“I’m not eating this,” said the mother-in-law disdainfully, glancing at the plate of stew.
“What is this?” Mary wrinkled her nose and sniffed as if someone had set a bucket of slop on the table.
“Stew,” her daughter-in-law Emma replied with a smile. She lifted the lid from a small ceramic pot and began serving the hearty, vibrant broth. “There’s such joy in cooking with vegetables from your own garden.”
“I don’t see the big deal,” the mother-in-law snorted. “A lot of time and effort is wasted just to putter around in a garden.”
“True,” Emma laughed kindly. “But it’s a pleasure when it’s your hobby.”
“You speak as if it’s really ‘yours’ and not something you’ve been made to do,” Mary muttered, pursing her lips. “Who did you prepare so much food for anyway?”
“For us. And it’s not much. Just enough for a couple of meals.”
“I’m not eating this mush,” the mother-in-law exclaimed emphatically, waving her hands and stepping back from the table. “Who knows what’s in there!” Mary pretended to gag, covering her mouth with her hand and turning away abruptly.
Emma rolled her eyes and sighed.
She and Mary’s son, James, had met a year and a half ago, fallen in love at first sight, and married a month later without any fanfare.
They saved money to invest in their shared dream—a countryside house they lovingly continued to furnish.
In all that time, Emma had met Mary just four times, the same as James. In fact, Emma had to persuade her husband to visit his mother on holidays three times.
Mary had always viewed her son’s marriage as a whim. With no leverage over her independent, grown-up son, she waited for what she assumed to be the inevitable outcome.
But that hadn’t materialized, and it was starting to make her anxious.
Mary could not fathom what James saw in this “simple girl” or how Emma had won him over.
James was handsome and always surrounded by more suitable and charming women.
Moreover, Mary was a city dweller through and through, as was her son. Her intuition told her that James was bored of rural life, and it would just take a little nudge to revert things to how they were.
After such a disappointing experience, Mary was certain he’d find a fitting partner with whom she could establish genuine friendships.
But she needed to act fast and not allow crafty Emma to tie her son down with a child!
The plan formed by itself: Mary phoned Emma to invite herself over, claiming she hadn’t been invited to the housewarming.
Emma reminded her she’d extended the invitation twice over the phone, but Mary had always declined, citing her busy schedule. Mary dismissed this and expressed her readiness to visit her son.
Two days later, she stood in the spacious, bright living room, unable to contain her indignation.
Her son, like herself and her late husband, couldn’t stand soups!
In their family, only food that could be identified at a glance was served.
How did James allow his wife to hold sway over him so quickly?
Did she cast a spell?
Mary was troubled by these thoughts and began to shiver.
She brushed away the indecent thought that Emma was managing to keep James with her skills in the bedroom.
Skills and Emma?
Incompatible!
It must have been a spell!
How else could one explain why her son is eating this broth?
Mary glared at her daughter-in-law with disdain.
Feigning an angelic innocence while discreetly wearing her husband down.
“Well, it’s quite clear what’s in there,” Emma said, unfazed by Mary’s theatrics. She took another plate, ladled the stew, and turned directly to Mary. “Look, here’s cabbage, this is onion, carrot, and this is beetroot grated the way my grandma did. Oh, and there’s potato too, though I didn’t scoop any this time, but I’ll find some next round. Then I add greens from my garden and a dollop of cream!”
“You might as well eat boiled bran!” the mother-in-law exclaimed indignantly.
“Actually, at your age, a bit of bran wouldn’t hurt! It helps regulate digestion and improves gut flora. A happy gut means a happy person!”
Mary flushed at the daughter-in-law’s forwardness but chose to let it pass and continued:
“And why are you forcing James to eat this?”
Emma blinked in confusion.
“He’s eating it willingly.”
“What’s the poor chap to do when there’s nothing else to eat in the house?”
“He could cook what he likes himself? Order a takeaway? Visit a neighbor? Drop in on you?” Emma suggested with a smirk.
At the last suggestion, Mary turned even redder.
“Don’t be cheeky! You should have shown respect by asking me what James likes.”
“Mary, I did ask him directly. He’s grown up now. Thankfully, someone taught him to speak. He says he likes everything.”
“He’s lying! Isn’t it clear? At first, he didn’t want to upset you. Now he just gulps it down!”
