**Diary Entry**
I woke up earlier than usual on my birthday—there was so much to do. I chopped vegetables, marinated the meat, peeled potatoes, then dashed off to the hairdresser. When I got back, I threw myself straight into cooking.
“Happy birthday, Mum! You look stunning. They must’ve got your birth year wrong in your passport—you look ten years younger!” Andrew, still in his boxers and barely awake, kissed me on the cheek.
“Get yourself sorted and help me. I won’t manage alone,” I said.
“Yeah, give me a sec.” Halfway to the bathroom, he paused. “Maybe we should ask Emily? She’s better at this than me.”
“That’s actually a good idea. Ring her, tell her to come help,” I agreed.
When Andrew finally walked into the kitchen—dressed, shaved, and smelling of aftershave—Emily was already chopping vegetables while I polished the wine glasses.
“Look at you two, all efficient,” Andrew said, swiping a slice of cucumber from the chopping board.
Emily turned her face toward him, lips slightly parted, but he didn’t take the hint, stepping away instead. I noticed. *He’s shy around her*, I thought.
“Andrew, set the table and lay out the tablecloth. It’s on the top shelf,” I said, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“At your service!” He straightened up, saluting dramatically, then shook his head, a damp strand of hair flopping over his forehead.
“Grown man, still acting like a boy,” I smiled.
“How many guests are coming?” he called from the living room.
“Nine, including us,” I replied after a quick count.
I raised him alone, and look how he turned out—handsome, bright. I’d always dreamed of a big, loving family. His father passed young, my husband left three years after he was born, and I never bothered with love again. Now, if only Andrew would just propose already. Twenty-six—perfect age. And Emily’s lovely, good family, well-mannered. God willing, they’ll marry, give me grandchildren… I smiled at the thought.
The roast was nearly done. Time to boil the potatoes.
“Emily, don’t forget to slice the—” The doorbell interrupted me.
I glanced at the table, checked my reflection in the hall mirror, smoothed my hair, tossed my apron aside, and opened the door.
Guests trickled in slowly. A few bouquets of roses sat on the side table by the window, filling the room with a sweet scent. Gift bags and ribbon-tied boxes piled up beside them.
Andrew knew everyone: my childhood best friend and her husband, my boss from accounting—solo, as usual—and another colleague with her spouse. They clustered around the table, chatting, eyeing the spread, waiting for my signal to sit.
But I hesitated. Andrew noticed. *Who’s she waiting for?*
“I’m starving,” Emily whined.
“Hold on, Mum’s expecting someone.” Andrew squeezed her hand.
Finally, the doorbell rang again. Relief washed over me as I hurried to answer. Moments later, I walked back in, arm around a striking young woman.
“Everyone, this is Olivia, my old neighbour. I was in Year 9 when she started primary school—her mum asked me to watch over her. Didn’t even recognise her now!”
“I knew you straight away—you haven’t changed a bit,” Olivia said, her voice smooth as honey. *She must sing well*, Andrew thought.
Her simple grey dress clung to her slender frame. Sun-kissed waves cascaded down her shoulders, her smile warm and easy.
“Alright, everyone, dig in!” I announced.
Chairs scraped as guests settled in, debating what to try first.
Andrew sat across from my colleagues, Emily beside him, Olivia on his other side. Her perfume—expensive, subtle—drifted between them. The men shot her curious glances; the women eyed her warily.
He picked up the wine, tilting it toward Olivia’s glass in silent question. Their faces were so close, he spotted flecks of gold in her green eyes. She nodded.
*How old is she? A few years older than me, surely.* His calculation stalled when Emily tugged his sleeve. A toast began, but Andrew barely heard it—Olivia consumed him. Her scent, her closeness… He clinked glasses with her before the speech ended.
“What about me?” Emily pouted.
Andrew turned reluctantly. She searched his eyes; he looked away. “What d’you want? The potato salad? Mum says it’s good.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, draining his glass.
