“I won’t eat that,” said the mother-in-law with a disdainful glance at the plate of vegetable soup.
“What is this?” Margaret wrinkled her nose and sniffed at the dish as if someone had placed a bucket of slop on the table.
“It’s vegetable soup,” explained her daughter-in-law, Emma, with a smile. She removed the lid from a small ceramic tureen and began serving the bright, hearty broth. “There’s just something truly satisfying about cooking with vegetables from your own garden.”
“I don’t see much of a difference,” scoffed Margaret. “But it certainly takes an awful lot of time and effort slaving away in the garden!”
“That’s true,” Emma laughed kindly. “But when it’s your hobby, it’s a pleasure.”
“That’s easy to say when it’s ‘yours’ and not something forced upon you,” muttered Margaret, pursing her lips. “Who have you cooked all this for?”
“For us. There’s only a bit here, just enough for a couple of meals.”
“I will not eat this rubbish,” insisted the mother-in-law, waving her hands for emphasis and stepping back from the table. “It’s not clear what’s in it!” She made a dramatic retching gesture and turned away sharply.
Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.
Emma had met Margaret’s son, Michael, a year and a half ago. They fell in love after the first conversation and were married a month later without any grand ceremony.
They saved their funds to invest in their dream—a countryside home, which they lovingly continued to furnish.
In that time, Emma saw Margaret exactly four times, as often as Michael did. In fact, Emma had been the one to persuade her husband to visit his mother over the holidays three times.
From the outset, Margaret thought her son’s marriage was a whim, but she lacked the means to influence an independent adult and had to wait for what she deemed the inevitable, logical conclusion.
However, the expected outcome hadn’t come, which frayed her nerves.
Margaret couldn’t understand what Michael saw in that “simple girl” or how Emma had managed to win him over.
He was a handsome man, always surrounded by more suitable and attractive women.
Margaret was a city dweller through and through and had raised her son to be the same. Her maternal intuition told her that Michael was already weary of rural life and just needed a little nudge to return to his senses.
After such a sad experience, he would, of course, find a suitable partner, with whom Margaret would form a genuine friendship.
But she had to act fast and ensure that Emma didn’t bind him with a child!
The plan formed naturally: Margaret called her daughter-in-law and invited herself over, as she hadn’t been invited to the housewarming.
Emma reminded her that she had extended the invitation twice by phone, but Margaret always declined, citing her busy schedule. Margaret waved this off and expressed her readiness to visit her son.
Two days later, she stood in the spacious, bright living room and couldn’t contain her indignation.
Her son, like her late husband, Michael’s father, despised soups!
Their family only served meals where you could identify every component at a glance.
How had Michael allowed his wife to control him so quickly?
Was she using some spell?
Margaret felt a chill. She dismissed the vulgar thought that Emma was keeping Michael through bedroom tricks.
Tricks and Emma? Impossible!
It must be a spell!
How else could it be explained that her son was even eating this slop?
Margaret glared hatefully at her daughter-in-law.
Pretending to be all innocent while slowly making her husband miserable.
“Why is it so unclear what’s in it?” Emma, unperturbed by Margaret’s theatrics, took another bowl, ladled the soup, and turned to face Margaret. “It’s all clear. There’s cabbage, onion, carrots, and this is beetroot, grated according to my grandma’s recipe. Oh, and there isn’t any potato in this ladleful, but I’ll scoop some up next. Then I’ll add herbs from the garden and a dollop of cream!”
“You should eat plain old porridge!” Margaret exclaimed indignantly.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you at your age either! Porridge helps regulate digestion and improve gut health. Happy gut, happy life!”
Margaret flushed at Emma’s directness but chose not to comment and continued:
“Why are you forcing Michael to eat this?”
Emma blinked, puzzled.
“He seems to eat it of his own volition.”
“But what else is there for the man to do if there’s nothing else to eat?”
“Cook what he likes himself? Order a takeaway? Pop next door? Visit his mum?” Emma suggested with a grin.
At the last suggestion, Margaret blushed even more.
“Don’t be so sarcastic! You could have shown some courtesy and asked me about Michael’s favorites.”
“Well, I did ask him, Margaret. He’s a grown man, you know. Thank you, you taught him how to speak. He says he likes it all.”
