A New Year’s Surprise for Mother-in-Law
At the New Year’s dinner table at my mother-in-law’s, Margaret Whitmore’s, I, Eleanor, sat enjoying her signature trifle and eagerly awaiting the chime of Big Ben. Then, out of nowhere, my husband, Jonathan, pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her with a grin. “Mum, here are tickets to Egypt—you’ve always dreamed of the sea! And coach tickets to London Heathrow so you don’t have to fuss with transfers.” I nearly dropped my fork in shock. Egypt? Heathrow? My Jon, who usually settles for flowers and chocolates, was sending her halfway across the world? I blinked rapidly, my mind spinning—when had he arranged all this, and why was I, his wife, the last to know?
Jonathan and I have been married five years, and every New Year’s, we celebrate at his parents’. Margaret Whitmore is a lively woman, a retired schoolteacher who now busies herself with gardening and local committees. She often reminisces about how she longed to travel in her youth but never made it farther than Cornwall. “Oh, to see the sea, the pyramids!” she’d sigh, showing us old postcards of Egypt. I’d always thought it was just wistful talk, like saying, “I’d love to visit the moon.” But Jon, it seemed, had been listening. And I, like a fool, had no clue he was planning such a surprise.
That evening, the table groaned with food—roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, mince pies—Margaret had outdone herself. We sat as a family, clinking glasses, laughing. I’d helped in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, everything normal. Then Jon stood, as if to give a toast, but instead pulled out that envelope. “Mum,” he said, “you’ve spent your life doing for others. Now it’s your turn.” Margaret opened it, read the contents, and her eyes glittered. “Jonny, is this real? Egypt? But I—I only ever dreamed of it!” She nearly wept, hugging him, while I sat there, thunderstruck.
Truthfully, I was rattled. Not that I objected—Margaret deserved this; she’s wonderful. But why hadn’t Jon breathed a word to me? We plan our budget together, choose gifts together! I’d given her scented soap and mittens—he’d handed her the pyramids. It was like bringing daisies to a diamond auction. I smiled, congratulated her, but inside, I simmered. Later, in the kitchen, I hissed, “Jon, when did you do this? Why keep me in the dark?” He just shrugged. “Ellie, I wanted it to be a proper surprise. You’d have argued it was too dear.” Argued? I might’ve agreed—if only I’d known!
Margaret was over the moon. Immediately, she buzzed with plans: “I’ll need a sunhat—Egypt’s frightfully hot! And a proper suitcase—mine’s falling apart.” I nodded along, but inwardly fumed: bloody Jon and his secrecy! He’d even sorted the Heathrow coach so she wouldn’t struggle with trains. Sweet, yes, but I felt sidelined. I’d have loved to contribute, to share in the joy. Instead, I’d clapped like an audience member.
On the drive home, I cracked. “Jon, it’s brilliant, but I’m your wife—I should’ve known. This isn’t just a gift; it’s an adventure!” He looked at me like I was being childish. “Ellie, don’t sulk. I wanted Mum stunned. You’d have let it slip.” Let it slip? I can keep a secret! But it was pointless—Jon was basking in his triumph, and I felt oddly cheated. Not about the money, but that he hadn’t let me in on the happiness.
The next day, I rang my mate Lucy to vent. She laughed. “Ellie, your Jon’s a surprise mastermind! Be glad it’s Egypt, not another week in Skegness.” I chuckled, but the sting lingered. Lucy advised, “Tell him next time, you want a surprise too.” Fair point—maybe I’d hint I wouldn’t say no to a holiday myself. But then I thought: fine, let Margaret have her trip. She’s earned it. I’d just make sure Jon didn’t blindside me again.
Now, Margaret calls daily, gushing about swimsuits and guidebooks. I listen, smiling, the resentment fading. She’s so radiant, I can’t stay cross. Jon, sensing my thaw, winked. “Ellie, next year, all three of us go, promise.” All three? Now that’s more like it. Maybe this surprise wasn’t just for her—but a lesson for me, that my husband knows how to dazzle. For now, I watch Margaret, glowing like a girl, and think: let her have her sea. Meanwhile, I’ll start saving for our own getaway. And make very sure Jon remembers to tell me first.
