**Tuesday, 15th May**
I’m standing in the kitchen, surveying the chaos and barely believing my eyes. Yesterday was my birthday, and I decided to invite my new husband’s parents over.
James and I got married just two months ago—quietly, no fuss, just a quick registry office ceremony. Even our parents weren’t there, just the two of us. We’ve been living in my flat, the one I’d been renting before the wedding. But last night… that was something else.
Truthfully, I was a bit nervous before the in-laws arrived. They’re decent folk but strong-willed. Mother-in-law, Margaret, likes to take charge, while Father-in-law, William, is quiet—but when he does speak, it cuts right to the point. I put in the effort, though: set the table, bought groceries, even baked a cake myself (though my baking usually ends up half-disastrous). James kept saying not to worry, that his parents are easygoing, but I wanted to make a good impression. First official visit, after all.
They arrived right on time, bearing gifts. Margaret brought an enormous bouquet of roses and a shiny-wrapped box. William handed over a bottle of homemade wine—claimed he’d made it himself. We sat down to eat, and at first, everything went smoothly. I’d made salads, roasted chicken, and potatoes with mushrooms. James praised it, his parents nodded along, even gave compliments. Then things got interesting.
Margaret, it turns out, has a talent for landing on topics that make me squirm. Out of nowhere, she started asking when we planned on having children. I nearly choked on my wine. James tried steering the conversation elsewhere, but she wouldn’t let up: “In my day, Emma, William and I started thinking about family straight after the wedding. You’re young—why wait?” I smiled and nodded, though all I could think was, *We’ve only just married, give us a moment to breathe!* James looked just as flustered, but he’s never been one to argue with his mum.
Then Margaret moved on to my kitchen. She stood up, inspecting everything like a health inspector. “Emma, why do you have so little crockery? You ought to buy more if you’re hosting. And these curtains—too dark. I’d hang something lighter.” I kept my cool, but my cheeks burned. James whispered, “Don’t take it to heart; she’s always like this.” But it’s *my* kitchen! I set it up how I like, and now I’m being told the curtains are wrong.
Thankfully, William lightened the mood. He started talking about his allotment, how they’d grown so many cucumbers last summer they didn’t know what to do with them. I listened and nodded, thinking, *Just let this dinner end.* Then Margaret handed over her gift. I unwrapped the box to find… a dinner set. One of those floral ones, straight out of a granny’s cupboard. I thanked her, of course, but all I could think was, *Where on earth will I put this?* Our cupboards are already crammed, and this thing’s fit for a banquet.
James, seeing my panic, tried joking, “Mum, you know Emma prefers her sushi on a plate.” Margaret just glared. “That’s not proper, James. A home should have decent china.” I nearly laughed. Right then, it hit me: life with these people would be an absolute challenge.
When they finally left, I exhaled. James hugged me and said, “You did brilliantly—better than I expected.” But honestly, I’m still reeling. Standing here now, staring at the dinner set, the half-eaten chicken, the unfinished wine, I keep wondering: what’s it really like, becoming part of a new family? On one hand, I love James, and I’d put up with anything for him. On the other—how do I stop letting these comments get to me? Maybe in time, Margaret and I will find common ground. Or maybe I’ll just learn to keep my distance.
This morning, I woke up thinking I should talk to James. Maybe we’ll agree next time to celebrate just the two of us. Or invite *my* parents—they’d never criticise the curtains. But I know the truth: the in-laws are part of my life now. However hard I try, I’ll have to learn to coexist. Next time, maybe I’ll set out that floral dinner set, pour them their wine, and say, “Here’s to the curtains.”
… Mostly joking.
… Mostly.
