Your wedding will happen, but Im not needed there, the daughter says, eyes glued to her phone.
Are you kidding me? Youve forgotten to pay the council tax again? Helen Parker slams the bill onto the kitchen table, scattering papers across the room.
Helen, I told you Im delayed at work, Mark, her husband, mutters apologetically. Ill sort it tomorrow, I promise.
Tomorrow! Always tomorrow! The moneys due today!
Dont shout, please Emilys sleeping!
Shes not sleeping, shes on her phone, as usual!
Helen walks into her daughters room. Twentyfouryearold Emily lies on the bed, face lit by the smartphone screen, a faint, detached smile on her lips.
Emily, are you coming down for dinner? Helen asks.
Silence.
Emily!
Emily doesnt even look up.
What? Do you want dinner or not?
I dont know.
Helen sighs and returns to the kitchen. When Emily was small, they were inseparable. Helen remembers her daughter running home from nursery, hugging her, spilling stories about everything she had seen. Then school, university, and now a stranger lives in the spare room, barely speaking.
Half an hour later Emily drifts into the kitchen, sits at the table and keeps typing on her phone.
Emily, could you put the phone down at least while we eat? Helen pleads. Lets have a proper chat.
What about?
Hows work? Anything new?
Fine.
And that guywhats his nameMax? Are you still seeing him?
Emily finally looks up, irritation flickering in her eyes.
Mum, Im twentyfour. I dont have to report my love life to anyone.
Im not demanding a report. Im just curious.
Yes, were still together. Thats all.
Helen pours herself a cup of tea, wants to ask more but fears another sharp retort.
By the way, Emily suddenly puts the phone aside. The weddings happening. In May.
Helen freezes, tea halfspilled.
A wedding? Youre getting married?
Yes. Max proposed, I said yes.
Emily! Helen jumps up, trying to hug her. Honey, this is huge! Why didnt you tell us earlier?
When? He proposed just yesterday.
But still! You could have mentioned it this morning, or at least hinted!
I forgot.
Helen sits back down, stunned. She had forgotten.
Alright, she forces a smile. The important thing is youre happy. Whens the wedding? Where? How can we help?
In May. The exact date isnt set yet. Itll be at a restaurant.
And the dress? We could go pick it together! Remember how you used to love looking at my wedding photos as a kid, saying youd want a dress like that?
Mum, Ive already chosen one. I went with Maxs mother.
His mother?
Yes. She paid for it, so we went together.
Helen feels a sting in her heart. Every girl dreams of choosing her wedding dress with her mother, but Emily has gone with her future motherinlaw.
I wish I could have gone too, she says softly. We could have done it together.
Why? Youd still clash. Youd want something simple, and Linda would push for something extravagant.
I dont want simple! I want you to be part of it!
Emily rolls her eyes.
Mum, enough. The dress is bought. That chapter is closed.
What about the guests? How many are we inviting? I need to compile a list on our side
No need. The list is already set. Linda has everything organised.
But Im your mother! I should be involved in the preparations!
Why? Linda has already taken charge. She knows the best venue, the best DJ, the best photographer. She has the contacts and the experience. What can you do? Call the village hall and ask for an accordion band?
Helens face turns pale.
How can you say that?
Just being honest. You have no money, no contacts, no taste. Sorry, but thats the truth. Linda has all that, so why should we need your help?
Im your mother
So what? Does that give you the right to meddle where you dont belong?
Helen storms out of the kitchen, closes her bedroom door, and collapses onto the bed. Tears run down her cheeks, but she doesnt wipe them away.
Mark peeks in a few minutes later.
Helen, whats wrong?
Emilys getting married.
Really? Thats wonderful! Why are you crying?
Because Im not needed there, Mark. Do you understand? My own daughter thinks I have no place at her wedding.
You cant be serious!
Helen recounts the argument. Marks brow furrows deeper.
That brat! Ill talk to her right now.
Dont. Youll only make it worse.
But she cant speak to you like that! Youve been her mother all her life! And she tells you youre useless!
Please, stop shouting. Im exhausted.
Mark pulls her into a hug and they sit in silence.
The next morning Helen wakes with a heavy head. She spent the night sleepless, replaying yesterdays fight. Emily has already left for work, leaving a dirty mug on the table.
Helen phones her friend Sarah.
Sarah, can I come over?
Of course! Whats happened?
Ill tell you when I get there.
They meet at a café near Sarahs flat. Helen orders a coffee and spills the whole story.
