«Dont you dare dress like that in my house,» hissed my mother-in-law under her breath as guests began arriving.
«Emily, have you seen my glasses? I think I left them on the coffee table,» Margaret called out, peering into the kitchen where my wife was putting the finishing touches on a salad.
«Have a look in the case, Margaret. I tidied the lounge and put them there,» Emily replied without looking up, carefully arranging each slice of cucumber.
My mother pursed her lips but said nothing. In her mind, no one should touch another persons thingsespecially not hersno matter how well-intentioned. But with guests about to arrive, she held her tongue. Today was important: thirty years since shed moved into this grand old house, with its high ceilings and antique furniture passed down from *her* mother-in-law. Every corner was steeped in memories, every object in its rightful place. Though the house technically belonged to me now, she still acted as if she ruled it.
Emily had only been living with us for two years. My mother had never approvedId married a woman Id known just three months, a university graduate with what she called «far too modern» ideas.
«The salads nearly ready,» Emily said, arranging it on a serving dish. «Ill just nip upstairs to change before everyone gets here.»
«Youre not planning to wear *that* red dress, are you?» Mum remarked casually, smoothing her immaculate silver hair.
Emily paused, then met her gaze. «Actually, yes. William chose it for our anniversary.»
«Its not appropriate for a family dinner,» Mum said sharply. «Far too revealing. What about that lovely blue dress I gave you for Christmas?»
Emily took a slow breath. That blue dressstiff, high-necked, something a schoolgirl might wearhad only been donned once, out of politeness. Since then, it had hung forgotten in the back of the wardrobe.
«Margaret, I think at thirty-two, I can decide what to wear,» she said, keeping her tone light but firm.
«Of course,» Mum replied with a tight smile. «Just remember, my friends are coming tonight. People of a certain generation. They have standards.»
Without waiting for a response, she swept out, leaving Emily simmering.
Upstairs, I was buttoning my shirt when Emily walked in. «Nearly ready for the grand occasion?» I asked, grinning.
«Almost,» she said, pulling *that* red dress from the wardrobe. «Your mothers already on about my outfit.»
I sighed. «Ignore her. She just worries what her friends will think.»
«Does she? Or is it just me?» Emily held up the dress. It *was* daringlow-cut, with a slitbut hardly scandalous.
«Lets not make a scene tonight, love,» I said, hugging her from behind. «This means a lot to her. Thirty years in this houseits her whole life.»
«And my self-respect means a lot to *me*,» she murmured. «Im not a child to be dressed.»
I hesitated, torn between loyalty to her and not upsetting Mum. «Wear what you like,» I finally said. «Youre gorgeous in anything.»
Emily kissed my cheek, though frustration still flickered in her eyes.
Guests arrived promptly at six: first, Margarets oldest friends from her days at the architectural firm, then sharp-tongued old Mrs. Whitaker from next door, followed by a stream of Mums longtime companions. Emily and I played host, exchanging pleasantries while Mum held court in the dining room, arranging platters and reminiscing about her travels.
When Emily slipped into the kitchen to fetch the last dishes, she found Mum pulling a pie from the oven.
«Just bringing the hot starters,» Emily said. «Everyones asking after your famous mushroom vol-au-vents.»
Mum noddedbut her gaze fixed on Emilys neckline. The dress was elegant, tasteful. Yet Mums lips thinned.
«Couldnt you have worn something modest?» she muttered.
«Weve been over this,» Emily said evenly. «Its perfectly fine for a family dinner.»
«In *my* day, women didnt flaunt themselves like this,» Mum snapped, slamming the pie down.
Emily flushed but bit back a retortnot here, not in front of guests.
Back in the dining room, laughter bubbled as I told a work anecdote. Emily set down the starters and moved to sit beside me, but Mum cut in: «Emily dear, could you fetch more bread?»
A liethe basket was full. Still, Emily nodded. As she turned, Mums whisper carried: «Honestly, teaching her manners is like training a puppy. Young people todayno sense of decorum.»
Emily froze, fists clenched. Then she exhaled and returned empty-handed.