“He’s lying! Don’t you get it? He didn’t want to upset you at first. Now, he feels he has no choice!”
“Oh! Well, the soup’s made now, can’t just dump it. He’ll have to make do. But you’ll support your son, won’t you?”
“What?!” Margaret exclaimed, staring at Emma.
“No? That’s too bad. I think your son would appreciate your solidarity.”
“You!…”
“Emma! We’re back!” Michael’s cheerful voice rang from the hallway.
A white, fluffy dog tore into the living room, barking loudly.
“Aah!” Margaret shrieked, hiding behind Emma.
“Don’t worry, this is Lily. She doesn’t bite, and she’s very well-behaved,” Emma said, raising her hand. The dog immediately stopped jumping, sat obediently, and looked up. “Good girl, you clever thing.”
“Why do you allow neighbors’ dogs into your house?” Margaret croaked in shock.
“Neighbors’ dogs? She’s ours. And she’s inside because she’s a house dog. She lives with us.”
“Inside?! But that’s so unhygienic!” exclaimed Margaret. “And Michael doesn’t like dogs!”
“No, Mum, you don’t like dogs. Hi,” Michael said, entering the living room. “Perfect timing for lunch.”
“Hello, dear!” Margaret didn’t move, expecting him to come and kiss her cheek, but he only gave her a brief hug and kissed Emma tenderly on the lips.
“Well, shall we eat?” Michael said, taking a deep breath and smiling in delight.
“I’d love to, dear, but there’s nothing suitable.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“The food you’ve cooked only suits pigs. And you didn’t mention you had them too. What a stench it’ll be, worse than city traffic.”
Michael looked at his mother, then at Emma, and finally at the already set table.
His neck muscles tensed, and he looked back at his mother, but the previous lightness had vanished from his gaze.
“I honestly forgot all those little quirks,” said Michael, smiling wryly.
“What quirks, dear? Those are our tastes! Our rules! Our traditions! You never complained!”
“I? When I was young, I feared angering Dad. As I got older, I didn’t want to argue with you.”
“What are you saying?!” Margaret cried, causing Lily to start barking again. “Quiet!” she yelled, shaking her fist at the dog, which Emma held back. “She’s got poor taste herself,” Margaret sneered at Emma, “But why are you letting her walk all over you?! Happily eating slop and turning the house into a zoo. Are you the man of the house or not?!”
“I am,” Michael replied darkly.
“Then act like it!” Margaret exhaled with relief, feeling she had accomplished her mission.
“Where’s your luggage?” Michael asked his mother.
“Still in the hallway!” she reported immediately. “And I’m famished from the trip.”
“Great. Thank Emma for the invitation.”
“What…?”
“Thank Emma for this final attempt to get along with you and apologize.”
“But she…”
“Mother!”
“Thank you and sorry,” Margaret hissed venomously.
Emma nodded curtly.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“To the place with your tastes, your rules, your traditions.”
“But, Michael, I…”
“No, Mum, that was you and Dad, not liking soup, animals, or the countryside. My opinion didn’t count. However, Dad once gave me a great piece of advice: ‘If you don’t like ours, create your own.’ So, I did, Mum. But here are my tastes, my rules, my traditions. And the woman in charge here is my wife. Don’t like it? You still have yours.”
“Darling! She’s turned you against me!” Margaret switched to a pleading tone. “She enchanted you!” she whispered ominously.
Michael had had enough. He took his mother by the arm, led her to the hallway, picked up her suitcase, opened the door, silently escorted her to the gate, and said:
“By the way, Emma was always on your side. She has a great relationship with her family. She didn’t believe me that things could be like they were with us. There was a separate dish made for you. But the soup, Mum, was a litmus test. You showed your true colors.” Michael opened the garden gate. “Your taxi is waiting.”
“You… But… When did you order it?!” Margaret stammered, still reeling from her son’s brutally honest words.
“I asked Emma to hold it for a bit. It seems I was right.”
“You! You!” Margaret protested.
“I, Mum, am in charge. Just like you wanted,” Michael signaled to the driver, set his mother’s suitcase down, and without waiting for her to get into the taxi, returned through the gate and shut it behind him.
“It is a spell,” Margaret concluded about her son’s behavior, and already seated in the taxi, she searched her phone for ways to lift this curse. There must be something to bring her son back!
