There’s a wedding, but Im not needed there, Emma snapped, eyes glued to her phone.
Youre kidding! Again youve forgotten to pay the council tax? Gillian burst, flinging the bill onto the kitchen table so it scattered across the tiles.
Emma, I told you the jobs delayed, her husband Charlie muttered, hanging his head. Ill have it tomorrow, I promise.
Tomorrow! Always tomorrow! The moneys due today! Gillian hissed.
Dont shout, love. Emmas asleep!
Emma isnt asleep shes glued to her phone, as usual!
Gillian stalked into Emmas bedroom. Twentyfouryearold Emma was propped on her bed, face lit by the screen, a halfhearted smile frozen on her lips.
Emma, are you coming down for dinner?
Silence.
Emma!
Yeah, she replied without looking up.
Whats yeah? Are you eating or not?
I dont know.
Gillian sighed and retreated to the kitchen. When Emma was a toddler, they were inseparable. Gillian remembered the little girl bursting through the front door after nursery, hugging her, spilling stories about the days adventures. Then school, university, and now a stranger who shares the next room and barely says a word.
Half an hour later Emma drifted into the kitchen, perched at the table, still typing away.
Emma, could you put the phone down for a minute? Lets have a proper chat.
Whats there to talk about?
Hows work? Anything new?
Everythings fine.
And that bloke, whats his name Max? Are you still seeing him?
Emma finally looked up, irritation flickering in her eyes.
Mum, Im twentyfour. I dont have to give you a daily report on my love life.
Im not asking for a report, just curious.
Yes, were still together. Thats all.
Gillian poured herself a cup of tea, ready to probe further, but hesitated, fearing another sharp retort.
By the way, Emma suddenly set her phone aside, the weddings happening in May.
Gillian froze, tea halfway to her mouth.
A wedding? Youre getting married?
Yes, Max proposed and I said yes.
Emma! Gillian sprang up, trying to hug her. Sweetheart, thats huge news! Why didnt you tell us sooner?
When? He asked me yesterday.
But you could have mentioned it this morning! Even dropped a hint!
I forgot.
Gillian sank back into her chair. Forgetting. The daughter had simply forgotten to tell her mother about the engagement.
Alright, Gillian managed a smile. The important thing is youre happy. Whens the big day? Where? Anything I can help with?
In May. We havent pinned down a date yet. Itll be at a hotels banquet hall.
And the dress? We could go pick one together! Remember how you used to stare at my wedding photos as a kid, saying you wanted a dress just like that?
Mum, Ive already chosen one. I went with Maxs mum, Susan.
Susan?
Yes. She paid for the dress, so we went together.
A sting pierced Gillians heart. The wedding dress every girl dreams of choosing it with her mother. Emma had gone shopping with her future motherinlaw instead.
I could have gone too, Gillian whispered. We could have all gone together
Why bother? Youd still clash. Youd want something simple, and Susan would push for something extravagant.
I dont want simple! I want you to be part of it!
Emma rolled her eyes.
Mum, enough. The dress is bought. That chapters closed.
What about the guests? How many are we inviting? I need to draw up a list from our side
No need. Susan already has a list. Shes handling everything.
But Im your mother! I should be involved in the planning!
Why? Susans got the venue, the MC, the photographer. Shes got connections, experience. What can you do? Call the village hall and ask for a polka band?
The words cut like a knife. Gillians face went pallid.
How can you say that, Emma?
Honestly? You have no money, no contacts, no taste. Susan has all that. So why should we need your help?
Im your mother
And what? Does that give you the right to meddle where you know nothing?
Gillian stood, fled the kitchen, shut herself in the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didnt bother wiping them.
A few minutes later Charlie peeked in.
Gillian, whats wrong?
Emma is getting married.
Really? Well, thats wonderful! Why are you crying?
Because Im not needed there, Charlie. My own daughter thinks I have no place at her wedding.
You cant be serious!
Gillian recounted the whole argument. Charlies eyebrows knit tighter with each detail.
That little shrew! Ill talk to her right now!
Dont. Itll only make things worse.
But she cant speak to you like that! Youve been her mother all her life! And she says Im useless!
Please, no shouting. Im exhausted.
Charlie wrapped an arm around his wife, and they sat in silence.
The next morning Gillian rose with a heavy head. Shed spent a sleepless night replaying yesterdays fight. Emma had already left for work, leaving a grimy mug on the kitchen counter.
Gillian dialed her friend Tamara.
Tam, can I crash at your place?