«Theres plenty of bread already, Margaret,» she said coolly, taking her seat.
Mum shot her a glare but stayed silent. The evening rolled ontoasts, stories, debates about the telly. Emily smiled, chatted, pretended not to notice the tension thickening like fog.
Over dessert, Mrs. Whitaker suddenly piped up: «Your daughter-in-laws a stunner, Margaret! That red dressstraight off a magazine cover!»
Mum forced a smile. «Yes, Emily does love her fashions. Though modesty never goes out of style.»
«Oh, rubbish!» Mrs. Whitaker waved a hand. «If I had her figure at that age, Id have worn the same! Good for you, girlenjoy it while you can!»
Emily smiled gratefully. When the kettle whistled, she stood. «Ill make tea.»
Mum rose too. «Ill help.»
In the kitchen, she shut the door and whirled on Emily, face twisted with rage.
«How *dare* you disgrace me like this?» she spat. «That dress is vulgar, disrespectfulan insult to me and my guests!»
Emily stepped back, stunned. «Margaret, its just a dress»
«Dont play naïve!» Mum hissed. «You wore it to spite me! To flaunt that my rules mean nothing!»
«Thats not true,» Emily said firmly. «I wore it because its beautiful and because my *husband* loves it.»
«Williams too soft! And you twist him around your finger!»
The door swung openId heard enough. «Whats going on?»
«Nothing, darling,» Mum said, voice instantly sweet. «Just discussing wardrobe choices.»
«I heard you, Mum,» I said quietly. «And I wont have you speaking to Emily like that.»
«But this is *my* house!»
«No. Its *our* home. Mine, Emilys, yours. And we *all* deserve to feel welcome here.»
Silence. From the dining room, Mrs. Whitakers cackle rang out.
«I never meant to cause trouble,» Emily said at last. «If Id known the dress would upset you, Id have worn something else.»
Mum looked between us, anger warring with something elseshame, perhaps.
«Emilys been slaving all day to make your night perfect,» I said gently. «She respects you. But you have to respect her tooher choices, her right to wear what makes her happy.»
Mums shoulders sagged. «Perhaps I overreacted,» she admitted grudgingly. «But in my day»
«Times change, Margaret,» Emily said softly. «But kindness never goes out of style. I dont want to fight. I want us to be family.»
The kettle boiled again, a reminder of waiting guests.
«Lets get back to them,» I said.
But as Emily reached for the teapot, Mum stopped her. «Wait. I I owe you an apology,» she said stiffly. «You *do* look lovely in that dress. And Ediths rightyouths for bold choices.»
Emily blinked. In two years, Mum had never once admitted fault.
«Thank you,» she said simply. «That means a lot.»
When we returned, the conversation had turned to the latest telly drama. Only Mrs. Whitaker gave us a knowing look but held her tongue.
The rest of the evening passed warmly. Mum even asked where Emily bought the dress»for my friend Dorothy, shed suit something bright too.»
As guests departed, Mrs. Whitaker lingered in the hall, waiting for her taxi.
«Margaret,» she said quietly, «in fifty years, Ive never heard you apologize. Until tonight.»
«Dont be absurd.»
The old woman smirked. «Saw your faces when you came back from the kitchen. You admitted you were wrong. Good. Means theres hope for you yet.»
«Youve always been too sharp, Edith.»
«Just observant. Your daughter-in-laws a gem. And your boys happy. Isnt that what matters?»
After she left, Mum found Emily and me clearing the table.
«Leave it,» she said. «Well finish tomorrow. Tonight was nice. Lets not spoil it with chores.»
I gaped. «But you always say»
«Rules are made to be bent,» Mum interrupted, smiling faintly. «Isnt that right, Emily?»
Emily grinned. «Especially when it makes us happier.»
I pulled them both into a hugthree generations, three stubborn hearts, but one family. Flawed, clashing, yet trying.
Then Mum chuckled. «You know I saw a dress just like yours but in blue. Do you think itd suit me?»
And for the first time in years, we laughed togethertruly, freely, no bitterness left between us.
