“I won’t eat this,” the mother-in-law grimaced at the plate of stew.
“What is this?” Fiona wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air as if a bucket of slop had been set down in front of her.
“Stew,” explained her daughter-in-law, Amy, with a smile. She removed the lid from a small ceramic pot and began serving the rich, colorful broth. “Cooking with veggies from my own garden is such a pleasure.”
“I don’t see the attraction,” Fiona scoffed. “It takes ages just to potter around in the garden!”
“True,” laughed Amy kindly. “But when it’s your hobby, it’s thoroughly enjoyable.”
“You’re right, when it’s ‘yours’ and not foisted upon you,” Fiona muttered, pursing her lips. “And who’s going to eat all this?”
“For us. There’s not much, just for a couple of meals.”
“I won’t touch this slop,” Fiona waved her hands emphatically, stepping back from the table. “There’s no telling what’s in it!” She feigned a gag and turned from the table, covering her mouth with a hand.
Amy rolled her eyes and sighed.
She had met Fiona’s son, James, a year and a half ago. They fell for each other immediately and got married a month later in a simple ceremony.
The money they saved was invested in their shared dream – a countryside house they continued to lovingly transform into a home.
In that time, Amy had seen Fiona just four times, the same as James, and on three occasions, she had persuaded her husband to visit his mother for the holidays.
Fiona had always thought her son’s wedding was a whimsical folly. Yet, she couldn’t control an independent, grown man, so she waited for what she deemed the inevitable outcome.
But it hadn’t happened yet, and that was starting to get on her nerves.
Fiona couldn’t comprehend what James saw in this “simple girl” and what drew him to Amy. He had always been a catch surrounded by more deserving and attractive young women.
Raised a city girl, Fiona had instilled the same urban values in her son. Her instinct told her James was already fed up with rural life and would soon revert to familiar comforts.
After such a disappointment, Fiona hoped James would find a fitting partner, one with whom she could foster a meaningful friendship.
But she had to act quickly and ensure Amy didn’t tie her son down with a child!
The plan formulated effortlessly: Fiona called Amy and invited herself for a visit, since they hadn’t yet invited her to their new home.
Amy reminded her that she’d extended invites twice over the phone, but Fiona had declined, citing a busy schedule. Fiona waved this aside and expressed her readiness to visit.
Two days later, she stood in the spacious, airy living room, struggling to contain her indignation.
Her son, like she and his late father, loathed soups! Their meals were only ever composed of instantly recognizable ingredients.
How could James let his wife so easily dominate him?
Was he bewitched?
Fiona felt queasy. A disturbing thought that Amy kept James only by being extraordinary in bed was quickly dismissed.
Trickery and Amy?
Incompatible!
Surely, some magic was at play!
How else to explain her son eating this concoction?
Fiona glared at Amy with disdain.
Pretending to be so innocent while secretly wearing her husband down.
“But what’s so mysterious about this?” Amy, unimpressed by Fiona’s theatrics, picked up a second plate, ladled stew into it, and turned directly to Fiona. “You can see everything: cabbage here, onions, carrots, and beets. I grate them, like my gran used to. Oh, and I’ll find some potato on the next scoop. Then I add fresh herbs and sour cream straight from the garden!”
“You’d eat even bran if I served it!” Fiona exclaimed, hands flapping in outrage.
“Actually, at your age, bran would be beneficial! It helps regulate digestion and improves intestinal flora. Happy gut, happier you!”
Fiona reddened at Amy’s bluntness but let it pass.
“And why do you force James to eat this?”
Amy blinked in confusion.
“He eats it of his own accord.”
“What else is a man to do if that’s all there is?”
“He could cook what he likes himself? Order something? Visit the neighbors? Or maybe pop over to see his mum?” Amy smirked as she listed options.
Fiona’s flushed red grew deeper.
“Don’t be cheeky! You could show some respect and ask me what my Jamie likes.”
“I asked him directly, and he said he likes it all. Big boy now. He can say what he means.”
