“You’re no longer the lady of this house,” declared the mother-in-law in front of everyone.
“What do you mean, ‘not in the mood’? This is *my* home, and Ill cook what I see fit!” Emily resolutely pulled a tray of marinated meat from the fridge. “Im done catering to her whims. If Margaret doesnt like Peking duck, she can have bread!”
“Em,” James rubbed his temples wearily, “you know Mum has stomach issues. The doctor banned anything spicy. Is it really so hard to make something plain?”
“Its always the same thing!” Emily slammed the tray onto the counter. “Last Christmas’nothing salty,’ on Olivers birthday’nothing fried,’ now’nothing spicy’! Does anyone ever think about what *I* want? I spent *days* perfecting this recipe!”
Seven-year-old Oliver peeked into the kitchen.
“Mum, Grans here. And Uncle Tom and Aunt Lucy are with her.”
Emily exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay composed. The guests had arrived early, and she hadnt even changed. The argument with James had already soured the evening.
“Go greet them,” she nodded at James. “Ill freshen up and join you.”
James hesitated in the doorway.
“Em, please, no drama tonight. Mum wants to introduce us to her new husband. Its important to her.”
“I understand,” Emily managed a tight smile. “Go on, dont keep them waiting.”
Alone, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Margaret had been a constant source of stress since the day she and James got together. In their six years of marriage, shed interfered in everythinghow to raise Oliver, how to decorate the house, what to serve for dinner. And James, raised to believe “Mum knows best,” rarely took his wifes side.
*Fine. Tonights special. Ill be polite. Maybe if Margaret has a husband, shell finally back off.*
She changed into the dress shed set aside earlier, touched up her lipstick, smoothed her unruly curls, and stepped into the living room with her brightest smile.
“Lovely to see you, Margaret!” Emily moved to hug her, but the older woman merely gave a stiff nod. “Tom, Lucy, welcome!”
Jamess brother and his wife returned warm smiles. Beside Margaret stood a strangertall, trim, with a neatly groomed silver beard. *Not bad for sixty-five,* Emily noted. *No wonder shes been dressing up lately.*
“Everyone,” Margaret rested a hand on the mans shoulder, “this is Geoffrey. My… friend.”
“Lets be precise, darling,” Geoffrey corrected gently. “Husband, as of two weeks ago. A pleasure to meet you all. Margarets told me so much.”
Emily caught the stunned glance between James and Tom. Clearly, their mothers sudden marriage was news to them.
“Congratulations!” Emily recovered first. “Thats wonderful! Please, everyone, sit. Ill bring out the starters.”
“Ill help,” offered Lucy, Toms wife.
In the kitchen, Lucy immediately whispered,
“Bloody hell! Did you know they were already married?”
“Had no idea,” Emily grabbed plates from the cupboard. “James looks shell-shocked.”
“Can you blame him?” Lucy snorted. “Margaret always swore shed never remarry after Harold died. ‘No man could ever compare,’ remember?”
“Vividly,” Emily muttered. “But Im happy for her. Maybe now shell… interfere less.”
“Dont bet on it,” Lucy smirked. “This is Margaret were talking about. Shed rather starve than stop lecturing.”
They returned with trays of appetisers. Emily noticed Oliver already chatting animatedly with Geoffrey, who was examining his rock collection.
“This ones from the river when Dad and I went fishing,” Oliver explained proudly. “And this ones from a school trip. *This* ones the bestlook, its shaped like a heart!”
“Marvellous eye,” Geoffrey smiled. “I used to be a geologist, Oliver. Ive got a whole collection at home. If your parents agree, Id love to show you.”
Emily watched, surprised. In six years, shed never seen Margaret let anyone bond so easily with Oliver. Usually, she guarded her “special place” in his life jealously.
“Time to eat!” Emily announced. “Mains in half an hour.”
“Whats for dinner?” Margaret asked, settling at the head of the tableher usual spot.
“Peking duck,” Emily answered carefully. “And potato gratin.”
“Duck?” Margaret pursed her lips. “You know I cant have spices. And in this heat? Chicken salad wouldve been sensible.”
“Its not spicy, Mum,” James cut in. “Emily made the sauce mild.”
A liebut Emily shot him a grateful look. For once, hed taken her side, however small the gesture.
“And,” Emily added, “I steamed a plain chicken breast for you. Completely bland.”
“How… thoughtful,” Margaret said dryly. “Though a bit dull for guests, dont you think?”
“Margaret,” Geoffrey interjected gently, “Emilys gone to great effort. Lets enjoy the evening, shall we?”
Margaret shot him a glare but stayed silent. Tom raised his glass to break the tension.
“A toast to the newlyweds! To Mum and Geoffreyhealth and happiness!”
Glasses clinked. Conversation flowed. Geoffrey, a well-travelled raconteur, charmed everyone. Even Margaret seemed to soften.
Later, as Emily plated the duckgolden, glistening, garnished with orange slicesshe allowed herself a flicker of pride. Shed cooked with love, even knowing Margaret would never appreciate it.
Back in the dining room, Margaret was critiquing their flat.
“…spacious, park views,” she said of her new home. “Geoffrey insisted on renovations. Far nicer than *this* place.”
“*Our* home suits us,” James said firmly. “Emily designed it.”
“Charming,” Margaret patronised. “For now. But youll want something more… substantial eventually.”
Emily clenched her jaw but held her tongue. She set the duck down to murmurs of admiration.
