It crashed the server, so we spent half a day waiting for IT to bring it back up! The order almost fell through can you imagine the losses?
Emily finds herself once again halflistening to James. They sit in a little café opposite her office in Shoreditch. He chats about a new project at the firm while she watches his fingers fidget with a napkin, thinking that after six months together she still hasnt met his family.
Shes thirty, the age when romantic clichés feel tired and certainty becomes a priority. James is a solid bloke diligent, attentive, reliable. A month ago he proposed in the same café where they first met. Emily said yes, but a knot of anxiety has settled in her stomach.
Whenever she tries to bring up his parents, James steers the conversation elsewhere a comment about the weather, an urgent phone call. She chalks it up to shyness; perhaps hes embarrassed by his modest upbringing or simply isnt used to sharing personal details.
Listen, when am I finally going to meet your parents? Emily asks, pushing her cooling coffee aside.
James tenses. The napkin in his hand crumples into a tight ball. He looks at her, a flicker of worry crossing his eyes.
Well go this weekend, he says after a pause.
A rush of joy floods Emilys chest, washing away all doubts. At last! She pictures herself walking into Jamess family home, his mother wrapping her in a hug and calling her dear, them all sharing tea and scones around a big oak table.
The days leading up to the weekend are spent scouting gifts. She roams three shopping centres for the perfect presents. For Jamess mother she picks a luxurious cashmere shawl and a bottle of French perfume. For his father a quality toolkit that any handyman would covet. For his sister a sleek designer handbag shes coveted herself.
On Saturday morning Emily rises at six, squeezes in a shower, styles her hair, applies a light makeup. She chooses an elegant beige kneelength dress and classic heels timeless, appropriate for a future daughterinlaw. In front of the mirror she does a spin, assesses the look, and nods perfection.
James gets into his car in silence. Emily starts her engine and merges onto the M25. Soft, lyrical music drifts from the radio as roadside cafés and petrol stations flash past. She smiles, imagining the upcoming introduction, while James maintains a tightlipped silence.
Why the long face? Emily asks, casting a quick glance his way. Nervous?
Just, James clenches his fists on his knees. Dont worry if something goes wrong, okay?
She frowns, shifting gears.
What do you mean something goes wrong? she presses.
Theyre particular, he mutters, turning his gaze to the window. Just keep that in mind.
Before she can ask more, the GPS announces a left turn. The village theyre heading for is tiny about ten cottages stretched along a single lane. The road weaves between sagging fences and garden plots. The navigation guides them to a weatherworn wooden house with peeling paint on the shutters.
Emily shuts the engine and looks around. The garden is untidy grass grows wild, a stack of firewood leans in a corner, rusty tools litter the shed. She forces a smile; its not the wealth that matters, its the people.
On the porch three figures wait: an elderly woman in a faded housedress, a man in a stretchedout Tshirt, and a twentysomething daughter with a skeptical expression.
Here you are, says Jamess mother, eyeing Emily with a measuring glance.
Emily steps forward, extending her hand.
Hello. Im delighted to finally meet you.
The mother gives a halfhearted shake, the father merely nods, and the sister crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes.
Emily turns back to the car to retrieve the gift bags from the boot. She opens the tailgate, leans down for the packages, and suddenly hears a loud hissing.
From behind the house bursts an enormous white goose, the size of a small dog, its long neck twisting, eyes glittering with malice. It charges straight at Emily, wings flaring, beak open.
What the Emily jumps aside, dropping the perfume bag.
The goose doesnt stop. It slams into her with a fury she never expected from a domestic bird. Its wings beat against her legs, its beak nicks her calves. Emily scrambles toward the car door, but the goose hovers, relentless.
James! she yells, trying to dodge another lunge.
James steps forward hesitantly, when a boisterous laugh erupts from the porch.
Oh, it didnt pass the test! cries Jamess mother, clutching her belly from laughing. Look, look! Gosh has exposed her!
His sister snorts, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Real women wouldnt be scared of a goose, she taunts. Shes just a chicken in a fancy dress.
Jamess father pulls out his phone and starts filming, his face lit up with amusement as if this were the best entertainment of the month.
James, do something! Emily shouts, trying to fend off the bird, but the goose attacks again, pecking at her ankles and flapping at her hips.
James waves his arms uncertainly at the goose. For a heartbeat the bird is distracted, but then his mother shrieks, Dont interfere! Let Gosh sort it out! He smells trouble!
James freezes, looks at his mother, then at Emily, and steps back, retreating to the porch where his family stands.
Emily backs against the car, the goose cornering her. Her dress is smeared, her heels slipping on the uneven ground, red bite marks dotting her calves. She watches Jamess mother, sister, and father filming, and a cold dread settles inside her.
She realises this is no accident. Its a deliberate test, a cruel initiation arranged by Jamess family to put her in her place, while James watches helplessly.
With a sudden effort Emily darts into the car. The goose pecks at the windows for a few more seconds, then loses interest and waddles away, strutting proudly across the yard.
James approaches the car, taps the window. Emily lowers it a few centimetres.
Emily, calm down, please, he rushes out. Its just a family tradition a quirky test for an incoming bride, you know, to see her character. Mum always does this.
Emily meets his gaze, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Anger, hurt, and disappointment churn inside her.
Theres no wedding, she says softly but firmly.
James blinks, as if shed spoken nonsense.
What? Emily, what are you saying? It was just a joke
No wedding, she repeats, sliding the engagement ring off her finger and holding it out through the cracked window. Take it.
Youre mad! James protests, trying to open the door, but its locked. Dont be foolish, lets talk.
Theres nothing left to say.
Emily turns the key, the engine rumbles, the car shudders. James stands there, bewildered, his fist clenched around the ring. She shifts into reverse, backs out, and drives toward the exit. In the rearview mirror she catches the silhouettes of his family on the porch, still laughing.
The first kilometres pass in a haze; the countryside rolls by unnoticed. Her hands tremble on the wheel, her heart thunders in her throat. Tears gather, but she brushes them away. Shell cry later; now she just needs to get home.
That evening her phone buzzes nonstop. James calls repeatedly, texts apologies, begs for another chance. She reads, but does not answer. Once she picks up, hears his hurried, guilty voice, and hangs up instantly.
A week later she blocks his number on every app, deletes every photo of them together, throws away the Tshirt, the book, the mug all reminders of James.
Life slides back into its usual rhythm: work, coffee with friends, gym sessions. She tries not to think about the goose, but when she drifts off to sleep she still sees its angry eyes and hears his familys mocking laughter.
A month later a friend tells her the news shes heard around town: James has married a village girl his mother approved instantly. No geese, no tests.
Emily listens without feeling pain, only a light relief. The goose, the cruel family, their mockery have shown her the truth before she became entangled in their lives. She runs her fingertip over the spot where the ring once sat, smiles, and knows everything has fallen into place.
