“I’m not eating this,” the mother-in-law declared disdainfully, eyeing the bowl of stew.
“What is this?” Margaret wrinkled her nose, as if a pot of scraps had been placed before her.
“Stew,” explained her daughter-in-law Sarah with a smile. She removed the lid from a small ceramic pot and began serving the rich broth. “There’s such satisfaction in cooking with vegetables from your own garden.”
“I don’t see the big deal,” Margaret sniffed. “A lot of time and effort goes into toiling in the garden!”
“Well, that’s true,” Sarah laughed warmly. “But when it’s your hobby, it’s pure pleasure.”
“Yes, when it’s ‘yours’ and not something imposed,” Margaret muttered, pursing her lips. “Who did you make all this for?”
“For us. And it’s not much, just enough for a couple of days.”
“I’m not eating this slop,” Margaret protested, waving her hands for emphasis and stepping back from the table. “Who knows what’s actually in it!” She feigned a gag and covered her mouth, turning sharply away.
Sarah rolled her eyes and sighed.
She and Simon, Margaret’s son, met a year and a half ago, fell for each other instantly, and married within a month, skipping any grand celebrations.
They invested their savings into a shared dream—a cozy cottage—which they lovingly continued to furnish.
Sarah had seen Margaret only four times since, as had Simon, and on three of those occasions, she had persuaded him to visit his mother during holidays.
Margaret had always viewed her son’s marriage as a whim, lacking any influence over her independent adult son, she expected what she saw as an inevitable end.
Except it didn’t happen, and that was starting to bother her.
Margaret could not understand what Simon found appealing in this “simple girl,” or how Sarah had won him over.
He was a handsome young man, always surrounded by more suitable and attractive girls.
Moreover, Margaret was a city dweller through and through, a sentiment she passed on to her son. She felt that Simon, too, was growing weary of rural life and now just needed a little push to return to his roots.
And after such a disappointment, he would certainly find a more fitting partner, someone with whom Margaret could have a genuine friendship.
But she needed to act fast so that cunning Sarah wouldn’t trap him with a baby!
A plan formed naturally: Margaret called Sarah, inviting herself for a visit, as she hadn’t been included in their housewarming.
Sarah reminded her that she had invited her twice over the phone, but each time, Margaret declined, citing her busy schedule. Margaret brushed this off and expressed her desire to visit her son.
Two days later, she stood in the bright, spacious living room, struggling to contain her indignation.
Her son, like her and her late husband, could not stand stews!
In their family, only dishes that were instantly recognizable were served.
How could Simon let his wife get the upper hand so quickly?
Surely, she must have enchanted him!
This notion left Margaret feeling uneasy, chills running down her spine.
She dismissed the crude idea that Sarah was keeping Simon with her bedroom skills.
Triks and Sarah?
Incompatible!
Surely, some kind of charm!
Otherwise, how could her son even stomach this slop?
Margaret glared at her daughter-in-law with disdain.
Pretending to be all innocent, yet slowly driving her husband to madness.
“What do you mean, it’s unclear what’s in here?” Sarah, unfazed by Margaret’s theatrical display, grabbed a second bowl, spooned some stew, and turned towards her. “Everything is right here. This is cabbage. Here is the onion. Carrot here. And that’s beetroot. I grate it, just like my grandmother used to. Oh, look, no potato this time, but I’ll scoop some out later, and then add fresh herbs from the garden, and some sour cream!”
“You might as well eat soaked bran!” Margaret exclaimed, waving her hands in exasperation.
“Actually, at your age, some bran wouldn’t hurt! It helps regulate digestion and boosts gut health. A happy gut makes a happy person!”
Margaret flushed at Sarah’s bluntness but offered no retort. She continued, “And why do you make Simon eat this?”
Sarah blinked in confusion.
“Well, he seems to eat it by choice.”
“What’s a man to do if there’s nothing else in the house?”
“He could cook for himself, order something, pop over to a neighbour’s, or visit his mum?” Sarah suggested with a grin, listing the options.
Margaret flushed even more at the last suggestion.
“Don’t be cheeky! You should show some respect and find out what Simon likes from me.”
“Margaret, I did ask him. He’s a grown man. Thank you, he knows how to speak. And he says he likes everything.”
“He’s lying! Can’t you see? At first, he didn’t want to upset you. Now he just chokes it down!”
