hammered on her front lawn.

"Richard!" Emily exclaimed, struggling to get out of the car gracefully with her swollen stomach and stitches. She had been grateful that only Richard came to pick her up when she was discharged from the hospital and the gratitude had bolstered her resolve to behave. But how does one behave when finding one's house is up for sale without one's consent? Neither Emily Post nor Emily Gilmore knew. "What on earth ..."

"Yes, I've wanted to keep that as a little surprise for you," Richard said as he got her handbag from the car and smiled beguilingly.

Emily glared at him. "Selling my house out from underneath me is not a little surprise, Richard, it's an illegal eviction!"

"Now, Emily," Richard began. Doctor Sheffield had warned him to keep Emily's blood pressure low, avoiding the little skirmishes that often characterises married life. Trix's unselfish and selfless sacrifices in running the household, keeping things comfortable and cosy for them while Emily was pregnant, should make low blood pressure very easy to attain. He knew that Emily frequently indulged in minor spats with his mother – nothing serious, of course, nothing of concern, just the little sparks that fly when two strong-willed women rub up against each other. Just a sign of mutual affection that cannot be expressed in a more conventional way, he believes. But he didn't know how to ask her to behave with a little more propriety around his mother. "We always said we'd sell the house once we had children. With the property market the way it is ..."

"Oh, don't patronize me," Emily snarled. "I know as much about the property market as you do and what's more, I know that this property is perfect for us."

"Emily!" Trix chastised, scandalised, from the front porch. Her voice carried the correct gentle blend of dismay and criticism. "It is most unfit for you to be screeching like a fishwife selling day-old haddock on the street. And in your condition, too. It is just unheard of in the Gilmore family. I do hope that stubborn, fundamentally unsound streak wasn't passed on to my very first grandchild."

"Well, if it was, the baby will fit in perfectly," Emily muttered mutinously. She turned to Richard, her voice imploring. "I don't want to sell the house, Richard. It's the perfect house."

"For newlyweds, yes," Richard agreed, surveying the property with a professional eye. "We've managed the upkeep and we should get a rather fine offer. Which will allow us to buy the property Trix and I saw yesterday."

Emily's eyes widened. "You've already picked out another house for me? What, did you fill in the change of address card at the post office too?"

"Always so melodramatic," Trix murmured disapprovingly. "Come in out of the cold, you two. I am not the kind of mother who will risk my child catching his death of cold just because I have some silly feud to pursue."

"Yes, yes, come inside," Richard urged. "Trix brought some decaffeinated tea for you from England. A lovely Earl Grey blend with a citrusy overtone you'll love so much you'll forget all about your hankering for a cup of coffee."

Emily pursed her lips angrily on a blasphemous retort as she walked inside the house. She needed to cool down, to gather her wits, to sharpen her battleaxes. She struggled to take off her too small coat and the knowledge of Trix's critical stare made her even angrier. I'm not going to be beaten by my mother-in-law, she thought fiercely. I'm stronger than that.

"My, my, Emily, it really is time for you to purchase some maternity outfits. Richard, how can you let my daughter-in-law walk around in such ill-fitting clothes?" Trix chirruped.

"I've made arrangements with Hope to go shopping tomorrow," Emily said, trying to remain calm. Getting bated would not let her keep her house. Anger would make it too easy for Trix to convince Richard that she was irrational, melodramatic, too pregnant to be taken into consideration. And in the months until the baby is born and Trix finally goes away, there'll be more fights than just the selling of her dream home.

Trix tilted her head consideringly. "Ah, yes, is that the bohemian sister with the unfortunate choice in male companionship or your college friend with the wide hips?"

"I'm going to take a nap," Emily said abruptly, turning to walk up the stairs.

"Enjoy your rest, dear," Richard called up solicitously. "Once you've rested, Trix and I will take you to go see the property we have our eye on."

"Now, Richard," Trix said, herding her son into the tiny living room where she had the maid spread out a high tea to put the Tudors to shame. "Have a scone and some tea while you tell me what's been happening at your firm."

"Trix, Doctor Sheffield said we must make sure that Emily is comfortable and relaxed," Richard said, settling into his favourite armchair. "He's considered about the amount of swelling in her hands and feet and worried about pre-natal complications."

