“Mum, if you keep interfering, I’ll leave. For good.”
On her birthday, Helen woke up early, prepped veggies for the salads, marinated the meat, peeled the potatoes, and then dashed to the hairdresser’s. When she got back, she threw herself straight into cooking.
“Happy birthday, Mum! You look gorgeous. Your passport’s got the wrong birth year—you’re easily ten years younger,” Andrew said, still in his boxers and half-asleep, kissing her cheek.
“Get yourself sorted and help me, will you? I’ll never manage alone,” Helen sighed.
“Yeah, yeah, be right back.” On his way to the bathroom, Andrew paused. “What about calling Katie? She’s better at this stuff.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Ring her up, ask her to pop over,” Helen agreed.
By the time Andrew returned—showered, shaved, and spritzed with cologne—Katie was already chopping veggies while Helen polished wine glasses.
“Look at you two, teamwork at its finest.” Andrew swiped a slice of cucumber from the cutting board. Katie tilted her face up, lips puckered for a kiss, but Andrew sidestepped her. Helen noticed. “Shy around me, is he?” she thought.
“Andrew, set the table in the lounge and use the good tablecloth—top shelf in the cupboard,” Helen said, smoothing over the awkward moment.
“On it!” Andrew snapped a mock salute, damp hair flopping over his forehead. He flung it back with a shake.
“Grown man, acting like a kid,” Helen chuckled.
“Mum, how many guests are coming?” Andrew called from the other room.
“Nine, including us,” Helen replied after a pause.
She’d raised him alone, and he’d turned out fine. Helen had always dreamed of a big, close-knit family. Her dad died young, and her husband left when Andrew was three. She never remarried. Maybe once Andrew got hitched, she’d have that family. What was he waiting for? Twenty-six—prime time. And Katie was lovely, a proper girl from a good home. God willing, they’d marry, give her grandkids… Helen smiled to herself.
The meat in the oven was nearly done. Time to boil the spuds.
“Katie, don’t forget to slice the bread—” The doorbell cut her off.
Helen gave the festive spread a once-over, checked her reflection in the hall mirror—hair still intact—ripped off her apron, and opened the door.
Guests trickled in. A bouquet of roses on the coffee table already perfumed the air. Gift bags and ribbon-tied boxes piled up beside them.
Andrew knew everyone: Helen’s childhood friend and her husband, the head of accounts from work (husbandless, unsurprisingly), and another colleague with hers in tow. They clustered around the table, chatting, eyeing the spread, itching to dig in.
But Helen hesitated. Andrew guessed she was waiting for someone. Who?
“I’m starving—could eat a horse,” Katie whined.
“Hold on, Mum’s waiting for someone.” Andrew squeezed her hand.
Finally, the bell rang. Helen practically bolted to the door. She returned arm-in-arm with a striking woman.
“Meet Olivia, my old neighbour from years back. I was in Year 9 when she started primary. Her mum asked me to keep an eye on her. Grown into such a beauty, I barely recognised her!”
“I knew you straight away—you haven’t changed a bit,” Olivia said, voice smooth as honey. Andrew wondered if she sang.
A simple white dress hugged her figure. Sun-kissed waves framed a warm, smiling face.
“Right, everyone—dig in!” Helen announced.
Chairs scraped as guests lunged for seats. Andrew sat opposite Helen’s colleagues, Katie on one side, Olivia on the other. Her perfume—something expensive, subtle—hung in the air. The men glanced at her curiously; the women, warily.
Andrew lifted the wine bottle, eyebrow raised at Olivia. Their faces were close—close enough for him to spot gold flecks in her hazel eyes. She nodded, smiling.
“How old is she? A bit older than me, but Mum said…” Andrew lost count when Katie tugged his sleeve. Someone stood for a toast. Andrew barely heard it—Olivia had all his attention. Her scent, her nearness—maddening. He clinked glasses with her before the toast even ended.
“What about me?” Katie pouted. Andrew turned reluctantly. She searched his eyes; he looked away. “Want some potato salad? Or the Caesar? Mum says it’s killer.”
“Whatever.” He drained his glass.