“Stunning!” Geoffrey beamed.
“Smells divine,” Lucy agreed.
Even Margaret conceded, “It looks… acceptable.”
Emily served everyone, presenting Margarets plain chicken with equal care.
“Bloody brilliant!” Tom took the first bite. “Emily, youve outdone yourself!”
“Truly delicious,” Geoffrey added. “Margaret, you must get this recipe.”
“Im allergic to duck,” Margaret sniffed, poking her chicken. “And this is tasteless. Not even salted.”
“Mum,” James sighed, “the doctor said no salt.”
“No *flavour* either? There are herbs, spicesthis is *rubber!*”
Emilys cheeks burned. After all her effort, shed still failed.
“Margaret,” she said evenly, “I followed the doctors orders. But if youd prefer something else”
“Dont bother.” Margaret waved her off. “Id rather go hungry than ruin my health.”
An awkward silence fell. Oliver, sensing tension, asked,
“Gran, are you *really* moving? What about us?”
“Well visit often, darling,” Margaret cooed. “Youll have your *own room* with us. Geoffrey will teach you chess, show you his rocks…”
“But I *have* a room,” Oliver frowned. “I want to stay with Mum and Dad.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Emily said quickly. “Youll *visit* Gran when you like.”
“Emily,” Margarets voice turned icy, “let me speak to *my grandson*.”
“Actually,” Emily met her gaze, “hes *my son*. Ill speak as I please.”
“*Your* son?” Margaret drew herself up. “Oliver is a *Whitmore*. *Our* family name. As matriarch, *I* decide his upbringing.”
“Mum,” James warned, “dont”
“Oh, we *will*,” Margaret snapped. “Six years Ive watched her coddle him! No discipline, no routine! Seven years old and barely reading!”
“He reads *fine*!” Emily shot back. “Straight-A student!”
“Thanks to *whom*?” Margaret sneered. “Who helps with homework? Takes him to piano?”
“*Me*,” Emily said coldly. “Every. Single. Day.”
“Only because *I* make you!” Margaret slammed the table. “Without me, youd be glued to your phone! Typical modern mother!”
“Enough!” Emily stood, trembling. “Youve crossed a line!”
“Margaret, please,” Geoffrey tried. “Youre being unfair.”
“Stay out of this!” she hissed. “Things are changing. Our new flat has space. Oliver will live with usmost of the time.”
“*What?*” Emilys voice cracked. “Youre *taking* him?”
“Im giving him *proper* upbringing!” Margaret stood too. “As for youyoure *not* the lady here anymore. Starting today, *I* make the rules!”
The room froze. Even James looked stunned.
“Mum,” he said finally, “you cant just *take* Oliver. Hes *our* son.”
“James,” Margaret softened, “you know I only want whats best. But your wife… shes *failing*.”
“*Failing?*” Emilys vision blurred. “I work full-time, keep this house spotless, raise our son, cook meals you *still* criticise! What *else* must I do?”
“Em, calm down,” James reached for her, but she stepped back.
“No. *Choose.* Right now. Her… or us.”
“Dont be dramatic,” James faltered. “Lets talk”
“I *am* calm,” Emily said, eerily composed. Fury had given way to icy clarity. “Your choice.”
Tom and Lucy exchanged glances. Geoffrey studied his wife, disapproval flickering. Oliver sniffled in the corner.
“James,” Margaret touched his arm, “bloods thicker than water.”
“Yes, Mum,” James shook her off. “*My* family is Emily, Oliver, and me. And you *will* apologise.”
Margaret recoiled. “*Apologise?* For *what?*”
“For *this*.” James took Emilys hand. “*She* runs this home. No onenot you, *no one*dictates how we live.”
Emily stared at him. Six years, and hed *finally* stood up.
“*Youre choosing her?*” Margaret gasped.
“Im choosing *my family*,” James said firmly. “If you want in, youll respect my wife. Otherwise… well see less of you.”
Margaret scanned the room, finding no allies. Even Geoffrey shook his head slightly.
“Fine,” she spat, snatching her purse. “Geoffrey, were leaving.”
“Margaret, perhaps an apology?” he ventured.
“*You too?*” She stormed out. “Traitors, all of you! Tom? Coming?”
Tom cleared his throat.
“Actually, Mum, Lucy and I were staying for cheesecake…”
Margaret left with a final slam. Silence lingered until Emily knelt by Oliver.
“Hey, sweetheart. Grans just upset. She loves you. And youre *staying* with us, okay?”
Oliver clung to her. “Promise?”
“Always,” James ruffled his hair. “Well visit Gran when *we* want. Deal?”
Later, after guests left and Oliver slept, Emily and James sat in the quiet kitchen.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For finally choosing us.”
“Shouldve done it years ago,” he admitted. “Old habits… especially with Mum.”
“But today you were the head of *our* family.”
“Dyou think shell forgive us?”
“In time,” Emily squeezed his hand. “Once she realises manipulation wont work.”
“So… distance?”
“Boundaries,” Emily corrected. “Shes part of our livesbut she *respects* us. Then Ill respect *her*.”
James smiled. “Feels like a weights lifted.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “I dreaded this for years… but we needed it.”
They talked late into the night, relearning each other. Something had brokenbut something stronger had taken its place.
The next morning, Geoffrey called. Margaret wanted to apologise… when everyone was ready.
But thats another story.
