On the day of my motherinlaws golden jubilee she suddenly demanded that I hand back the gold earrings she had given me at our wedding.
Earrings! she snapped. The ones I gave you on our wedding day. Remove them this instant.
MrsWhitaker, I I dont understand, I began, my voice trembling. Why are you
Just take them off, she interrupted sharply. Theyre my earrings. Ive changed my mind about gifting them and I want them back.
I stood in the shop clutching two dressesone modest cream sheath, the other an emerald slip with offtheshoulder sleeves and a thin belt. The mirrors on either side reflected my bewildered face, my tired eyes and the faint trace of irritation hidden at the corners of my mouth.
My motherinlaws fiftieth birthday was only weeks away. She intended to celebrate in grand style: a private room in a fashionable Mayfair restaurant, live piano, a photographer, a master of ceremonieseverything a woman of her standing ought to have.
She was the headmistress of a respectable school, the wife of a wellknown solicitor, and the mother of a promising young man. And, of course, she possessed the uncanny ability to turn a simple How are you, Emily? into a veiled interrogation.
I had long learned to read her tone, her glance, her appraisal. Everythingappearance, manners, hairstyle, even the choice of entréewas scrutinised under MrsWhitakers watchful eye. My husband, James, never said outright, You must look perfect, but his silence whenever his mother let slip a cutting remark said it all.
A shop assistants soft voice pulled me from my thoughts. Can I help you choose?
Thank you, Im just looking, I replied, turning back to the dresses.
The emerald gown was dazzling; in it I would feel like a queen, yet it cost almost half my weekly earnings. The cream dress was modest and far cheaper. If I chose the cream one, MrsWhitaker would claim I was embarrassing her; if I chose the emerald, she would accuse me of trying to outshine her.
I remembered last years Christmas gathering. I had dared to wear a scarlet sheatha bright, attentiongrabbing colour but nothing scandalous. MrsWhitaker glanced at me, then teased, Emily, you do realise red isnt for everyone. And youd better have a perfect figure to pull it off. That night I felt as if every movement were being rated on a tenpoint scale; I even ate with my mouth closed.
I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror again. I wanted, for once, not to bend to anyones expectations, not to imagine what MrsWhitaker would say, not to fear judgment. I simply wanted to pick what I liked.
Ill take this, I said suddenly, handing the emerald dress to the assistant.
The celebration day was bustling. The restaurant glistened with candles, waiters flitted between tables, guests laughed and congratulated the birthday lady. MrsWhitaker, in a sequined coat, accepted gifts and compliments as if she were on stage.
When I entered, a hush fell over the neighbouring tables. I wore the dress I had chosensimple in cut but elegant, highlighting my hazel eyes and sunkissed skin. I smiled, though inside a knot of nerves tightened.
Emily, my dear! MrsWhitaker turned, scanning me from head to toe. Well, look at you, all dolled up. Trying to steal the limelight, are we? Her voice carried a light sarcasm that the other guests took as a joke.
What, MrsWhitaker, I only wanted to make you happy on such a special day, I replied, forcing a smile.
She narrowed her eyes, surprised by my calm. James, standing beside his mother, nodded. You look lovely, Emily. Very beautiful.
That compliment was a small triumph. The evening passed with dancing, laughter, polite conversation, and a conscious effort not to let myself be swayed by the need to win anyones approval, motherinlaw included. I simply tried to be myself.
Everything seemed unusually smoothalmost too smooth. I began to think the night would end without the usual snarl of spite that MrsWhitaker liked to unleash. She accepted greetings, chuckled at the occasional witty remark, and the guests ate and danced while the waitstaff bustled about.
I was chatting quietly with Jamess cousin Anne when MrsWhitaker approached. A tight smile was fixed on her face, but a gleam of something darker lurked in her eyes.
Emily, she whispered low enough to draw the attention of the nearby tables, take off the earrings.
I blinked, thinking I had misheard.
Excuse me?
The earrings, she repeated, a shade louder. The ones I gave you at the wedding. Remove them now.
A few diners froze; one person stifled a giggle, assuming a prank. But MrsWhitaker was dead serious. Her lips were pressed together, her jaw trembling with tension.
