«Dont you dare dress like that in my house,» hissed the mother-in-law just before the guests arrived.
«Claire, have you seen my glasses? I think I left them on the coffee table,» Margaret peeked into the kitchen where her daughter-in-law was putting the finishing touches on a festive salad.
«Try the case, Margaret. I tidied the living room and put them there,» Claire replied without looking up from slicing cucumbers, determined to make every piece perfect.
Margaret pursed her lips but said nothing. In her world, no one touched anothers belongingsno matter how helpful the intention. Especially not *her* belongings. But with guests due any minute, she bit back a lecturetoday was important, and petty squabbles had no place in it.
Thirty years ago today, Margaret had moved into this housespacious, with high ceilings and antique furniture inherited from her own mother-in-law. Over the decades, every inch had been claimed, every knick-knack assigned its sacred spot. Technically, the house now belonged to her son, James, but in Margarets mind, she was still the one who ruled the roost.
Claire had only been part of the household for two years. Margaret had been less than thrilled when James brought home this woman hed known for just three monthsbright, university-educated, and (in Margarets opinion) far too modern in her thinking.
«The salads almost ready,» Claire announced, arranging it on a large serving dish. «Ill just pop upstairs to change before everyone arrives.»
«You arent planning to wear *that* red dress, are you?» Margaret remarked airily, smoothing her immaculately styled silver hair.
Claire froze mid-motion, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet Margarets.
«Thats exactly what I was going to wear. James picked it out for our anniversary.»
«Its hardly appropriate for a family dinner,» Margaret sniffed. «Far too… revealing. What about that lovely blue dress I bought you for Christmas? The one with the sensible collar?»
Claire took a deep breath. That «lovely» blue dresswhich looked like something a schoolgirl would wearhad only been donned once, purely to avoid a scene on Christmas Day. Since then, it had been banished to the darkest corner of the wardrobe.
«Margaret, I think at thirty-two, I can decide what to wear,» she said gently but firmly.
«Of course,» Margaret replied with a tight smile. «Just remembermy friends are coming tonight. People of a certain generation. With certain expectations of decorum.»
Without waiting for a response, she swept out of the kitchen, leaving Claire to simmer in silent irritation.
Upstairs, James was buttoning up a freshly ironed shirt. He grinned when he spotted his wife.
«All set for the grand soirée?»
«Nearly,» Claire said, pulling the infamous red dress from the wardrobe. «Your mothers already critiquing my outfit.»
James sighed.
«Just ignore her. You know shes only worried about how well come across to her friends.»
«*We*? Or just *me*?» Claire studied the dress critically. It *was* slightly daringlow-cut with a thigh slitbut hardly scandalous.
«Claire, not tonight, alright?» James wrapped his arms around her from behind. «This means a lot to Mum. Thirty years in this houseits practically her whole life.»
«And *I* mean a lot to me,» Claire muttered. «Im not a teenager to be told what to wear.»
James hesitated, torn between loyalty to his wife and fear of upsetting his mother.
«Wear what you want,» he finally conceded. «Youll look gorgeous in anything.»
Claire kissed his cheek, forcing a smile. The irritation still bubbled inside, but for his sake, she swallowed it.
Guests began arriving at six. First came Patricia and her husbandold friends from Margarets days at the architecture firm. Then Edith, the sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued neighbour. Others trickled inmostly Margarets contemporaries, people shed known for decades.
Claire and James played host, taking coats, making polite small talk. Margaret reigned over the dining room, arranging dishes and regaling guests with tales of her travels.
When everyone was seated, Claire slipped into the kitchen to fetch the main courseonly to find Margaret pulling a golden pie from the oven.
«Ill bring out the hot dishes,» Claire said. «Theyre raving about your famous gratin.»
Margaret nodded, but her gaze lingered on Claires décolletage. The red dress fit like a dream, accentuating her figure. It was elegant, not vulgarbut to Margaret, it might as well have been a scandal.
«Couldnt you have found something more… modest?» she hissed.
«Margaret, weve been over this,» Claire replied evenly. «Its perfectly fine for a family dinner.»
«*My* idea of a family dinner doesnt involve parading oneself like a showgirl,» Margaret snapped, slamming the pie onto a tray with a clatter.
Claires cheeks burned. She bit back a retortnot here, not in front of guests.
«Lets get back to the table,» she said stiffly, lifting the gratin.
In the dining room, laughter bubbled as James told an office anecdote. Claire set the dish down and moved to sit beside himonly for Margaret to cut in.
«Claire, darling, would you fetch more bread? I think weve run out.»
A blatant liethe bread basket was full. But Claire nodded and turned toward the kitchen. Behind her, Margaret whispered to Patricia:
«Honestly, training a daughter-in-law these days is like teaching a cat to fetch. No sense of propriety.»