“He’s lying! Can’t you see? Didn’t want to upset you at first, and now he’s just choking it down!”
“Oh no! Now the stew’s cooked, he’ll have to choke it down. But you’ll stand by him, won’t you?”
“What?!” Fiona stared at Amy, aghast.
“No? That’s a shame. I think your son would appreciate your support.”
“You cheeky…”
“Amy! We’re back!” James’s cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.
And into the living room bounded a small, fluffy white dog, barking joyfully.
“Aargh!” Fiona yelped and hid behind Amy.
“Don’t worry, that’s Bella. She’s friendly and well-behaved,” Amy raised her hand; Bella sat obediently, her fluffy tail wagging. “My sweet girl, you’re so clever.”
“Why are neighbor’s pets allowed inside?” Fiona asked shakily.
“Whose neighbors? Bella’s ours. She’s an indoor dog. Lives here with us.”
“In the house?! That’s unsanitary!” Fiona exclaimed, breathless. “And James doesn’t like dogs!”
“No, Mum. That’s you who doesn’t like dogs. Hello,” James greeted as he entered the living room. “Just in time for lunch.”
“Hello, dear!” Fiona stayed where she was, expecting James to kiss her cheek, but he merely hugged her briefly. Amy received a sweet kiss on the lips.
“Shall we eat?” James inhaled deeply, a smile spreading across his face.
“I’d love to, Jamie, but there’s no food.”
“What do you mean, no food?”
“Just swill for pigs. I didn’t know you had pigs. That smell must be overpowering – worse than car exhaust.”
James glanced at his mother, then at Amy, then the set table. His neck muscles tensed, and he turned back to Fiona, his earlier lightness now gone.
“Honestly, I’d forgotten all those issues,” James said with a rueful smile.
“What issues, son? These are our tastes! Rules! Traditions, even! You never complained!”
“Me? When I was small, I was afraid of making Dad angry. When I got older, I avoided arguing with you.”
“What are you saying?!” Fiona’s eyes widened in disbelief, sparking a new bout of barking from Bella. “Stop that!” she barked back at the dog, clenching her fist threateningly as Amy held the dog back. “She has preferences,” Fiona glared at Amy, “but you let yourself get walked over! You’re happy to choke on swill? Your home’s a zoo! Are you the master of your house or what?!”
“I am,” replied James sombrely.
“So act like one!” Fiona exclaimed, feeling relieved, her tension released.
“Where are your things?” James asked his mom.
“In the hallway!” she immediately complained. “I haven’t eaten since the journey.”
“Excellent. Thank Amy for inviting you.”
“What?”
“Thank her for this effort to reconnect and apologize.”
“But she…”
“Mom!”
“Th-thanks and s-s-sorry,” Fiona seethed.
Amy nodded graciously.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To a place where everything fits your tastes, your rules, your traditions.”
“But, Jamie, I…”
“This was a matter of preference, back then. Mine was never considered. But Dad gave me great advice once: ‘If you don’t like our ways, build your own.’ I did, Mom. Here, it’s my taste, my rules, my traditions. And the lady of the house is my wife. Don’t like it? You’ve still got your place.”
“Sweetheart! She’s turned you against me!” Fiona immediately shifted to a plaintive tone. “She bewitched you!” she whispered ominously.
James had enough, guided his mother through to her luggage, took her suitcase, opened the front door, silently escorted her to the gate, and stated:
“In the kitchen, there was a special dish prepared just for you. But the stew, Mom, was the litmus test. You’ve shown your true colors,” James opened the street door. “Your cab’s waiting.”
“You… But… When did you call it?!” she stuttered, barely recovering from her son’s brutal honesty.
“I asked Amy to hold off canceling it, just in case. And I was right.”
“You! You are a—” Fiona shouted.
“I’m the master, Mom, just like you wanted,” James motioned the driver, set her suitcase down, and stepped back inside without waiting for her to get in the cab.
“Witchcraft,” Fiona muttered convincingly, fiddling with her phone for remedies as she sat in the taxi. There must be something to bring her son back!