“Didn’t expect Lena’s son to be so grown up. Working or studying?” Olivia murmured, leaning in.
“Graduated three years ago. Been working since.”
“Not surprising, with a mum like her.”
They talked heads bent, elbows brushing. Every contact sent a jolt through him. He angled his arm, chasing it, but Olivia shifted away.
Emily asked something; he answered tersely, annoyed at the interruption. After a few toasts, warmth spread through him, loosening his limbs.
“Andrew, put music on—let’s dance,” I urged.
We’d planned the playlist. The speakers pulsed with a nineties hit. Women migrated to the sofa; men slipped out for a smoke. I gathered plates to refresh the spread. Emily jumped in to help, acting like she owned the place—*like she’s already his wife*. It grated on him.
Olivia lingered, uncertain. Andrew approached.
“Dance?”
She arched a brow but settled her hands on his shoulders. Space was tight—they swayed, barely moving, eyes locked. His pulse hammered.
The men returned, claiming their wives. Crowded, they retreated to the hall. Olivia reached for her coat.
“Leaving?” Disappointment laced his voice.
“Just popped in to say happy birthday. Apologise to your mum for me.”
He turned—Emily’s hurt glare burned into him. He grabbed his jacket and followed Olivia out.
“I’ll walk you,” he said at the curb.
She didn’t object. “Call a cab? These shoes are killing me.”
“Left my phone upstairs.” He hesitated, ready to sprint back.
“Don’t bother.” She pulled hers out, rattled off an address. He memorised it silently.
“It’ll be three minutes. You should go back—your mum’s alone.”
He nodded but didn’t move. A yellow cab pulled up. Olivia slid in; Andrew hesitated, then—”Move over”—joined her.
Silence filled the ride. In the lift, they avoided each other’s eyes. The moment her door closed, he pulled her in, kissing her hungrily. She didn’t resist.
He came home at dawn.
“Where *were* you?” I demanded.
The flat was bright. I’d already cleared the table.
“Walked Olivia home. Why aren’t you sleeping?” He avoided my gaze.
“What’s wrong with you? Emily was in tears! Why hurt her?”
*You* decided she was right for me. I don’t want to marry her.”
“But why? I thought—”
“You thought wrong, Mum. I’m not a child. Let me choose.”
Suddenly, it hit me. “You were with *Olivia*? If I’d known—”
“Let’s sleep,” he cut in, retreating to his room. He lay there, watching the sky lighten, recalling Olivia’s perfume—still on him, intoxicating.
By morning, I was on the phone, voice shaking. “How could you? He’s practically your—I never expected this! Stay away from him!”
“Who are you calling?” Andrew emerged, exhausted.
I jumped. My hair was a mess, shadows under my eyes. “I told her to back off. You have Emily—”
“That’s *your* plan. Not mine.”
He crouched before me, hands on my knees. “Let me live my life, Mum. Please.”
I reached to stroke his hair; he dodged.
“I love her.”
“You barely know her! She’s older—”
He stood, towering over me. “If you keep interfering, I’ll leave. For good.”
“Fine.” I sighed, pulling cake leftovers from the fridge. “Let’s at least eat.”
After breakfast, he headed out.
“Where? To *her*?” I reached for him instinctively.
He caught my wrists, lowered them. “I love you. You’re the best mum. But I can’t live without her.”
“Don’t stay out late—work tomorrow,” I sniffled.
“It’ll be okay.” He left.
Olivia answered instantly, unsurprised, studying him closely. “Lena said I should—”
“Forget it.” He pulled her in.
I paced the flat, wringing my hands. *How do I fix this?*
Two weeks later, Andrew took leave. They went to the coast. He returned tanned, firmer, announcing they’d filed for a registry office wedding. I gasped, sinking onto the sofa.Years later, as I rocked my granddaughter to sleep, watching Olivia and Andrew laugh in the kitchen, I realised that love had given me the family I’d always dreamed of—just not in the way I’d expected.
