I already regretted a hundred times that my new boyfriend, Oliver, and I decided to go to my mum’s Easter gathering. You’d think a family holiday would be lovely—hot cross buns, painted eggs, loved ones around the table. But the moment I saw how many people had crammed into Mum’s house, I nearly turned around and ran. All three of my sisters—Jessica, Charlotte, and Emily—had arrived with their husbands and kids. Plus Mum’s brother, Uncle Henry, with his wife and two grown sons. And some distant relatives I barely remembered by name. Right in the middle of this family hurricane? Me and Oliver, my new boyfriend, whom I’d bravely decided to introduce to the clan. Big mistake.
The moment we stepped inside, the interrogation began. Mum pounced on Oliver: “Oliver, what do you do for work? How old are you? What are your plans?” Bless him, he kept his cool, answering politely with a smile, but I could see the tension creeping in. Meanwhile, my sisters, as if conspiring, turned it into a full-blown inquisition. Jessica, the eldest, wasted no time bragging about her husband’s recent promotion and their brand-new Land Rover. Charlotte boasted about her daughter already taking ballet and performing on stage. Emily, the youngest, just added fuel to the fire, whispering smugly, “So, sis, where’d you find this one?” Oliver is five years younger than me, and apparently, that was the scandal of the evening.
Mum, bless her, decided her personal mission was to fatten Oliver up. She kept piling hot cross buns onto his plate, insisting, “Eat up, love, you’re far too skinny!” Oliver thanked her awkwardly, but I could tell he was drowning in her generosity. Then Mum launched into nostalgic rambling: “Oliver, our girl here used to dream of marrying a pilot! You’re no pilot, but you’ll do nicely—don’t let her down!” The table erupted in laughter while I prayed for the ground to swallow me whole. Oliver kept smiling, but I knew he was mortified.
Uncle Henry, ever the charmer, decided Oliver needed a proper test. He poured him a generous glass of homemade elderflower wine and toasted, “To the happy couple! Though, lad, you do realise the women in this family are a handful, right?” Oliver nodded and drank, but I felt his grip on my hand tighten under the table. And when Uncle Henry suggested they step outside “to see how he handles an axe,” I snapped. “Uncle, come on, he’s not a lumberjack!” The room laughed, but I could see Oliver mentally mapping his escape.
My sisters’ kids cranked up the chaos. The little terrors sprinted around the house, shrieking, knocking over a vase of daffodils. One of Charlotte’s boys charged at Oliver and blurted, “Are you gonna be our new dad?” I nearly choked on my Ribena. Oliver, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat: “For now, I’m just Oliver, but I can be your mate.” The kid nodded and dashed off, and I mentally applauded Oliver’s composure.
The worst bit? When Jessica casually brought up my ex. “Well, he was older, had a proper career—so you’ve gone for young blood now, eh?” My cheeks burned. Oliver pretended not to hear, but I knew he was stung. Mum, trying to smooth things over, launched into a tale about my attempts at baking hot cross buns as a teen—which only made things worse. The sisters and Uncle Henry took turns dredging up my past embarrassments: old boyfriends, school disasters, even the time I nearly set the curtains on fire at Christmas. Oliver smiled, but I could tell he felt like an outsider.
By evening, I was ready to grab Oliver and bolt. But he, sensing my mood, whispered, “It’s fine, I’m all right. Your family’s… lively.” And that’s when it hit me—he was enduring this *for me*. That gave me the courage to speak up when the next toast rolled around. “Thanks for being here,” I said, “but Oliver matters to me, and I’m happy he’s here. So let’s just enjoy Easter without the interrogation, yeah?” Mum nodded, the sisters quieted, and Uncle Henry raised his glass: “To a smart woman!”
Somehow, by the end of the night, things warmed up. Oliver and I even swayed to old tunes Emily dug up. Despite the circus, I realised this mess of a family was still mine. Yes, they’re unbearable—but they’re *mine*. And Oliver? He handled it all like a champ. As we got into the car, he turned to me and said, “Your mum’s right, you know. You’re not a girl to let down.” We burst out laughing, and I knew this mad day had brought us closer.
Next time, we’ll visit Mum for tea—just us, no crowd. Or at least I’ll tell my sisters to keep their jokes to themselves. But one thing’s certain: Oliver’s worth every chaotic family gathering.
