“Mum, if you interfere, I’ll leave. Forever.”
On her birthday, Eleanor woke up early. She chopped vegetables for salads, marinated the meat, peeled potatoes, then headed to the hairdresser’s. When she returned, she dove straight into cooking.
“Happy birthday, Mum! You look stunning. Your passport must be wrong—you look ten years younger,” said Andrew, still in his boxers, freshly awake, as he kissed her cheek.
“Get dressed and help me. I won’t manage alone,” Eleanor said.
“Sure, give me a sec.” On his way to the bathroom, Andrew paused. “Maybe we should ask Emily? She’s better at this.”
“That’s a good idea. Call her,” Eleanor agreed.
When Andrew returned—clean-shaven, dressed, and smelling of cologne—Emily was already chopping veggies while Eleanor polished wine glasses.
“Looks like you two have it all under control,” Andrew said, swiping a slice of cucumber from the cutting board.
Emily turned her face toward him, lips puckered for a kiss, but Andrew ignored it and stepped back. Eleanor noticed. *He’s shy around me*, she thought.
“Andrew, set the table and use the good tablecloth. It’s on the top shelf,” Eleanor said, smoothing over the awkward moment.
“Yes, ma’am!” Andrew snapped to attention, grinning. A damp strand of hair fell over his forehead; he tossed it back with a flick.
“Grown man, acting like a child,” Eleanor teased.
“How many guests are coming?” Andrew called from the living room.
“Nine, including us,” she replied after a pause.
She’d raised him alone, and he’d turned out well. Eleanor had always dreamed of a big, close-knit family. Her father died young, and her husband left three years after Andrew was born. She’d never remarried. *Once Andrew settles down, I’ll have that family. Why is he dragging his feet? Twenty-six—perfect age. And Emily’s lovely, proper, from a good family. With any luck, they’ll marry, give me grandchildren…* She smiled to herself.
The roast was nearly done. Time to boil the potatoes.
“Emily, don’t forget to slice the—” The doorbell cut her off.
Eleanor glanced at the festive table, checked her reflection in the hall mirror, smoothed her hair, tossed her apron aside, and opened the door.
Guests trickled in. Roses crowded the coffee table by the window, their sweet scent mingling with the aroma of food. Gift bags and ribbon-tied boxes piled up beside them.
Andrew knew everyone—his mum’s childhood friend and husband, her sharp-tongued colleague from accounting (husbandless, per usual), another coworker and her spouse. They hovered by the table, chatting eagerly, eyeing the spread.
But Eleanor lingered. Andrew realized—she was waiting for someone. Who?
“I’m starving,” Emily muttered.
“Hold on. Mum’s expecting someone.” Andrew squeezed her hand.
Finally, the bell rang. Eleanor rushed to the door and returned arm-in-arm with a striking 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 recognize her—she had to call out to me!”
“I knew you straight away. You haven’t changed,” Olivia said, her voice smooth as honey. *She probably sings*, Andrew thought.
Her simple grey dress clung to her slim frame. Sun-kissed waves cascaded down her back. Her face was warm, her smile easy.
“Right, everyone—dig in!” Eleanor announced.
Chairs scraped as guests settled, debating what to try first.
Andrew sat across from his mum’s colleagues, Emily beside him, Olivia on his other side. Her perfume—subtle, expensive—drifted over him. The men glanced at her with interest; the women, warily.
Andrew lifted the wine bottle, raising a brow at Olivia. Their faces were so close he spotted gold flecks in her green eyes. She nodded.
*How old is she? A bit older than me, but Mum said…* Emily’s nudge interrupted his math. A toast began. Andrew tuned it out, fixated on Olivia. Her scent, her presence—maddening. Before the speech ended, he clinked his glass against hers.
“What about me?” Emily pouted.
Andrew turned reluctantly. She searched his eyes; he looked away. “Want some potato salad? Mum says it’s great.”
“Whatever.” He drained his glass.
“I didn’t expect Eleanor’s son to be so grown up. Uni or work?” Olivia murmured, leaning in.