Of course! Whats happened?
Ill fill you in when I get there.
They met at a café near Tamaras flat. Gillian ordered a tea and poured out the whole saga. Tamara shook her head.
The youth these days! No respect, no decency!
Tam, maybe Im right to feel left out. Maybe I really dont understand weddings, venues
Youre a mother! You dont have to know the nittygritty. Just be there, support, be happy! Let Susan handle the money and the logistics. Youre still the main person!
But Emma doesnt think so.
Then tell her straight: either you get involved in the preparations, or you dont turn up at all.
Gillians eyes widened.
Not attend my own daughters wedding? Tam, youre mad!
What else can you do? She doesnt value you! Let her see what life is like without a mother present.
No, I cant. Its her day, the most important day.
Tams voice grew hard. Shes planning it without you, and now youre letting her walk all over you.
Gillian returned home, dejected. Tams words echoed: Letting her trample over you.
That evening Emma came home late. Gillian heard her retreat to her bedroom and decided to act. She knocked on the door.
Yes? came a muffled reply.
Gillian slipped inside. Emma was perched at her laptop.
Emma, we need to talk.
Im busy.
Its important.
Emma turned in her chair.
Fine.
Gillian sat on the edge of the bed.
Listen, about the wedding. I get that Susan has more resources, but Id like to be involved, even a little.
I told you
Hold on. Let me finish. I could help with the invitations, the décor, or just compile our sides guest list. Im not asking to run the show, just to be part of it.
Emma sighed.
Okay, you can draw up the list. But no more than twenty guests.
Twenty? Why so few?
Because Maxs side is bringing fifty. The venue only holds eighty. Thats the remainder for us.
Thats unfair!
Its fair. Maxs parents are footing half the bill. What are you contributing? Nothing.
Gillians face flushed.
Well pay our share
With what? Dad earns £30,000 a year, your pension is peanuts! Where will the money come from?
Well take a loan!
No loans! Susan has already paid everything!
Gillian stood, feeling as if the floor had vanished beneath her.
So were just poor people who dont get a seat at our own daughters wedding?
Enough drama, Mum! Im not saying youre poor. Just that you have fewer options.
So Susans got more, therefore shes the boss now?
Yes! Emma shouted. She can give what you cant money, contacts, status! And Im supposed to settle for a cheap café wedding with bargain champagne?
Im offering love, support, and my presence!
Thats useless! Emma snapped. I need a proper wedding, the kind normal people have!
Are we not normal?
No, were broke! Weve been broke forever! Im fed up!
Gillian stood, stunned, as Emmas voice rose.
Leave, Emma whispered. I have to work.
Gillian exited the room, only to run into Charlie in the hallway. He had heard everything.
Ill kill that girl, he muttered. How dare she speak to you like that!
Dont touch her. Shes just embarrassed by us.
Embarrassed? We raised her twentyfour years, denied everything for her! And shes embarrassed?
Quiet, please. My head hurts.
Gillian curled up on the sofa, pulling a blanket over herself. Charlie sat beside her.
Gillian, maybe we shouldnt go to the wedding at all?
Dont be ridiculous.
Why be ridiculous? If were not wanted, why go?
Shes my daughter, Charlie. I cant miss her wedding.
Even if she insults you?
Even then.
Charlie sighed and stroked her hair.
A week later Gillian finally managed a guest list, squeezing exactly twenty names by cutting out distant relatives and old friends. She sent it to Emma.
Fine, Emma replied, not even looking up. Forward it to Susan; shell add it to the master list.
Should I call her myself? Gillian asked.
Why?
Because were now family, right?
Not yet. And no, Susans too busy.
And Im not busy? Emma rolled her eyes and stormed back to her room.
An hour later a text came from Susan: List received. Invitations will follow. Short, formal, devoid of any warmth.
Gillian tried to type a friendly reply, but hesitated what if Susan thought she was intruding?
Months slipped by. The invitations never arrived. Gillian finally asked Emma.
No invitations. Well just be told the time and place.
But invitations are tradition!
Thats an outdated tradition. Nobody does that anymore.
Mom, can I at least see a photo of the dress?
Why?
Because I want to see it!
Youll see it at the wedding.
…
Gillian gave up. Every conversation turned into a trial.
One evening she finally rang Susan, having found her number in Emmas messages.
Hello? a pleasant female voice answered.
This is Gillian, Emmas mother.
Oh, hello, Mrs. ?
Id like to meet, maybe have a coffee together?
There was a pause.