MrsWhitaker, I I dont understand, I stammered, feeling a cold wave of anxiety rise in my chest. Why
Just take them off, she cut in. Theyre mine. Ive changed my mind.
James, who had been quietly sipping his wine, set his glass down with a sharp clang.
Mum, what are you doing? This is over the line.
This is over the line? she snapped. When my daughterinlaw shows up to my jubilee in a pricey dress with exposed shoulders and steals the spotlight, thats over the line! I feel youre trying to eclipse me on my own day!
Silence fell. The distant music continued, but the air at our table grew heavy and sticky. I went pale, my throat suddenly dry.
Enough, Mum, James said, standing and leaning toward me. Let me handle this.
He gently lifted the gold earrings from my ears and placed them in his mothers hand.
Satisfied now? he asked.
MrsWhitaker straightened, a cold smile spreading across her face. Satisfied, she said. Thats how it should be, Emily. Let the joy drain from your eyes.
I felt a hollow emptiness inside, as if the room had turned to ice. I wanted to vanishfrom the restaurant, from the family, from the absurd tableau.
James lingered, looking at his mother with a mix of bewilderment and pity.
Were leaving, he whispered.
Just as we were about to walk toward the exit, the master of ceremonies grabbed the microphone.
Now, the most touching moment of the eveningmother and sons dance!
Applause erupted. MrsWhitaker seized Jamess arm.
James, lets go. Dont embarrass me in front of everyone.
He tried to protest, but her grip was ironclad. She hauled him onto the dance floor, and the band swelled. I stood at the doorway, feeling dozens of eyes on me. I turned calmly and slipped out.
The night air was crisp and sobering; even my coat could not warm the chill that settled in my bones. I hailed a cab straight away, desperate to get home.
The cab glided through the lanternlit streets of London, the citys lights blurring into a single bright smear. I stared out the window, scarcely breathing, stunned that a respectable man could behave so crasssnatching my earrings in front of a crowd on his mothers own jubilee. My phone buzzed; it was James.
I looked at it, then pressed decline, pulling my bag tighter to my chest. He called again. I declined once more, whispering to myself, Give me a moment to collect myself
James paced outside the restaurant, his anger simmering. He realised he had missed his chance to walk away with me. He should have left with his wife, not been dragged into his mothers spectacle. He muttered, Fool, as he opened a ridehailing app.
He kept calling, pleading, Emily, please answer
When I finally spoke, my voice was level. Im home. Dont worry, Im fine. I just need some alone time.
No, James said firmly. Im coming over. And please dont lock the door.
On his way he stopped at a 24hour florist. The lady behind the counter, seeing his dishevelled state, handed him a lush bouquet of red roses without asking. Someones got a lot to answer for, she smiled.
He nodded, accepting the implication.
When he got to our flat, the hallway was quiet. A soft glow spilled from the livingroom lamp. I sat on the sofa in a plush bathrobe, phone in hand.
Seeing him, I lifted my eyescalm, a shade of sadness.
I didnt want to outshine anyone, I said before he could speak. I only wanted to look nice for the occasion. Im twentysix, after all. Is that a crime?
James placed the roses on the coffee table and sat beside me. Of course not. You looked beautiful. My mum she simply went too far. Im still in shock; she normally keeps herself in check, but tonight she lost her composure.
I feel ashamed for her, he added gently. I really dont know whats gotten into her.
I think I finally understand why she never liked me, I whispered. Because Im young and pretty.
He took my hand, his voice soft. Ill sort this out. I promise it wont happen again.
I hope so, I replied. Today I felt completely out of place at that celebration of life.
He looked down, searching for words, then noticed the tiny gold studs I wore the same ones hed given me on my birthday.
Youre still wearing those? he asked, surprised.
Yes. I should have kept the wedding set instead of swapping them for your mothers. Maybe that would have avoided all this. I thought Mum would like them, but
He pulled me into an embrace and whispered, Youre my finest gift.
