**The In-Laws Came for the Weekend**
“Mum, have you completely lost it?! What in-laws?!” shrieked Emma down the phone, nearly dropping it in shock. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Daniel and I are just dating!”
“Oh, so dating means it’s not serious now?” Her mother’s voice was firm and foreboding. “Emma, love, you’re twenty-seven! Other girls your age are married with babies by now, and you’re still messing about! His parents are lovely people, hard-working, they’ve got a three-bed in Manchester…”
“Mum!” Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ward off the impending headache. “Listen to me carefully. I am NOT ready to get married. I do NOT want to discuss this with strangers. And frankly, you should’ve asked me first!”
“Too late for that now,” Mum huffed. “I’ve already called them—they’re coming tomorrow morning. Daniel knows, by the way. I spoke to him yesterday, and he agreed.”
Emma slowly sank onto the sofa. Daniel had agreed. Of course he had—what did he have to lose? Living rent-free in his parents’ place, working part-time, and now he’d hit the jackpot—a willing bride with her own flat and salary.
“Mum, can’t we just call it off? Say I’m ill…”
“Emmie, darling,” Mum’s voice softened suddenly, almost pleading. “Just think, love. I want grandchildren! What if something happens to me and you’re left all alone? Daniel’s a good lad—doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke…”
“Doesn’t drink?” Emma scoffed. “He could barely stand straight the other night!”
“Well, it was a bank holiday, wasn’t it?” Mum countered swiftly. “Right, sweetheart, be here by ten tomorrow. I’ve got a roast chicken, and I’ll order a cake…”
The line went dead. Emma sat frozen for a minute, staring blankly, then shot up and paced the room. She had to do something. Murder Daniel? Mum? Maybe escape to her mate’s cottage until Monday?
The phone rang again.
“Emma? It’s me.” Daniel’s voice was sheepish. “Look, your mum rang me yesterday…”
“You absolute snake!” Emma exhaled sharply. “You could’ve warned me!”
“I thought she was joking! Seriously! Who does arranged meetings with in-laws nowadays? Figured she’d forget about it…”
“And when did you realise she wasn’t joking?”
“When my parents started picking out wedding cake flavours,” he admitted. “Em, why don’t we just play along? Have a chat, let them get it out of their systems…”
“Dan, do you *realise* that after this circus, my mum will march me down the aisle at gunpoint? She’s probably already eyeing up dresses!”
“So what?” His tone shifted slightly. “Am I not good enough for you?”
Emma fell silent. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She *liked* Daniel. A lot. Tall, handsome, kind. But there was just… something missing. He never made a decision without consulting his mum—even which shirt to wear on a date. And now, even the wedding wasn’t *his* idea.
“Dan,” she began carefully, “do *you* actually want to marry me? Not your mum, not mine—*you*?”
“Of course I do!” he said too quickly. “I mean… in theory… we get on well…”
“That’s not an answer,” Emma sighed. “Fine, see you tomorrow.”
All evening, she agonised over outfits. Too fancy? They’d think she was on board. Too casual? Mum would lecture her for a week about dressing properly for serious discussions. She settled on a grey trouser suit—respectable, but not *too* respectable.
By morning, Emma had resolved to cancel. She’d call Mum, claim she was ill, or had a work emergency—but her phone stayed silent, and when she rang her mum, no one answered. Already at the shops, then, stocking up on fancy nibbles.
At half nine, Emma stood outside her parents’ house, frozen. The neighbour’s gran watered her balcony plants, eyeing her curiously.
“Emma, love!” Mum’s voice floated down. “Get in here, stop dawdling!”
Inside, Mum greeted her in her best apron, grinning conspiratorially.
“Good, you’re early! Help me set the table. Look, I got smoked salmon! And caviar—not the posh stuff, but decent…”
“Mum—” Emma tried to interrupt, but she was already being herded into the kitchen.