Mrs. , Im swamped. The wedding planning is consuming me.
I can help!
Thank you, but I dont need assistance. Everythings under control.
Im the mother of the bride! I should be involved!
Mrs. , lets be honest. Emma asked me to take charge. If you want to change anything, speak to her, not me.
…
Gillian hung up, realizing Susan also saw her as unnecessary.
That night she confronted Emma.
Emma, sit down, please.
Im in a hurry, I have a meeting with Max.
Five minutes.
Emma sulked onto a chair.
Listen, I get you want a beautiful wedding. I get that Susan has more resources. But you said, the wedding will be, but Im not needed there. Did I really say that?
Emma frowned.
I never said that.
I did, Gillian insisted. Maybe not outright, but the meaning was there.
I didnt mean it.
Enough! Im not kicking you out. Ill be at the wedding, okay?
Just as a guest?
Exactly.
What about being the motherofthebride?
Whats the difference?
Gillian felt her throat tighten.
The motherofthebride is the second most important person after the couple. She blesses them, gives a toast, hugs the bride before the ceremony. A guest just sits in the corner with a glass of prosecco.
Those are oldfashioned ideas! Times have changed!
How?
Now its all about looks, Instagramworthy moments, likes on the wedding photos. Your sentimental stuff is from a bygone era!
So Im from a bygone era?
Emma stood abruptly.
Im tired of this! Come to the wedding or dont. I dont care!
Gillian stood as well. Do you really not care whether your own mother is there?
Yes! Because youll just whine, complain that youre ignored!
Im not whining!
You are, all your life! Always the victim!
Gillian stepped back, stunned.
Emma
Enough! Im leaving! Emma grabbed her bag and bolted out, slamming the door.
Gillian sank onto a chair, tears spilling, as Charlie entered, hugging her.
I wont go to the wedding.
Right, Charlie said. And I wont either.
Dont you want to be there for your daughter?
Im your mother, Charlie. I cant watch her get married without me.
Even if shes being cruel?
Even then.
Charlie stroked her hair, both of them silent.
Another week passed. Gillian, exhausted, managed a list of twenty guests, crossing off old school friends and distant cousins. She sent it to Emma.
Fine, Emma said, forward it to Susan.
Should I call her? Gillian asked.
Why?
Because were now family, right?
Not yet. Susans too busy.
And Im not busy?
Emma rolled her eyes and disappeared again.
A terse message from Susan arrived later: List accepted. Invitations forthcoming. Susan.
Flat, official, no warmth.
A month later the invitations still hadnt shown up. Gillian asked Emma.
Oops, no invitations. Well just tell everyone the venue and time later.
But invitations are a tradition!
Old tradition. Nobody does that now.
Mom, can I at least see the dress?
Why?
Because I want to see it!
Youll see it at the wedding.
…
Gillian backed off. Every chat turned into a battlefield.
Finally, after a sleepless night, Gillian called Susan again.
Hello? Susans polished voice answered.
This is Gillian, Emmas mother.
Yes, Mrs. ?
Id like to meet, maybe have a coffee together?
A pause.
Mrs. , Im terribly busy. The wedding is taking all my time.
I can help!
Thank you, but I dont need help. Everythings under control.
Im the motherofthebride! I should be involved!
Mrs. , be honest. Emma asked me to run the show. If you want anything changed, speak to her, not me.
…
Gillian hung up, feeling even Susan saw her as superfluous.
That evening she decided to have a proper hearttoheart with Emma.
Emma, sit down, please.
Im in a rush, I have a meeting with Max.
Just five minutes.
Emma grudgingly sat.
I get you want a stunning wedding. I get Susans resources are greater. But you said, the wedding will be, but Im not needed there. Is that true?
Emmas eyes widened.
I never meant that.
Yes, you did.
No, I didnt.
Gillian pressed on. You said it, even if not outright.
Emma snapped, Enough! Ill be at the wedding, even if just as a guest.
So not as motherofthebride?
Whats the point?
The motherofthebride is second only to the couple. She blesses, gives a toast, hugs the bride before they exchange vows. A guest just sips wine in the corner.
Emma scoffed, Those are antiquated! Today its all about Instagram likes and perfect aesthetics. Your sentimental bits are from another century!
Gillian felt the sting. So Im from another century?
Emma stood, gathering her bag.
Im done with this! Come to the wedding or not. I dont care.
Gillians voice cracked, Do you really not care if your own mother is there?
Yes!Gillian, tears finally drying, whispered a simple goodbye and turned away.
