My brother James married six years ago. Since then, neither I nor our parents have once stepped foot in their home. Every holiday, birthday, or family gathering inevitably takes place at our parents’ spacious house on the outskirts of Manchester. Mum cooks mountains of food, sets the table, and still sends James and his wife, Emily, home with containers full of homemade pies and salads.
When James first married, Emily’s birthday came around a few months later. Mum, full of enthusiasm, decided to plan a surprise: we bought a cake, picked out a nice gift, and prepared to visit. Mum called Emily to give her a heads-up, but she coldly replied that she wasn’t planning to celebrate. Mum, unwilling to back down, insisted:
*”We’ll just pop round for tea and cake, love! You won’t need to lift a finger!”*
In the end, we went anyway. But instead of a warm welcome, we got a shock: Emily met us outside, muttering that the flat *”wasn’t tidy,”* and refused to let us in. Stunned, we handed over the cake and present right there on the doorstep and left. Ever since, all celebrations have been at Mum’s, and we’ve tried to forget that awkward moment.
Once, Emily outright told my parents:
*”You’ve got a big house, loads of room for guests! We’ve only got a tiny flat—where would we fit everyone?”*
I nearly lost my temper. Surely a one-bedroom flat isn’t too small to host your husband’s parents and sister? It’s not a crowd—just three people! But we stayed quiet, not wanting to stir trouble.
Now Emily’s five months pregnant—my parents’ first grandchild—and Mum’s beside herself with excitement. She keeps ringing James, asking how Emily’s feeling and if she needs help. But we recently found out Emily quit her job early in the pregnancy. Mum panicked:
*”Is she unwell? Does she need my support?”*
James reassured her Emily was fine—just *”taking it easy.”* We were baffled. James and Emily always lived large: fancy restaurants, holidays, designer clothes. With no mortgage—the flat was left to Emily by her gran—they splurged on whatever they fancied. But now, with Emily not working, money’s tight, and their usual lifestyle’s crumbling. James tried explaining they need to cut back, but Emily won’t give up her luxuries.
She admitted she quit over fears of *”catching something at work.”* Understandable caution—but their budget’s stretched thin, yet she still expects the same indulgences. Then, out of the blue, James invited us to his birthday—at their place! We were stunned. Dad even joked:
*”Finally get to taste my daughter-in-law’s cooking, eh?”*
Mum was thrilled at the thought of a family evening. I rang Emily to check details, but instead of a calm chat, I got hysterics. Sobbing, she said she didn’t want us there:
*”I’ll have to clean and cook! I’m pregnant—it’s too much!”*
I tried soothing her:
*”Em, keep it simple. Boil some potatoes, toss a salad, roast a chicken—that’s it. We’ll bring dessert. It’s just dinner for five. What’s the issue?”*
I even suggested getting a takeaway to make it easier. But Emily kept whining about having to hoover and tidy. I snapped:
*”Em, it’s a one-bed flat! How hard is a quick clean? Do you only mop when guests come?”*
Finally, I gave an ultimatum:
*”If you really don’t want us, we won’t come. We’ll just call James with birthday wishes.”*
Mum agreed when I told her. We explained the situation to James, and he exploded:
*”Emily doesn’t work—she’s home all day! Can’t she manage one dinner and a tidy? You’re coming! We can’t afford a cleaner or a takeaway, so she’ll have to cope!”*
His words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Now we’ve all fallen out. The idea of celebrating at James’s has lost all appeal. The thought of Emily’s sour face, sighing and eye-rolling all evening—no thanks. We don’t want to feel unwelcome in my own brother’s home.
Yet it kills me to think we’d hurt James. He’s been looking forward to this—to having us all together. How can we just not show up? It’s his day, and he shouldn’t suffer for his wife’s dramatics. We’re stuck: swallow our pride and go, risking a miserable night, or refuse and break his heart. It’s a lose-lose, and every move just digs us deeper. What do you do when love for your brother clashes with dislike for his wife? No answers here—but the birthday’s looming, and a decision can’t wait.
