I’ve already regretted a hundred times that my new boyfriend, Oliver, and I decided to go to my mum Sandra’s for Easter Sunday. You’d think a family holiday would be lovely—hot cross buns, chocolate eggs, loved ones around the table. But the moment I saw how many people had crowded into Mum’s house, I wanted to turn around and bolt. All three of my sisters—Charlotte, Emily, and Sophie—showed up with their husbands and kids. Plus Mum’s brother, Uncle James, with his wife and their two grown sons. And then some distant relatives I barely even recognised. Right in the middle of this family whirlwind were me and Oliver, the new boyfriend I’d bravely decided to introduce. I wish I hadn’t.
The interrogation started the second we stepped inside. Mum pounced on Oliver with questions: “Oliver, what do you do for work? How old are you? What are your plans?” Oliver handled it well, answering calmly with a smile, but I could see him tense up. My sisters, as if they’d planned it, turned it into a full-blown interrogation. Charlotte, the eldest, immediately bragged about her husband’s recent promotion and their brand-new Range Rover. Emily boasted that her daughter was already taking ballet and performing on stage. Sophie, the youngest, just poured fuel on the fire, whispering snidely, “So, sis, where did you dig up this one?” Oliver’s five years younger than me, and apparently, that was the scandal of the night.
Mum, ever the hostess, decided her mission was to stuff Oliver until he couldn’t move. She kept piling his plate with hot cross buns, saying, “Eat up, love, you’re too thin—you need some meat on those bones!” Oliver thanked her awkwardly, but I could tell he was struggling. Then Mum launched into childhood stories: “Oliver, our girl here used to dream of marrying a pilot! You’re not a pilot, but you’re a handsome lad—don’t let her down!” The table erupted in laughter, and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Oliver just smiled, but I knew he was mortified.
Uncle James, ever the tough nut, decided to test Oliver’s mettle. He poured him a stiff drink and toasted, “To the happy couple! But lad, you realise our women are a fiery bunch, yeah?” Oliver nodded and took a sip, but I felt his grip tighten around my hand under the table. When Uncle James suggested they “step outside and see how he chops firewood,” I snapped. “Uncle, enough—he’s not a lumberjack!” Everyone laughed, but I could tell Oliver was already plotting his escape.
My nieces and nephews added to the chaos, tearing through the house, shrieking, and knocking over a vase of flowers. Emily’s son ran up to Oliver and blurted, “Are you gonna be our new dad?” I nearly choked on my cordial. To his credit, Oliver didn’t miss a beat: “For now, I’m just Oliver—but happy to be your friend.” The kid nodded and dashed off, and I silently cheered for Oliver’s patience.
The worst part was when Charlotte, offhandedly, brought up my ex. “Well, the last one was older, had a proper career—so you’ve gone for the younger model now, eh?” My cheeks burned. Oliver pretended not to hear, but I knew it stung. Mum tried to lighten the mood by reminiscing about how I used to bake cakes as a girl, but that only made it worse. Soon, everyone was chipping in with embarrassing stories—my past boyfriends, school disasters, even the time I accidentally set the curtains on fire at a family do years ago. Oliver smiled through it, but I could tell he felt like an outsider.
By evening, I was ready to snap. I wanted to grab Oliver and bolt. But he must’ve sensed it, because he whispered, “It’s fine, I’m alright. Your family’s… lively.” And that’s when I realised—he was doing this for me. It gave me strength. When everyone raised their glasses again, I spoke up. “Thanks for having us,” I said, “but Oliver matters to me, and I’m happy he’s here. So let’s just enjoy Easter, yeah? No more interrogations.” Mum nodded, my sisters quieted down, and Uncle James raised his glass: “To a clever woman!”
By the end of the night, the mood softened. Oliver and I even danced to old tunes Sophie put on. Somehow, despite the madness, I felt a warmth for my family. Sure, they’re unbearable, but they’re mine. And Oliver? He passed the test with grace. When we got in the car to leave, he turned to me and said, “You know, your mum’s right. You’re not a woman to be let down.” We both laughed, and I realised this chaotic day had brought us closer.
Next time, I think we’ll visit Mum for a quiet cuppa—without the circus. Or at least I’ll warn my sisters to keep the jokes to themselves. But one thing’s certain: Oliver’s worth every awkward family gathering.