“Oh, dear!” Emma sighed, her face lengthening. “But since the stew is already made, it would be a waste to throw it out. I guess he’ll have to force it down. But you’d support your son, wouldn’t you?”
“What?!” Mary shot a disbelieving look at Emma.
“No? What a pity. I think he’d appreciate your solidarity.”
“You!…”
“Emma! We’re back!” James’s cheerful voice was heard from the hallway.
In bounded a white, fluffy ball of energy, barking loudly.
“Aaah!” screamed Mary, hiding behind Emma.
“Don’t worry, this is Bella. She doesn’t bite. And she’s very well-mannered,” Emma lifted her hand, and the dog stopped bouncing, raised her head, and sat, obeying her command. “Good girl, you’re so clever.”
“Why do you let the neighbor’s dog into the house?” Mary asked, shocked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Why the neighbor’s? She’s ours. And inside, because she’s a domestic dog. She lives with us.”
“In the house?! That’s unsanitary!” the mother-in-law exclaimed breathlessly. “And James doesn’t like dogs!”
“No, Mom, it’s you who doesn’t like them. Hi,” said James, stepping into the living room. “Right on time for lunch.”
“Hello, son!” Mary didn’t move, waiting for him to approach and kiss her cheek, but James merely gave her a light hug, saving the affectionate kiss for Emma.
“Shall we eat?” James sniffed the air and spread into a blissful smile.
“I’d love to, James, but there’s nothing to eat.”
“How come there’s nothing?”
“Just food for the pigs, if you ask me. You didn’t mention you’ve started keeping them. Imagine the smell! Worse than city smog from traffic.”
James looked at his mother perplexed, then at Emma, and then at the table already set for a meal.
The muscles in James’ neck tensed, his eyes narrowing as they returned to his mother, lacking the earlier lightness.
“Honestly, I’d forgotten about all these idiosyncrasies,” James remarked with a bitter smile.
“What idiosyncrasies, son? These were our tastes! Rules! Traditions, even! You never complained!”
“Me? Back then, I was afraid of angering dad when I was young. When I got older, I didn’t want to start arguments with you.”
“What are you saying?!” Mary shouted, unable to believe her ears, prompting Bella to bark again. “No!” Mary stomped her foot, waving a fist at the dog, whom Emma was holding back. “She, of course, has her preferences,” Mary glanced at Emma, “but what a wimp to let yourself be walked all over like this?! Gorging on slop? Letting her turn your home into a zoo? Are you the head of the house or not?!”
“I am,” replied James darkly.
“Then act like it!” Mary let out her tension with a sense of accomplishment.
“Where’s your luggage?” James asked.
“Still in the hallway!” she complained instantly. “And I’m starving from the journey.”
“Great. Thank Emma for her invitation.”
“What?…”
“Thank Emma for this final attempt to mend things with you and apologize.”
“But she…”
“Mom!”
“Th-thank you and s-s-sorry,” Mary hissed grudgingly.
Emma nodded politely.
“Let’s go,” James said.
“Where?”
“Where everything’s to your taste, your rules, your traditions.”
“But, James, I…”
“This was never about not liking soups, animals, or the countryside, that was you and dad, not me. I was never considered. But dad did give me a great piece of advice: ‘If you don’t like ours, make your own.’ I’ve done that, Mom. But here, it’s my taste, my rules, and my traditions. And my wife is in charge here. Don’t like it? You still have your own.”
“Son! She’s turned you against me!” Mary whimpered, shifting to a mournful tone. “Put a spell on you!” she added in a hoarse whisper.
James couldn’t take it anymore. He guided his mother by the elbow, led her to the hallway, picked up her travel bag, opened the door, escorted her to the gate, and said:
“Emma actually supported your side. She has good relations with her family. She didn’t believe it could be like it was with us. The kitchen even had a separate dish prepared just for you. But the stew was a litmus test, Mom. You reacted fully,” James opened the door to the outside. “The taxi is waiting.”
“You… How did you call it so quickly?” Mary muttered, still reeling from her son’s outspoken honesty.
“I asked Emma to hold it. Not to let it go too soon. And I was right.”
“You! How dare you!”
“I’m the head, Mom, just like you wanted,” James signaled to the taxi driver, set his mother’s bag on the ground, and without waiting for her to get into the car, entered the gate and closed the door.
“A spell,” Mary was convinced of her son’s diagnosis and, now sitting in the taxi, searched on her phone for ways to lift it. There had to be something to bring her son back!