“Graduated three years ago. Working now.”
“Figures. With a mum like that.”
They spoke heads nearly touching. Every brush of arm or shoulder sent heat through him. He nudged closer, craving contact—but Olivia shifted away.
Emily asked something. Andrew answered tersely, annoyed. After a few drinks, his mind floated pleasantly.
“Andrew, put on music. Let’s dance,” Eleanor said.
They’d planned the playlist. Soon, upbeat ‘90s hits filled the room. The women relocated to the sofa; the men slipped outside to smoke. Eleanor cleared plates. Emily helped, playing hostess—*like she’s already his wife*. It grated.
Olivia hovered uncertainly. Andrew approached.
“Dance with me?”
Her brow arched. After a beat, she rested her hands on his shoulders. The cramped space left them swaying in place. Their eyes locked.
The men returned, claiming their wives. The room shrank. Wordlessly, Andrew and Olivia slipped into the hall. Nowhere else to go. She grabbed her coat.
“Leaving already?” He said *you* for the first time.
“Just popped in to say happy birthday. Apologise to your mum for me.” She stepped out.
Andrew turned—Emily’s wounded glare pinned him. He snatched his jacket and fled.
“I’ll walk you,” he said outside.
Olivia didn’t blink. “Call a cab, please? These shoes are murder.”
“Left my phone inside.” He tensed to sprint back.
“Don’t.” She pulled out hers, recited an address to the dispatcher.
Andrew memorised it.
“Three minutes. Go back to your guests.”
He nodded but didn’t move. A yellow cab rolled up. Olivia slid in. Andrew hesitated, then—”Move over”—joined her.
Silence the whole ride. In the lift, they avoided each other’s eyes. Inside her flat, he spun her around and kissed her. She kissed back.
He returned at dawn.
“Where *were* you?” Eleanor hissed.
The living room glowed with early light. The table was cleared.
“Walking Olivia home. Why are you up?” He avoided her stare.
“What’s *wrong* with you? Emily was in tears! Why humiliate her?”
“Mum, *you* decided she’s right for me. I don’t want to marry her.”
“Why? I thought—”
“You thought wrong. I’m an adult. Let me choose who—”
“Wait.” Realisation struck. “You were with *Olivia*? If I’d known this would happen, I’d never have invited her.”
“Let’s sleep.” He retreated to his room, staring at the brightening ceiling, listening to birdsong. Olivia’s perfume clung to him, thrilling, intoxicating…
Morning brought his mother’s tense voice. He listened.
“How could you? He’s young enough to be your—I never expected this… Leave him *alone*.”
“Who are you calling?” Andrew stepped out.
Eleanor jumped. Her hair was mussed, shadows bruising her eyes. She looked exhausted, older.
“I told her to back off. That you’re practically engaged—” Her voice frayed.
“I’m *not* engaged. You and Emily decided that.” He sighed, brushed past her to the bathroom.
“Wait!” She chased him. He shut the door, turned on the tap to drown her out.
When he emerged, she sat at the kitchen table, head in hands. He crouched before her.
“Mum, stop deciding my life for me. Please. It’s *mine*.”
“Son—” She reached for him; he evaded her touch.
“I love her.”
“You don’t *know* her… She’s too old—”
Andrew stood, towering over her.
“Interfere again, and I’ll leave. For good.”
“Fine. At least eat breakfast.” She sighed, fetched leftover cake, set out mugs…
Afterward, Andrew grabbed his keys.
“Where? To *her*?” Eleanor reached out blindly.
He caught her wrists. “Mum, I love you. You’re the best. But I can’t live without her.”
“Don’t stay out late. Work tomorrow,” she sniffled.
“It’ll be okay.” He left.
Olivia opened her door instantly, unsurprised, studying him.
“Eleanor said I should—”
“Forget it.” He pulled her close. She melted against him.
Meanwhile,Years later, as Eleanor cradled her giggling granddaughter while Olivia and Andrew laughed over tea, she finally understood that love, in any form, was far more important than the plans she’d once clung to so tightly.
