I already regretted a hundred times that my new boyfriend, Oliver, and I had decided to attend my mother Eleanor’s Easter gathering. At first glance, a family holiday seems quaint—hot cross buns, painted eggs, loved ones around the table. But the moment I saw how many people had crammed into Mum’s house, I wanted to turn on my heel and bolt. All three of my sisters—Charlotte, Victoria, and Amelia—had arrived with their husbands and children. Then there was Mum’s brother, Uncle William, with his wife and two grown sons. And some distant relatives whose names I barely remembered. And in the eye of this chaotic storm stood me and Oliver, my new boyfriend, whom I’d foolishly decided to introduce to the family. I should have known better.
The ordeal began the second we stepped inside. No sooner had we crossed the threshold than Mum pounced on Oliver. “Oliver, what do you do for a living? How old are you? What are your plans?” Oliver held his ground, answering calmly with a smile, but I saw the tension in his jaw. My sisters, as if conspiring against us, turned the evening into an interrogation. Charlotte, the eldest, wasted no time boasting about her husband’s recent promotion and their brand-new Range Rover. Victoria bragged about her daughter’s ballet recitals. Amelia, the youngest, simply stirred the pot, whispering snidely, “Where on earth did you find someone so young, sis?” Oliver is five years younger than me, and apparently, that was the scandal of the night.
Mum, ever the relentless hostess, took it upon herself to fatten Oliver up. She kept piling hot cross buns onto his plate, insisting, “Eat up, love, you’re far too thin!” Oliver thanked her politely, but I could tell he was drowning in her generosity. Then Mum launched into embarrassing childhood stories. “Oliver, our girl used to dream of marrying a pilot! You’re not a pilot, but you’ll do nicely—don’t let us down!” The table erupted in laughter while I prayed for the ground to swallow me whole. Oliver smiled, but I knew he was mortified.
Uncle William, never one to miss an opportunity to assert himself, decided to test Oliver’s mettle. He poured him a stiff glass of homemade mead and declared, “To the happy couple! But lad, you realize our women are a handful, eh?” Oliver nodded and drank, but his grip on my hand under the table tightened. When Uncle William suggested they step outside for a “proper go at chopping firewood,” I snapped. “Uncle, enough—he’s not a lumberjack!” Everyone laughed, but Oliver’s expression suggested he was already plotting his escape.
The children of my sisters added their own brand of chaos. My nephews sprinted through the house, shrieking, and knocked over a vase of daffodils. One of Victoria’s sons dashed up to Oliver and blurted, “Are you gonna be our new dad?” I nearly choked on my elderflower cordial. To his credit, Oliver kept his cool. “For now, I’m just Oliver—but I’ll be your friend.” The boy nodded and sprinted off, and I silently applauded Oliver’s patience.
The worst moment came when Charlotte, pretending it was just small talk, brought up my ex-husband. “Well, he was older, had a proper career—so you’re into younger lads now, are you?” My cheeks burned. Oliver pretended not to hear, but I knew it stung. Mum, trying to diffuse things, rambled about how I used to bake hot cross buns as a girl—only making it worse. Soon, my sisters and Uncle William were swapping stories about my old boyfriends, school antics, and the time I accidentally set the curtains ablaze at a family do. Oliver smiled through it, but I could tell he felt out of place.
By evening, I was ready to grab Oliver and bolt. But then he leaned in and whispered, “It’s all right. I’m fine. Your family’s… lively.” And in that moment, I realized he was enduring this for me. Gathering my courage, I raised my glass. “Thank you all for being here,” I said. “But Oliver matters to me, and I’m happy with him. So let’s just enjoy Easter, shall we?” Mum nodded, my sisters quieted, and Uncle William raised his glass. “To a smart woman!”
By night’s end, the mood had softened. Oliver and I even danced to old records Amelia put on. Despite the madness, I cherished the moment. They’re unbearable, but they’re mine. And Oliver? He’d weathered the storm with grace. As we got into the car, he turned to me and said, “Your mum’s right, you know. You’re not a woman to let down.” We laughed, and I knew the chaos had brought us closer.
Next time, I think we’ll visit Mum for tea—just us. Or at least I’ll tell my sisters to keep their quips to themselves. But one thing’s certain: Oliver is worth every mad family gathering.
