The in-laws arrived for the weekend.
“Mother, have you gone completely mad? What in-laws?” Elizabeth nearly dropped the phone as she shouted into the receiver. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Thomas and I are just seeing each other!”
“And what, does seeing each other mean it’s not serious?” Her mother’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “Lizzy, you’re twenty-seven! Other girls your age are already married, raising children, and you’re still playing games! His parents are good people—hardworking, with a three-bedroom house in Manchester…”
“Mum!” Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the headache. “Listen to me carefully. I am NOT ready to get married. I DON’T want to discuss this with strangers. And above all, you should’ve asked me first!”
“Too late for that now,” her mother snapped. “I’ve already called them—they’re arriving tomorrow morning. Thomas knows, by the way. I spoke to him yesterday, and he agreed.”
Elizabeth sank onto the sofa. Thomas had agreed… Of course he had. What did he have to lose? Living comfortably in his parents’ home, working part-time, and now—this stroke of luck—a bride with her own flat and steady income.
“Mum, can’t we just call it off? Say I’m ill?”
“Lizzy darling,” her mother’s tone softened, almost pleading. “You must understand, love. I want grandchildren! What if something happens to me, and you’re left all alone? Thomas is a good lad—doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke…”
“Doesn’t drink?” Elizabeth scoffed. “He could barely stand two nights ago!”
“Well, it was a celebration!” her mother retorted. “Come now, dear, be here by ten tomorrow. I’ve already bought the chicken, ordered the cake…”
The line went dead. Elizabeth sat motionless, staring at nothing before abruptly rising to pace the room. She had to do something—but what? Murder Thomas? Her mother? Flee to her friend’s cottage until Monday?
The phone rang again.
“Liz, it’s me,” Thomas sounded sheepish. “Listen, your mum called me yesterday…”
“You absolute rotter!” she hissed. “You could’ve warned me!”
“I thought she was joking! Honestly! Who arranges marriages through in-laws these days? I thought she’d forget about it!”
“And when did you realise she wasn’t joking?”
“When my parents started picking out cakes,” he admitted. “Liz, why don’t we just play along? Sit through it, chat—they’ll calm down…”
“Thomas, do you realise after this charade, my mother will march me down the aisle at gunpoint? She’s probably already eyeing dresses!”
“So?” His voice held an odd note. “Am I not good enough for you?”
Elizabeth fell silent. There it was—the heart of the matter. She liked Thomas, quite a lot. Tall, handsome, kind. But there was something… lacking. He could never decide anything on his own—always consulting his mother, even on which shirt to wear for a date. And now, this—a wedding that wasn’t his idea.
“Thomas,” she began carefully, “do you even want to marry me?”
“Of course!” he answered too quickly. “I mean… generally… we know each other well…”
“That’s not an answer,” she sighed. “Fine, see you tomorrow.”
All evening, she flitted about her flat, trying on dresses—too fancy, too casual, settling on a grey suit—serous, respectable.
By morning, she resolved to cancel. She’d call her mother, claim illness, a work emergency—but the phone stayed silent. No answer. She was likely at the market already, buying delicacies.
By half-nine, Elizabeth stood outside her parents’ house, unable to enter.
“Lizzy!” her mother called from the doorway. “Come in, don’t just stand there!”
Dressed in a frilly apron, her mother bustled her inside.
“Good, you’re early! Help set the table. Look, I’ve got smoked salmon for starters, and caviar—not the best, but decent…”
“Mum—”
“Love your suit! Very smart, just right. Thomas’ parents prefer modest girls…”
“How do you know what they prefer?”
“We’ve met!” her mother beamed. “At the clinic when Thomas needed his medical form. Margaret—his mother—such a lovely woman! We talked for ages—she told me all about you…”
“About me?”
“That you’re pretty, hardworking, own your flat… They’re thrilled he’s found such a catch!”
Elizabeth’s blood boiled. So she was already being discussed as a bride—without her consent!
“Mum, listen—I’m not ready to marry. Understand? I don’t want to!”
“You don’t? Then why lead the poor boy on? Either let him go or marry him!”
The doorbell cut her off. Her mother flung off the apron, smoothed her hair, and swept to the door. Elizabeth gripped the counter, steadying herself.
The in-laws entered—Thomas awkward beside them. His father, Mr. Harris, a burly man with kind eyes, seemed uneasy. Margaret, however, appraised Elizabeth with a shrewd gaze.
“Our bride!” her mother announced.
“Hello,” Elizabeth managed, feeling like livestock at auction.
Tea was served.
“Perhaps,” Margaret said bluntly, “we should discuss this properly.”
They gathered in the parlour. Margaret fixed Elizabeth with a look.
“Elizabeth, do you truly wish to marry my son?”
Elizabeth faltered. She’d expected anything but this.
“Margaret!” her mother interjected. “Of course she does!”
“That’s not an answer.” Margaret’s eyes never left Elizabeth’s. “I’m asking the girl.”
Relief washed over Elizabeth. This woman saw through the farce.
“Honestly? I don’t know. We’ve never discussed marriage—until yesterday.”
Margaret turned to Elizabeth’s mother. “You told me it was settled!”
“Well… I assumed…” her mother floundered.
Thomas finally spoke. “Maybe Liz and I should talk alone?”
“Quite right,” Mr. Harris nodded. “Let them decide.”
Outside, they walked in silence until Thomas sighed.
“Liz, I barely slept last night. I’ve been thinking.”
“And?”
“We’ve never spoken about marriage. And I’m ashamed—parents involved before we’ve even decided.”
She stopped, studying him. “Thomas, do you want to marry me? Truly?”
“I do. But… I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That you won’t want me. That I’m not enough. You’re so clever, independent, and I’m just…”
“And you’re what?”
“Boring. Work, home, telly. That’s all.”
Elizabeth laughed despite herself. “You idiot! You’re kind, steady—I feel safe with you. That’s priceless.”
“Then… will you marry me?” He took her hands.
“Are you asking? Not your mum, not mine—you?”
“I am. Liz, marry me. I’ll be a good husband—I swear.”
She searched his earnest face—no prince, but real, devoted.
“I will. But not tomorrow like they’ve planned. A proper engagement—ring, restaurant…”
“What about our mothers?”
“We’ll say we agreed. They’ll be happy.”
Back inside, the parents were sipping tea peaceably.
“Well?” Margaret asked.
“We’ve decided to marry,” Elizabeth said.
“Splendid!” her mother clapped.
“Autumn,” Thomas said firmly. “October.”
“Why so late?” Margaret frowned.
“Because we want to do it properly,” Elizabeth said. “No rush.”
Mr. Harris nodded approvingly. “Wise. Plenty to arrange—venue, dress…”
“And rings,” Margaret added, though the fight had left her.
“And rings,” Thomas agreed, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand.
The in-laws left that evening, bearing cake and a jar of jam from the future mother-in-law.
“Good people,” her mother mused. “Thomas comes from a fine family.”
“Mum,” Elizabeth sighed. “Next time, ask me before inviting in-laws.”
“Why? It all worked out! There’ll be a wedding!”
Elizabeth waved her off and walked home. In the end, her mother was right—it had worked out. That they could’ve managed without matchmakers hardly mattered now. What mattered was—they had.