Sarah shakes her head.
Kids these days have no respect, no sense of decency!
Honey, maybe Im wrong. Maybe I really dont understand weddings or restaurants?
Youre a mother! You dont have to understand the details. You just need to be there, supportive, happy! As for Linda, let her put the money in she wants to. But youre still the main person!
Emily doesnt think that.
Then tell her straight: either you get involved in the planning, or you dont attend the wedding at all.
Helen gasps.
Not attend my own daughters wedding? Sarah, are you mad?
What else can you do? She doesnt value you! Let her see what its like without her mother!
No, I cant. Its her day. The most important day of her life.
Sarah leans in, voice low. Shes organising it without you. Think about it, Helen. Are you really going to let her trample over you?
Helen returns home, upset. Sarahs words echo: letting her trample over you. Is it true?
That evening Emily comes home late. Helen hears her slip into her room and decides to act.
She knocks on the door.
Yes? a voice answers.
Helen steps in. Emily is sitting at her laptop.
Emily, I need to talk to you, Helen says.
Im busy.
Its important.
Emily looks up, annoyed.
Well?
Helen sits on the edge of the bed.
I get that you want a beautiful wedding. I get that Linda has more resources. But the wedding will happen, and you said Im not needed there. Is that true?
Emily frowns.
I never said that.
You did. Not directly, but thats the meaning.
Enough! Im not kicking you out! Youll be at the wedding, like everyone else!
At least as a guest?
Yes, as a guest.
Not as a mother of the bride?
Whats the difference?
Helen feels a lump in her throat.
The mother of the bride is the key figure after the couple. She blesses them, gives a toast, hugs the bride before the ceremony. A guest just sits in a corner and sips champagne.
Thats oldfashioned nonsense! Times have changed.
How?
Now its all about style, Instagram likes, perfect photos. Your sentimental stuff about blessings and hugs is from another era!
So Im from another era?
Emily stands abruptly.
Im done with this! Come to the wedding if you want, or dont. I dont care!
Dont care? Helen stands too. Do you really not care if your mother is at your wedding?
Yes! I dont care because youll just sit there whining about how youre hurt, how youre unappreciated. Im fed up!
Im not whining!
Youre always whining! All your life! Youre always the victim, blaming everyone else!
Helen steps back, stunned.
Emily
Enough! Im leaving.
Emily grabs her bag and storms out, slamming the door.
Helen collapses onto a chair and cries. Mark comes in, embraces her.
I wont go to the wedding, Helen whispers through tears. Its the right thing.
Exactly. No point suffering through it.
Let her celebrate with Linda!
Mark pats her head, unsure what to say.
Emily doesnt stay the night. Helen lies awake, listening for every creak. In the morning Emily texts: Im staying at Maxs tonight. Ill come back for my things later.
Helen replies, Okay.
The whole day she wanders the flat in a fog. Mark heads to work, leaving her alone to ponder where she went wrong. Should she have sent Emily to a private school she couldt afford? Should she have bought nicer clothes instead of groceries? Shes a retired nurse on a modest pension; Mark is a plumber earning about £30,000 a year. Money has always been tight, but they try their best for their daughter.
A week later Helen finally compiles a guest list, squeezing twenty names onto a sheet, crossing out distant relatives and old friends. She shows it to Emily.
Its fine, Emily says without looking up. Send it to Linda; shell add it to the master list.
Should I call her myself? Introduce myself?
Why bother? Were practically family now.
Are we not?
Not yet. Besides, Linda is too busy.
Then Im not busy?
Emily rolls her eyes and retreats to her room.
Helen sends the list to the number Emily gave her. An hour later a terse reply arrives: List received. Ill send the invitations later. Linda
No warm words, just business. Helen tries to write something friendly, but hesitates, fearing shell seem intrusive.
A month passes and the invitations never appear. Helen asks Emily.
Apparently there wont be any. Theyll just tell everyone the time and place.
But isnt an invitation a tradition?
Its an outdated tradition. Nobody does that now.
Can I at least see a photo of the dress?
Why?
Because I want to see it!
Youll see it at the wedding.
Please, Mum, stop. Im swamped!
Helen backs off. Every conversation with her daughter feels like torture.
Finally she cant take it any longer and dials Lindas number, which she finds in Emilys messages.
Hello? a pleasant female voice answers.
This is Helen Parker, Emilys mother.
Hello, Helen. How can I help?
Id like to meet, maybe have coffee together?
There is a pause.