After the jubilee, MrsWhitaker lingered in her bedroom, unable to settle. She slipped out of her evening coat, hung it carefully, and padded to the dressing table. There lay the earringssmall, sparkling, studded with diamonds, now more irksome than ever.
Blast it, she muttered, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger. I wore them like a star on my own birthday. How dare she!
She stalked to the wardrobe, lifted a box of old belongings, and tossed the earrings into the depths, muttering, Thats where they belong.
Her husband, Robert, entered in his dressing gown, looking weary.
Lydia, youre still riled up? The partys over, the guests have gone, everyones happy except you.
She turned sharply. Did you see the way my daughterinlaw arrived? Like shed stepped off a magazine coverhair, makeup, the lot. I was just the background!
Robert sighed. Shes a good woman, Lydia. She loves our son. You saw how he looks at her.
She snorted. Loved? Well see how long that lasts. Shell just be after his money.
Roberts brow furrowed. Youre jealous, arent you? Of a confident, independent woman?
She clenched her jaw. Im done with her. No more invitations. Not at my table, not at my parties.
Weeks passed. Winter settled over London, streets dusted with snow, shop windows glittering with festive lights. The New Year approached, and Lydia began her usual roundthehouse invitations.
Dear James, she began cheerily on the phone, how about a New Years dinner at ours? Ive planned the whole spreadroast duck with apples, salads, a glass of champagne.
Sounds lovely, Mum, James replied. Emily and I will be there.
A pause, then her voice lowered, James, Im only expecting you. Not Emily.
He stared at the receiver, stunned.
Mum, are you serious?
Absolutely. I dont want to celebrate with her.
Silence stretched. James finally said, Mum, thats not how families work.
Enough, James! Come if you want, but just you.
The call ended. James sat, the phone cold in his hand. Emily, noticing his tension, asked, Whats wrong?
He exhaled, Mum invited me alone to New Years.
She gave a bitter smile. I expected that.
Its still hurtful, he admitted.
She nodded, Maybe its for the best. Well have a quiet night together.
Two weeks later, Emily took a pregnancy test. Two pink lines stared back. She collapsed onto the bed, half from joy, half from terror, and wept.
When she told James, he embraced her, his voice thick, Emily this is the best thing that could happen to us.
That evening his mother called again.
James, have you thought about New Years?
Well stay home, he said. Emilys pregnant, she needs rest.
A heavy silence lingered on the line, then MrsWhitaker replied, Pregnant, eh? Good. Shell stay put, cant be running around. She added with a cruel chuckle, Soon enough shell be a proper housewife, then well see
She hung up, a satisfied grin on her face, and went to brew a pot of tea, still humming to herself.
The months slipped by. Emily gave birth to a robust baby boy with a rosy complexion and soft wheatgold hair.
On the day of discharge, the whole family gatheredJames, his mother Lydia, Emilys mother Anne, a friend with a bouquet of white lilies, even the grandparents. Lydia, dressed in a sharp suit, lingered near the hospital doors, her expression a mixture of curiosity and thinlyveiled disdain.
Emily emerged, cradling the infant, radiant as though lit from within. The doctors smiled, the nurses beamed. James cradled his son, pressed a kiss to Emilys forehead and whispered, Youre a miracle.
Lydia stepped forward, her smile tight. Congratulations, she said dryly. A boy is good.
She added, I hope youll have less time for dressing up now.
No one answered. Robert, ever the peacemaker, escorted Lydia away.
Emily held her son, feeling an unexpected calm. She no longer felt the need to prove herself, to win anyones approval.
MrsWhitaker, she said quietly, all I want is for our child to grow up surrounded by love. You can be part of that love or you can stay aside. Its your choice.
MrsWhitakers face twitched, as if struck, but she said nothing, turning away.
A week later Emily sat by the window, rocking the cot while rain pattered against the glass, signalling the end of summer. James came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple.
Thank you for staying the course, he murmured.
She smiled. Ive learned not to fight for affection from those who dont deserve it. Its better to spend my strength where its returned.
She gazed at their sleeping son and felt true happiness.
MrsWhitaker never called again, and Emily didnt miss it. She had James, Anne, and little Peterall the warmth she needed.