Claire froze in the doorway, fists clenched. Then she exhaled slowly and returnedempty-handed.
«The bread baskets still full, Margaret,» she said coolly, reclaiming her seat.
Margaret shot her a glare but stayed silent. The evening rolled ontoasts, reminiscing, polite chatter. Claire played her part, smiling at jokes, answering questions. But the tension between her and Margaret thickened like custard left out too long.
When dessert was served, Edith suddenly piped up, eyeing Claire:
«My goodness, Margaret, your daughter-in-laws a stunner! That red dress suits herlike something off a magazine cover!»
Margaret forced a smile.
«Yes, Claires quite the fashionista. Though she sometimes forgets that modesty is a virtue.»
«Oh, pish!» Edith waved a hand. «No need for modesty these days! If I had her figure at her age, Id wear sequins to the supermarket. Good on you, dearenjoy it while youre young!»
Claire shot Edith a grateful smile. Just then, the kettle whistled from the kitchen.
«Ill make tea,» she offered, standing.
Margaret rose too.
«Ill help.»
In the kitchen, Margaret shut the door and rounded on Claire, her face twisted with fury.
«How *dare* you dress like that in *my* home?» she seethed. «Its indecent, vulgar, and an insult to me and my guests!»
Claire stepped back, stunned.
«Margaret, whats gotten into you? Its just an evening dress. Theres nothing vulgar about it.»
«Dont play naïve!» Margarets voice was a venomous whisper. «You wore it to humiliate me. To flaunt that my rules mean nothing to you!»
«Thats not true,» Claire said firmly. «I wore it because its beautiful and because *your son* loves it.»
«James doesnt know any better! Hes too soft-hearted, and you take advantage!»
The door swung open. James stood there, his expression grim.
«Whats going on?»
«Nothing, darling,» Margaret said, her tone instantly sweet. «Just discussing… wardrobe choices.»
«I heard enough, Mum,» James said quietly. «And I dont like it.»
Margaret paled.
«James, you dont understand»
«No, *you* dont,» he said, stepping beside Claire. «Claire is my wife. And I wont let anyonenot even youspeak to her like that.»
«But this is *my* house!»
«No, Mum. Its *our* house. Mine, Claires, yours. And we all deserve to feel at home here.»
Silence fell, broken only by laughter from the dining room.
«I didnt want a scene,» Claire said softly. «If Id known the dress would upset you, Id have worn something else.»
Margaret looked between them, anger warring with something elsemaybe, just maybe, a flicker of shame.
«Mum,» James said gently, «Claires been cooking all day to make your party perfect. She respects you. But you have to respect her tooher choices, her right to dress as she pleases.»
Margaret lowered her gaze. Finally, she muttered,
«Perhaps I… overreacted. Its justin my day…»
«Times change, Margaret,» Claire said quietly. «But kindness never goes out of style. I dont want to fight. I just want us to be family.»
The kettle boiled again, a reminder of waiting guests.
«Lets get back to them,» James said.
Margaret noddedthen, as Claire reached for the teapot, blurted out,
«Wait. I… I owe you an apology.» The words seemed to pain her. «You *do* look lovely in that dress. And Ediths rightyouths the time for pretty things.»
Claire blinked. In two years, Margaret had never once admitted fault.
«Thank you,» she said simply. «That means a lot.»
When they returned to the dining room, the guests were deep in debate about the latest detective drama. Only Edith gave them a knowing look but said nothing.
The rest of the evening passed warmly. Margaret even asked Claire where shed bought the dress»for my friend Dorothy, shed suit something that colour.»
As guests left, Edith lingered in the hallway, waiting for her taxi.
«You know, Margaret,» she said drily, «Ive known you fifty years. Never once heard you apologize. Until tonight, I reckon.»
«Whatever do you mean?» Margaret feigned innocence.
«Oh, dont bother,» Edith chuckled. «I saw your faces when you came back from the kitchen. Something happenedand you admitted you were wrong. Good. Means theres hope for you yet.»
«Edith, youve always been too sharp for your own good,» Margaret sighed.
«Sharp? No, just observant,» Edith patted her arm. «Your daughter-in-laws a gem. And your sons happy. «Edith, youve always been too sharp for your own good,» Margaret sighed.
«Sharp? No, just observant,» Edith patted her arm. «Your daughter-in-laws a gem. And your sons happy. That should be enough for any mother.»
Margaret watched as Claire helped James clear the last of the dishes, her red dress still bright against the warm glow of the kitchen light. She didnt smilenot quitebut she softened, just a little, and reached for her coat. Outside, the night was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes after a storm has passed. Inside, for the first time in a long time, the house felt like a home.
