“You’re not really family,” said the daughter-in-law when I brought flowers on the day they submitted their marriage notice.
“Margaret, you left work early today,” remarked my neighbour, Mrs. Thompson, as she met me outside our building. “Feeling poorly, are you?”
“Oh no, Im fine, love,” I replied, adjusting my handbag on my shoulder. “Just had some urgent things to sort out.”
“Well, thats good then. At our age, you never know. My blood pressure shot up yesterdaythought Id have to call an ambulance.”
I nodded, barely listening to her complaints. All I could think about was making it to the town centre on time. My son, James, hadnt given me an exact time, but I knew young couples usually did these things early in the day.
The bus crawled through traffic, and I kept checking my watch, fiddling with the documents in my bagpassport, payslips, proof of addressjust in case they needed anything sorted for the wedding paperwork.
I imagined Jamess face lighting up when he saw me, how his fiancée, Emily, would blush and thank me for coming. How could they do something so important without their parents there?
The registry office was in a grand old building in the heart of town. Climbing the steps, I felt the same flutter in my chest as when Id married my late husband, William, forty years ago. Back then, my parents had been right there with me.
The lobby was packedcouples filling out forms, new parents registering births. I scanned the room but couldnt spot James anywhere.
“Excuse me,” I asked the woman at the front desk, “where do we go to give notice of marriage?”
“First floor, room 207,” she said without looking up.
I took the stairs, my heels clicking on the polished wood. The corridor was long, with high ceilings and creaky floors. When I peeked through the slightly open door, James looked up, startled.
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
He was sitting across from a stern-looking registrar, Emily beside him in a pretty blue dress. Their passports and papers were spread out on the table.
“James, sweetheart!” I stepped inside, beaming. “How could I miss such an important day? I wanted to be here for you.”
Emily shot him a glance, then gave me a tight smile.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said coolly.
“Emily, darling, congratulations!” I moved to hug her, but she leaned back.
“Excuse me,” the registrar cut in, “but we are in the middle of an appointment. If youd like to observe, please take a seat by the wall.”
I sat and pulled out the small bouquet Id picked up on the waypink roses, Emilys favourite.
“These are for you, love.”
She took them without a word.
“Thank you.”
“Right, then,” the registrar said. “Preferred wedding date?”
“October fifteenth,” James answered.
“Weve got eleven in the morning free. Does that suit?”
They nodded.
“James, maybe a Saturday would be better?” I suggested. “More family could come.”
“Mum, weve already decided,” he said, a little sharp.
“Of course, of course. Youre adultsyou know best.”
Emily gave me another irritated look. I pretended not to noticenerves, probably.
“Will you have witnesses?” the registrar asked.
“Yes, my brother and her best friend,” Emily said.
“Or perhaps the parents could sign too?” I chimed in. “For traditions sake.”
“Mum, its only two witnesses by law,” James said patiently.
“Right, sorry. Just excited for you both.”
The paperwork took another half hour. I watched them, heart swelling at how serious they looked. When it was done, I stood first.
“Right! Time to celebrate! Ive booked us a table at that lovely café on High Streettheir Victoria sponge is divine.”
James and Emily exchanged a glance.
“Mum, we werent planning on having anyone else there today,” he said carefully.
“What do you mean? This is a huge moment! We should mark it properly.”
“Margaret,” Emily said, her voice icy, “we were just going for a walk. Just the two of us.”
“Oh. Well, what about later? Ive already got grocerieswas going to make your favourite, James. Shepherds pie.”
“Mum, weve got plans tonight,” he said firmly.
Something twisted inside me. Id been so looking forward to sharing this day with them.
“But Im your mother,” I said, bewildered. “How can you do this without me?”
“Were adults, Mum. Well manage.”
We left the registry office together. The sun was shining, couples strolling through the square, taking photos by the fountain. Walking beside them, I felt like an outsider.
“James, lets at least take a picture,” I pleaded, pulling out my phone.
“Mum, well take loads later.”
“Just one? For memories?”
He relented. I fussed with the camera.
“Stand closer! Emily, smile, love!”
Her smile was stiff. I snapped a few shots.
“Lovely! Ill print these properly, frame them.”
“Mum, we should go,” James said, checking his watch.
“Where are you off to? I could walk with you”
“We want to be alone,” Emily said bluntly.
I bit my tongue, hugged James, and tried to embrace Emily, but she stepped back again.
“Goodbye,” she said flatly.
“Mum, Ill ring you tomorrow,” James promised.
I watched them leave, then trudged to the bus stop, my mood thoroughly soured. Id dreamed of us all chatting over tea, planning the wedding, talking about the future. Instead, Id just been tolerated.
On the bus, I scrolled through the photos. James looked happy, but Emily? Even in pictures, she seemed stiff.
At home, I made the shepherds pie anyway, knowing Id be eating it alone. My hands moved automaticallychopping onions, browning mince, layering mash. But my mind kept replaying the registry office.
Why had Emily been so cold? Wed known each other six months, and shed always been pleasant before. Never visited, thoughbut Id thought she was just shy.
The phone rang as I served myself.
“Margaret, hello!” It was Mrs. Thompson, chipper as ever. “How did it go? All sorted?”
“Yes, theyve given notice.”
“Brilliant! Did they take you out to celebrate?”
“No,” I said quietly. “They wanted time alone.”
“Odd, that. In my day, parents were always included.”
“They said theyre grown-ups now.”
“Grown-ups or not, a mothers a mother. You raised that boy single-handed after your William passed. And this is the thanks you get?”
I sighed. She wasnt wrong.
“Anyway, Id better go. Dinners getting cold.”
I hung up and picked at my food. The pie was perfect, but I had no appetite. The flat felt too quiet. I turned on the telly, but nothing held my attention.
Later, my friend Linda called.
“Margie, howd it go? Did they file the papers?”
“Yes.”
“Why so glum? You should be over the moon!”
“I am. Just tired.”
“Out with it. What happened?”
I told her everythingthe registry office, Emilys frostiness, the rejection.
“That little madam!” Linda burst out. “Who does she think she is? A sons mother is sacred!”
“Lin, dont be harsh. Maybe shes just nervous.”
“Nervous? Shes putting you in your place! Marking her territory.”
“You really think so?”
“Course! James has always been soft. Shes got him wrapped around her finger. Bet shes already plotting to cut you out.”
I went quiet. Part of me feared the same.
“Listen,” Linda said firmly, “dont fret. Let them play house. First sign of trouble, theyll come running back.”
“And if they dont?”
“They will. These independent types crumble fast.”
Her words helped a little. But the hurt remainedmy own son, choosing her over me.
The next morning, James rang.
“Hi, Mum. You alright?”
“Fine, love. How are you?”
“Good. Listen, I wanted to talk.”
His tone put me on edge.
“Go on.”
“Emily was really upset yesterday. Said you didnt exactly make her feel welcome.”
“What? I brought her flowers! Wanted to celebrate!”
“Yeah, but she felt like you were judging her. Like you dont approve.”
I was stunned.
“James, I just care about you! What mother wouldnt?”
“I know, Mum. But Emily thinks youre overbearing.”
“Overbearing?” My voice shook. “I