“Love the suit! Very professional. Just what Daniel’s parents like—modest dressers…”
“How on earth would you know what they like?”
“We’ve *met*!” Mum announced proudly. “Ran into his mum, Margaret, at the GP’s. Lovely woman! We had a lovely chat—she told me all about you…”
“About *me*? What about me?”
“That you’re pretty, hard-working, own your flat… They’re *chuffed* Daniel’s found such a catch!”
Emma’s blood boiled. So, she was already being discussed as *the bride*—and nobody had asked *her*!
“Mum, listen,” she gripped her shoulders. “I’m not ready to get married. Understand? I don’t *want* to yet!”
“Don’t want to?” Mum frowned. “Then why date a lad at all? Leading him on? That’s not right, love! Either let him go or put a ring on it!”
“We’re just *dating*! Getting to know each other! What if we’re not even right together?”
“Six months is *plenty* of time!” Mum flapped her hands. “In my day, people decided in a *month*! You lot dawdle about…”
The doorbell cut them off. Mum whipped off her apron, smoothed her hair, and marched to the door. Emma stayed rooted, gripping the counter, trying not to scream.
“Come in, come in!” Mum trilled. “And here’s our Emma!”
Daniel shuffled in with his parents—his dad, Robert, a burly bloke looking vaguely embarrassed, and Margaret, who sized Emma up with a shrewd glance.
“Here’s the bride-to-be!” Mum announced. “Though you’ve met already, of course…”
“Hello,” Emma mumbled, feeling like a prize ham at a fair.
Daniel looked just as awkward, hovering behind his parents with a guilty smile.
“Tea, everyone!” Mum fussed. “Come through to the lounge!”
“Perhaps we should talk first?” Margaret interjected smoothly. “Properly.”
“Of course, of course!” Mum nodded frantically.
In the lounge, they sat stiffly around the coffee table. Margaret fixed Emma with a piercing look.
“Emma, do you *actually* want to marry my Daniel?”
Emma blinked. She’d expected anything but bluntness.
“I… well, we…”
“Margaret!” Mum cut in. “Of course she does! They’ve been together six months!”
“That’s not an answer,” Margaret said calmly. “Dating and marrying are different. I’m asking the girl.”
Suddenly, Emma felt lighter. *This* woman wasn’t daft—she *got* it.
“Honestly? I don’t know. We’ve never even *talked* about marriage. Until yesterday.”
“There, you see!” Margaret turned to Mum. “You told me it was all settled!”
“Well… I *thought*… They *are* dating…”
“Mum,” Daniel finally spoke. “Maybe Emma and I should take a walk? Talk alone?”
“Quite right!” Robert boomed. “Let the kids decide. We’ll have tea.”
Emma shot him a grateful look. *Finally*, someone speaking sense.
Outside, they walked in silence for five minutes. Daniel fidgeted; Emma didn’t know where to start.
“Em,” he finally said, “I didn’t sleep last night. Been thinking.”
“And?”
“That… we *haven’t* ever talked about marriage. And I’m ashamed it’s got this far—parents involved, and we’ve not even decided properly.”
Emma stopped and looked at him.
“Dan, do *you* want to marry me? Really?”
“I do,” he said softly. “But… I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“That *you* won’t want *me*. You’re so independent, clever, and I’m just… me. Work, telly, repeat. Bit boring, really.”
Emma laughed—genuinely.
“Dan, you *twit*! You’re kind, reliable, steady. That’s worth *more* than excitement.”
“So… will you? Marry me?” He took her hands.
“Is this *you* asking? Not your mum, not mine—*you*?”
“Me.” He squeezed her hands. “Emma, marry me. I’ll be a good husband—promise.”
She searched his earnest face and realised—she *She smiled, kissed him gently, and whispered, “I will,” knowing that even if their story hadn’t started with grand romance, it would certainly have a lifetime of laughter, love, and the occasional meddling parent—and that was more than enough.