Helen, I appreciate the offer, but Im completely swamped with wedding preparations.
I can help!
No, thank you. Everythings under control.
But Im the mother of the bride! I should be involved!
Helen, lets be honest. Emily asked me to take charge. If you want something changed, speak to her, not to me.
The call ends, confirming that even Linda sees her as unnecessary.
That evening Helen decides to have a serious talk with Emily.
Emily, sit down, please.
Im in a rush, I have a meeting with Max.
Five minutes.
Emily sits, annoyed, on the edge of the chair.
I get you want a beautiful wedding. I get that Linda has more money. But you said the wedding will happen, but Im not needed. Is that true?
Emily scowls.
I never said that.
You did. Not directly, but the meaning was clear.
Enough! Im not kicking you out! Youll be at the wedding, like everyone else!
At least as a guest?
Yes, as a guest.
So not as mother of the bride?
Whats the difference?
Helen feels her throat tighten.
The mother of the bride is the key person after the couple she blesses them, gives a toast, hugs the bride before the ceremony. A guest just watches and drinks champagne.
Its oldfashioned nonsense! Times have changed.
How?
Now its all about style, Instagram likes, perfect photos. Your sentimental stuff about blessings and hugs belongs to another era!
So Im from another era?
Emily stands, angry.
Im tired of this! Come to the wedding if you want, or dont. I dont care!
Dont care? Helen asks, voice shaking. Do you really not care if your mother is there?
Yes! I dont care because youll just sit there whining about how youre hurt, how youre unappreciated. Im fed up!
Im not whining!
Youre always whining! All your life! Youre always the victim, blaming everyone else!
Helen freezes, feeling as if struck.
Emily
Enough! Im leaving.
Emily grabs her bag and darts out, closing the door behind her.
Helen collapses onto a chair, sobbing. Mark enters, wraps his arms around her.
I wont go to the wedding, she whispers.
Good, Mark says. And I wont either.
No, you should go. Youre the father. You have to be there.
Youre the mother!
But they dont want me.
Mark holds her tighter; they sit in silence.
A week later, ten days before the wedding, Helen cant sleep, barely eats. Mark urges her to at least try to reconcile.
Helen, call her. Say youll be at the wedding.
I cant. Im not needed.
You are needed! Youre a mother!
Mother who isnt what they need.
Mark sighs and stops pushing.
One evening the doorbell rings. Helen opens it to find Emily, eyes red, hair wild.
Mum, she whispers.
What happened?
Emily collapses onto the sofa, sobbing.
Max cheated on me with my friend. I found out today.
Helen sits beside her, holding her tightly.
Shh, shh, love. Itll be okay.
This wedding is in ten days! Everythings paid! Guests are invited!
We could cancel the wedding.
But Linda has poured so much money into it!
Linda will survive. Youre the one who matters.
Emily looks up, tearstreaked.
Mum, Im sorry. I was awful. I said terrible things.
Dont worry about that now.
No, I have to say it. I was ashamed of you and Mark. I thought you werent good enough. Linda and Max seem perfect, successful. I wanted to be like them.
What now?
Now I realise I was wrong. Linda knows about the cheating and says the wedding will still go ahead because Max is still the groom. She says I cant lose him. And you you just held me.
Helen squeezes her tighter.
Because Im your mother. I love you no matter what.
Even after everything I said?
Especially after that.
Emily cries even harder. Helen strokes her hair, whispering soothing words.
Mark walks in, sees them, smiles faintly, then steps back, giving them space.
They sit like that through the night, talking about childhood, school, why Emily started to feel embarrassed about her parents.
I thought if I were like the rich, people would love me, Emily admits. That Id be important, needed.
Youre already important. To me.
I know that now.
The next morning Emily calls Max and tells him the wedding is off. She then calls Linda, thanks her for everything but explains she wont go ahead with the marriage.
Linda tries to persuade her, talks about money, reputation, but Emily stays firm.
Enough living someone elses life, she says. Its time to live my own.
After the calls, Emily asks, Mum, can I stay with you for a while until I find a flat?
Emily, this is your home. Stay as long as you need.
Thank you. And Im sorry for everything.
Helen embraces her.
Ive already forgiven you, long ago.
They sit at the kitchen table, finally sharing a proper tea and conversation for the first time in years. Helen realises her daughter isnt lost; she just needed to pass through pain to see what truly matters.
Love, not money, not status, not a perfect wedding, but a mothers unwavering love, is what finally binds them.