“Oh!” Sarah’s face fell, and she sighed. “Well, since it’s cooked, we can’t just throw it away. He’ll just have to suffer through it. But you’ll support your son, won’t you?”
“What?!” Margaret exclaimed, wide-eyed at Sarah.
“No? What a shame. I think he’d appreciate your solidarity.”
“You…”
“Sarah! We’re back!” came Simon’s cheerful voice from the hallway.
And into the living room bounded a fluffy white cloud, barking merrily.
“Aah!” Margaret screamed, hiding behind Sarah.
“Don’t worry, that’s Lucy. She doesn’t bite and she’s very well-trained,” Sarah raised her hand, and the dog stopped bustling about, lifted her head, and obediently sat at command. “What a clever girl you are.”
“Why do you let neighbours’ dogs in the house?” Margaret rasped in shock.
“Neighbours’ dogs? She’s ours. And she’s inside because she’s a family pet.”
“In the house?! But that’s unsanitary!” Margaret exclaimed in horror. “And Simon doesn’t like dogs!”
“No, Mum, you don’t like dogs. Hi,” Simon said, entering the living room. “Just in time for lunch.”
“Hello, son!” Margaret remained where she was, waiting for him to come and kiss her cheek, but Simon gave her a light hug and then gave Sarah a tender kiss on the lips.
“Ready to eat?” Simon sniffed the air and broke into a blissful smile.
“I’d love to, Simon, but there’s nothing to eat.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Just food fit for pigs. You didn’t mention adopting pigs. Imagine the smell, worse than city traffic!”
Simon looked bewildered at his mother, then at Sarah, and finally at the neatly set table.
The muscles in his neck tensed. His gaze returned to his mother, but any earlier lightness had vanished.
“Honestly, I’d forgotten about all these issues,” Simon said with a bitter smile.
“Issues, son? They’re our tastes! Our rules! Our traditions! You never complained!”
“Me? When I was little, I was afraid to upset Dad. When I got older, I didn’t want to argue with you.”
“What nonsense are you spewing?!”
Her loud outburst set Lucy off again with another bout of barking.
“Enough!” Margaret snapped her foot, shaking her fist at the dog, restrained by Sarah. “Lucy has her preferences,” Margaret glared at Sarah, “but you’ve become a doormat, letting her walk all over you! You endure this rubbish? You’ve let her turn the house into a zoo! Are you the man of the house or what?!”
“I am,” Simon replied darkly.
“Then act like it!” Margaret said with relief, feeling accomplished.
“Where’s your luggage?” Simon asked his mother.
“It’s still in the hallway!” she complained instantly. “And I haven’t eaten since my journey.”
“Alright. Thank Sarah for having you over.”
“What?..”
“Thank Sarah for this last chance to build a relationship with you and apologize.”
“But she…”
“Mother!”
“Thank you, and sorry,” Margaret hissed with venom.
Sarah gave her a polite nod.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To a place where everything is to your taste, your rules, your traditions.”
“But, Simon…!”
“This is not about hating stews, animals, or the countryside. You and Dad dismissed my opinions. But Dad gave me one great piece of advice: ‘Don’t like ours? Create yours’. I did, Mum. Here, my tastes rule. My rules, my traditions. And the mistress of the house is my wife. Don’t like it? You still have your own place.”
“Son! She turned you against me!” Margaret shifted her tone to a whine. “She’s bewitched you!” she added in a terrified whisper.
Simon couldn’t hold back, took his mother’s arm, guided her to the hall, grabbed her bag, opened the door, and escorted her to the gate, saying, “By the way, Sarah was on your side. She’s close to her family. She didn’t believe me when I described how it was. I’d prepared a separate meal for you in the kitchen. But the stew, Mum, was the litmus test. And you revealed your true self,” Simon opened the door to the street, “Your taxi is waiting.”
“When did you book it?!” Margaret mumbled, still reeling from her son’s candidness.
“I told Sarah to wait. Not to send the cab away right away. And I was right.”
“You! You!” Margaret exclaimed in outrage.
“Yes, Mum, I’m the man of the house. Like you wanted,” Simon gestured to the taxi driver, set his mother’s suitcase on the ground, and, without waiting for her to climb into the cab, walked back through the gate and closed the door.
“Witchcraft,” Margaret thought bleakly, convinced of the diagnosis for her son. Sitting in the taxi, she began searching her phone for a way to break the spell. There had to be something to bring her son back.
