**»We Dont Want You at the Wedding»**
«Mum, why are you washing those plates again? Theyre already clean!» Emily sighed, watching her mother wipe the same dishes for the fourth time.
«What if the guests notice smudges?» Margaret squinted, holding a plate up to the light. «Its a weddingeverything must be perfect.»
«Honestly, no ones going to inspect the plates! Theyll be too busy staring at the bride and groom. Youve been in the kitchen for hours,» Emily stepped closer, reaching for a hug, but Margaret shifted away.
«Dont distract me, please. The salads arent ready, the cake isnt decorated. Theres no time.»
Emily shook her head and walked out. In the living room, her fiancé, James, fiddled nervously with his tie.
«Your mums sure she can handle this, right? Maybe we shouldve booked a restaurant,» he whispered.
«Too late noweveryones coming here. She insisted on hosting. Says restaurants lack warmth.» Emily took his hand. «Bear with her, love. Shes trying her best.»
James nodded, but doubt lingered in his eyes. Margaret had spent three months preparingstudying recipes, shopping, planning every detail. At first, Emily had admired her dedication, but lately, her mothers stress had turned her sharp and critical.
«Emily!» Margaret called from the kitchen. «Come taste the salad!»
The bride entered to find her mother clutching a spoon.
«Does it need more salt? I cant tell.»
«Mum, its fine! Youve asked ten times already!»
«Sorry for caring!» Margaret turned away, hurt. «I want everything to be perfect. So Jamess parents dont think were… inadequate.»
Emily rested her hands on Margarets shoulders.
«Whats really wrong? His parents are lovely. They wont judge your mayonnaise portions.»
«Wont they?» Margaret spun around. «Did you hear his mother yesterday? We always had smoked salmon at home. Smoked salmon! And here Ive just got egg sandwiches…»
«She didnt mean it like that. She was reminiscing.»
«Please! I hear their whispers. Margaret lives so modestly. Should I be ashamed I raised you alone after your father left?»
Emily fell silent. The old wound always ached, but today, it bled anew.
«No one blames you, Mum. Everyone knows youve done brilliantly.»
«Brilliantly,» Margaret scoffed. «Jamess parents have a three-storey house, new cars. And what do I offer? A terraced home and a homemade spread?»
«I dont care about their house! Im marrying James, not his parents!»
James appeared in the doorway, drawn by raised voices.
«Everything alright?»
«Fine!» Margaret wiped her hands briskly. «Just finalising the menu.»
He surveyed the kitchenplatters of finger food, simmering dishes. The aroma was heavenly.
«Margaret, this is incredible. My parents will be impressed.»
«Oh, stop.» She flushed, pleased.
«I mean it. Restaurant food feels sterile. This has heart.»
For the first time all day, Margaret smiled.
«Tea, dear? Or coffee? Freshly brewed.»
«Mum, guests arrive in an hour,» Emily reminded her. «You still need to change.»
«Oh, goodness!» Margaret gasped. «My dress isnt ironed, my hair»
«Weve got time. Go showerIll finish here.» Emily took her apron.
«Dont touch the cake!» Margaret called over her shoulder. «Ill ice it myself!»
James hugged Emily. «Shes terrified. How can we help?»
«She wont let us. Needs control.» Emily leaned into him. «She wants your parents approval so badly.»
«Why? Were not marrying them.»
«Try telling her that. Shes spent her life proving shes enough.»
James pondered. «What if my parents praise her cooking? Say its better than any restaurant?»
«Would you?»
«Absolutely. Look how hard shes worked.»
Emily kissed his cheek. «Thank you. Itll mean the world.»
Half an hour later, Margaret emerged in a navy dress, hair styled, lips painted.
«How do I look?»
«Stunning!» James beamed.
«Gorgeous, Mum.» Emily hugged her. «The perfect mother-in-law!»
Margaret adjusted her dress, flustered. «Oh! The cakeI forgot the finishing touches!»
«Guests are ringing the bell,» Emily said, peering outside. «Leave itits beautiful.»
«But the buttercream roses»
«Margaret, its magnificent,» James insisted. «Go greet everyone. Well set up.»
Jamess parents arrived first. Eleanor, elegant in a tailored suit, glanced around. Margaret stiffened, awaiting judgment.
«How cosy!» Eleanor said. «You can tell a loving home.»
Margaret brightened. «Please, make yourselves comfortable.»
As guests trickled in, Margaret darted between rooms, refilling drinks, monitoring servings.
«Margaret, join us!» Jamess father, Henry, beckoned. «Youre the hostesswe barely see you!»
«So much to do…»
«Nonsense! Sit here. Lets chat.»
Margaret perched nervously.
«Did you make this potato salad?» Eleanor asked.
«Yes… Is it alright?»
«Its divine! May I have the recipe?»
Margaret blushed. «Its just proper boiling technique, really…»
«And these sausage rolls!» a friend exclaimed. «Margaret, these are art!»
«Quite right,» Henry agreed. «My wife relies on ready meals. This is proper cooking.»
Margaret blossomed, sharing tips, laughing. The guests listened, engaged.
«Shes transformed,» Emily whispered to James.
«She needed to feel valued,» he replied. «Look at her.»
Later, Eleanor took Margaret aside.
«Youve raised an exceptional daughter. James adores herits clear she was cherished.»
Margaret teared up. «I tried my best. It wasnt easy alone.»
«And you succeeded. Shes kind, capable. Any mother-in-law would be lucky.»
«Youre too kind.»
«And your cooking! Ive eaten so much, my dress wont button!»
Margaret laughed. «Have seconds! Theres shepherds pie, roast chicken…»
By evening, only family remained. Margaret kicked off her heels, exhausted but content.
«Well, love? Happy?» Emily asked.
«You were right,» Margaret mused. «I worried for nothing. Jamess parents are wonderful.»
«Told you!»
James kissed Margarets hand. «Thank you. Mums already stolen three recipes.»
«Oh, posh! Theyre nothing special.»
«They arebecause theyre made with love.»
Margaret embraced them. «Be happy, my dears. Im always here.»
As she washed the final dishes, Margaret reflected. Shed feared judgment, imagined inadequacy. But happiness wasnt in wealth or grandeurit was in open hearts and shared joy. And tomorrow, a new chapter would begin, not with distance, but deeper bonds.
For love, not appearances, was what truly mattered.
