A New Year’s Surprise for the Mother-in-Law
At the New Year’s dinner table at my mother-in-law’s house, I, Emily, sat enjoying her signature prawn cocktail and eagerly awaiting the chime of Big Ben. Then, out of nowhere, my husband, Oliver, reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope with a grin. “Mum, here are tickets to Spain—you’ve always dreamed of the sea! And coach tickets to Paris to make getting to the airport easier.” I nearly dropped my fork in shock. Spain? Paris? Was this really my Oliver, who usually gifted his mother flowers and chocolates, sending her halfway across Europe? I sat there blinking, my mind racing—when had he arranged all this, and why was I, his wife, the last to know?
Oliver and I have been married for five years, and every New Year’s Eve, we celebrate with his parents. Margaret is a lively woman—she spent her career as a schoolteacher, and now in retirement, she keeps busy with her garden and charity work. She often reminisces about how she longed to travel in her youth but never made it further than Cornwall. “If only I could see the sea, visit the Alhambra!” she’d sigh, showing us old postcards of Spain. I always assumed these were just idle dreams, like saying, “I’d love to go to the moon.” But Oliver, it turns out, had been paying attention. Meanwhile, I’d been clueless about the surprise he was planning.
That evening, the table groaned under the weight of the feast: prawn cocktail, roast beef with Yorkshire puddings, mince pies—Margaret had outdone herself. Our family clinked glasses, laughed, and shared stories. I helped in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, everything ordinary—until Oliver stood up as if to give a toast, only to produce that envelope. “Mum,” he said, “you’ve spent your life taking care of us. Now it’s your turn.” Margaret opened it, read the tickets, and her eyes welled up. “Ollie, is this real? Spain? But I only ever dreamed of it!” She nearly cried as she hugged him, while I sat there, stunned.
Honestly, I was floored. Not that I objected—Margaret absolutely deserved this. But why hadn’t Oliver mentioned a word to me? We plan our budget together, we pick gifts together! I’d given her a scarf and hand cream, and he’d booked her a holiday abroad! It was like bringing daisies when someone else shows up with diamond earrings. I smiled and congratulated her, but inside, I was fuming. Later, in the kitchen, I whispered, “Ollie, when did you arrange this? Why didn’t you tell me?” He just shrugged. “Em, I wanted it to be a surprise for Mum. You’d have argued it was too expensive.” Argued? I might’ve agreed—if only I’d known!
Margaret was over the moon. She immediately started planning: “I’ll need a sunhat—Spanish sun is fierce! And a new suitcase—mine is falling apart.” I nodded along, thinking, Oliver, you sly fox! He’d even sorted the coach to Paris to spare her the hassle of transfers. It was thoughtful, yes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being sidelined. I’d have loved to contribute, to share in the joy of giving. Instead, I was just applauding from the sidelines.
On the way home, I finally spoke up. “Ollie, you’re amazing, but I’m your wife. I should’ve known.” He looked at me like I was being childish. “Em, don’t be cross. I wanted Mum to be surprised. You’d have let it slip.” Let it slip? I can keep a secret! But arguing felt pointless—Oliver was basking in his success, while I felt oddly excluded. Not about the money, but the missed chance to share in the happiness.
The next day, I rang my friend Sophie to vent. She laughed. “Em, your Oliver’s a master of surprises! Be glad your mother-in-law gets Spain and not another summer pruning roses!” I chuckled, but the sting lingered. Sophie advised, “Tell him next time, the surprise better be for you too.” Maybe I should drop hints about fancying a beach holiday myself. But then I thought—no, let Margaret have her adventure. She’s earned it. I’d just make sure Oliver didn’t blindside me again.
Now, Margaret calls daily, gushing about sunhats and guidebooks. Listening to her joy, my irritation fades. Oliver, seeing me soften, winked. “Next year, Em, we’ll all go. Promise.” All of us? Now that’s more appealing. Maybe this surprise wasn’t just for Margaret—but a reminder that my husband knows how to delight. For now, I watch her glow like a girl with her first crush, and I think—let her have her seaside dream. Meanwhile, I’ll start saving for our own getaway. And I’ll make sure Oliver remembers to include me in the plan!
