My brother James got married six years ago. Ever since, none of us—me or our parents—have set foot in their place. Every holiday, birthday, or family gathering always happens at our parents’ spacious house on the outskirts of Manchester. Mum cooks up a storm, sets the table, and then still sends James and his wife, Emily, home with containers stuffed full of homemade pies and roast dinners.
When James first married, Emily’s birthday rolled around a couple of months later. Mum, full of excitement, decided to surprise her—we bought a cake, picked out a lovely gift, and were all set to drop by. Mum rang Emily to let her know, but she just coldly said she wasn’t planning anything. Mum, not one to back down, insisted, *”Oh, we’ll just pop in for a cuppa and cake! You won’t have to lift a finger, love!”*
We went anyway. But instead of a warm welcome, we got a shock—Emily met us outside, muttering about the flat being *”a mess”* and refused to let us in. Stunned, we handed over the cake and present right there on the doorstep and left. Since then, every celebration’s been at Mum’s, and we try not to bring up that awkward moment.
Emily once flat-out told our parents, *”You’ve got a big house, loads of space for guests! We’ve only got a tiny flat—where would we even put everyone?”* I nearly lost my temper. Seriously, you can’t host your husband’s parents and sister in a one-bed? It’s not a crowd—just three people! But we bit our tongues, not wanting to cause a row.
Now Emily’s pregnant, five months along. This’ll be our parents’ first grandchild, and Mum’s beside herself with worry. She keeps ringing James, asking how Emily’s feeling, if she needs anything. But we recently found out Emily quit her job right after finding out she was pregnant. Mum panicked—*”Is she unwell? Does she need me?”*
James assured us she was fine, just wanted to *”take it easy.”* We were baffled. James and Emily had always lived large—fancy meals out, holidays, designer bits. No mortgage either—the flat was left to Emily by her nan—so they spent all their cash on whatever they fancied. But now, with her not working, money’s tight, and their usual lifestyle’s in trouble. James tried explaining they needed to cut back, but Emily’s not ready to give up her luxuries.
She admitted she quit because she was scared of *”catching something at work.”* Fair enough, but now their budget’s stretched thin, and she still expects the same splurges. And then, out of nowhere, James invited us over for his birthday. To *their* place! Mum and Dad were stunned. Dad even joked, *”Will I finally get to taste my daughter-in-law’s cooking?”*
Mum was thrilled, looking forward to a family evening. I rang Emily to sort the details, but instead of a chat, I got a meltdown. Sobbing down the phone, she said she didn’t want us there—*”I’ll have to clean, cook! I’m pregnant, it’s too much!”*
I tried calming her—*”Em, it doesn’t have to be fancy. Just boil some spuds, toss a salad, roast a chicken—done. We’ll bring dessert. It’s just dinner for five. What’s the issue?”* I even offered to get a takeaway to make it easier. But she kept whinging about having to hoover and tidy. I snapped—*”Em, it’s a one-bed! How much cleaning does it *need*? Do you only mop when guests come over?”*
In the end, I gave her an ultimatum—*”If you really don’t want us there, fine. We’ll call James on the day, say our bits, and leave it.”*
Mum agreed when I told her. But when we explained it to James, he blew up—*”Emily’s *not working*! She’s home all day! How can she not manage dinner and a quick tidy? You’re *coming*! We can’t afford a cleaner or Deliveroo, so she’ll just have to sort it!”* His words hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Now we’ve all rowed, and none of us fancy going anymore. The thought of Emily’s sulking face, sighing and rolling her eyes all evening—hardly a good time. We don’t want to feel like unwanted guests in our own brother and son’s home.
But it *kills* me knowing we’ll hurt James. He’s been looking forward to this, *wants* us there. How can we just… not go? It’s *his* day—he’s not the one being difficult. We’re stuck: swallow our pride and risk a miserable night, or bail and break his heart. Feels like there’s no right answer, and every move just digs us deeper into this mess. What do you do when love for your brother clashes with his wife’s attitude? No idea. But the birthday’s getting closer, and we’ve got to decide.