"Well," Trix scoffed, "I just don't agree with this newfangled philosophy to involve the father in all of the gruesome details. Pregnancy is nothing for a man to consider. You have your own worries, being the head of the household, without being inundated with medical details and complications that may or may not arise."

Richard had rather felt the same when Doctor Sheffield had cornered him in the hospital. At Richard's protest that it is more appropriate for the good doctor to consult with his patient, the doctor blithely replied that both parents should be kept abreast of developments. "You just have to make sure your wife is comfy. Try and keep most of the important decisions away from her and when she has any little aches or pains, you call me," the doctor said as he tucked a business card into Richard's jacket. Richard had disliked it. Immensely. The proprietary way in which the doctor touched him, the assumption that he would take control of Emily's life – as though she'd let anyone take control of her life! – the utter disregard for his own business and the presumption that, just because his wife was having a baby, the world was screeching to an end. He was supposed to take nine months off work to ensure that both wife and baby were comfortable, healthy and happy? Such nonsense!

Richard refused to see his attitude as selfish or petty. After all, the family relied on his income for the roof over their heads, the clothes on their backs and the food in their bellies, didn't they? In fact, his salary paid for Doctor Sheffield's casual assumptions. And how did he earn that salary? Was it by stressing forever about his wife's wellbeing? No. Was it by letting his responsible mother take the reins of the household? By Jove, he believed it was!

And how wonderful it was, he thought, to have somebody show some interest in his work again. "Well, Trix," he said, taking a heavily buttered scone from her, "something rather amusing happened with our London accounts ..."

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"It is such a monstrosity, Hope, I can't even begin to describe it," Emily said as she took a paisley-printed blouse from a hanger and scrutinised it. The house Richard and 'Trix' had their eyes on, was the polar opposite of her beloved little cottage amongst the trees. She had azaleas and agapanthus and scraggly little daisies growing all around their home, but the house that Richard wanted to buy had no grass in the front of the grey brick eyesore. "And it is too big for us even if we decided to have a Volkswagen stuffed with clowns over for the weekend. Just the ground floor has a lounge, two living rooms, an office, a kitchen you couldn't crash the Titanic in and a dining room that would've fit all of our founding fathers and their children!"

Hope chuckled as she handed Emily a floral skirt. "Sounds like you're exaggerating a little."

"I wish," Emily said as she inspected a kingfisher blue jersey dress. "You could probably hold the Olympic swim events in that pool."

"Well, that's one way of getting to know Don Shollander," Hope grinned, then became serious again. "The house is in a good neighbourhood, though."

"Oh, yes," Emily agreed. "Close to a lot of good schools, very safe, very secure. The head of the neighbourhood watch did a stint in the Korean War, you know."

"And I'm sure that the Olympic sized pool has an expansive backyard," Hope added.

"Mh-hm. Perfect little spot to build a rock garden, perhaps have a little African corner with some vibrant flowers, maybe some reeds around the pond ..." Emily began musing.

Hope smiled as she passed Emily a red wraparound dress. "So it's not all bad, is it?"

"I suppose not," Emily sighed. "I just ... our house is just the perfect little Snow White cottage, you know."

"I know," Hope said, putting her arm around her sister. "But now that the Seven Dwarfs are arriving, it's time to upgrade to a castle."

"Oh, goodness, I don't think I can have seven pregnancies," Emily shuddered. "Especially not if Trix is going to be hanging around with every one of them."

"All the more reason to build up an army. Strength in numbers, you know."

"I suppose. And if we have a daughter, she'll be able to back me up against her horrible crone of a grandmother." Emily smiled, almost wistfully, as she touched her stomach, forgetting the racks of maternity wear. "I've decided on baby names."

"Good," Hope enthused. "What have you decided?"

"Henry Richard if it's a boy," Emily said, thinking of her deceased father and hoping her son would inherit his dimples. "And Margaret Hope if it's a girl."

"Oh, Emily," Hope said, beyond touched. "You don't have to feel obligated ... I mean ..."

"I don't," Emily smiled. "I just want you to have something in common with your goddaughter."

"I do," Hope said, embracing her sister. "We won't let her be browbeaten into submission by her mother-in-law."

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