“Didn’t expect Helen’s son to be all grown up. Studying or working?” Olivia murmured, leaning in.
“Graduated uni three years ago. Got a job now.”
“Figures, with a mum like yours.”
They chatted, heads almost touching. Every brush of elbows sent sparks up Andrew’s spine. He nudged closer, craving the contact—but Olivia shifted away.
Katie asked something. Andrew gritted his teeth. After a few toasts and another glass, his head buzzed pleasantly.
“Andrew, put on some music—let’s dance!” Helen said.
They’d planned the playlist. A cheesy 90s anthem burst from the speakers. The women migrated to the sofa; the men slipped out for a smoke. Helen started clearing plates. Katie leapt up to help, playing house—wife vibes oozing. It grated on Andrew.
Olivia lingered, unsure. He crossed to her.
“Dance with me?”
Her brow arched. After a beat, she settled her hands on his shoulders. The cramped space left them swaying almost nose-to-nose.
The men returned, claiming their wives. Packed in, Andrew and Olivia wordlessly escaped to the hall. She grabbed her tan trench from the hook.
“Leaving already?” Andrew asked, slipping into casual *you*.
“Just popped in to say happy birthday. Apologise to Helen for me?” She stepped out.
Andrew turned—Katie’s wounded glare made him itch to bolt. He snatched his jacket and fled.
“I’ll walk you,” he said to Olivia downstairs.
She didn’t blink. “Call me a cab? These new shoes are murder.”
“Left my phone upstairs—” He spun toward the flat.
“Don’t bother.” She pulled out her mobile, recited an address. Andrew memorised it.
“Three minutes. Go back—your mum’s alone with guests.”
He nodded but didn’t move. A black cab rolled up. Olivia slid in. Andrew hesitated, then—”Scoot over”—and joined her.
Silence the whole ride. In the lift, they avoided eye contact. Inside her flat, Andrew yanked her close and kissed her. She kissed back…
He returned home as dawn pinked the sky.
“Where *were* you?” Helen hissed.
The lounge was bright. The table cleared.
“Walked Olivia home. Why aren’t you asleep?” He avoided her gaze.
“What’s *wrong* with you? You vanished! Katie was in tears—why hurt her?”
“Mum, *you* decided she’s right for me. I don’t want to marry her.”
“But why? I thought—”
“You thought wrong. I’m an adult. Let me choose who and when—”
“Wait…” Helen’s face paled. “Were you with *Olivia*? If I’d known this would happen, I’d never have invited her!”
“Mum, let’s sleep.” Andrew retreated to his room. He lay staring at the ceiling, dawn birds chirping, Olivia’s perfume clinging to his skin…
Morning brought Helen’s hushed voice. He eavesdropped.
“How *could* you? He’s young enough to be your—”
“Who’re you calling?” Andrew stepped out.
Helen jumped. Bedhead, shadows under her eyes—aging her.
“I told her to back off. You’ve got Katie—” Her voice cracked.
“*You* have Katie. Not me.” He brushed past her to the bathroom, drowning her out with the tap.
When he emerged, Helen sat at the kitchen table, head in hands. Andrew crouched before her.
“Mum, stop deciding my life for me. Please. It’s *mine*.”
“Son…” She reached for him; he dodged.
“I love her.”
“You barely know her! She’s *older*—”
Andrew stood, towering over her. “Interfere again, and I’m gone. For good.”
“Fine. Let’s at least have breakfast.” Helen sighed, fetching leftovers.
Afterward, Andrew grabbed his keys.
“Where? To *her*?” Helen’s hands fluttered.
“Mum.” He caught her wrists, lowered them. “I love *you*. You’re the best. But I can’t live without her.”
“Don’t be out late—work tomorrow,” she sniffled.
“It’ll be okay.” He left.
Olivia opened her door instantly, unsurprised, just studying him.
“Helen said I should—”
“Years later, watching Olivia rock their giggling toddler to sleep while Andrew—now a doting father—peeked in with a tray of tea, Helen finally understood that sometimes love doesn’t follow plans, but it finds its way home all the same.”
