So, why on earth did you use that cheap mayo in the potato salad? I told you, get the proper stuff, the full-fat mayonnaise, not this watered-down nonsense. Youve just wasted good food.
Emma stood there with the spoon in midair, feeling a hot prickly irritation start in her chest. She took a long breath, trying not to snap, and glanced over at her mother-in-law. Barbara was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips, inspecting the salad bowl like she was the headmistress at an inspection. She was dressed up in her favourite sparkly dressthe one she wore only for big occasionsand had the dignified look of someone attending a memorial rather than a party.
This wasnt just any old party. Emma was turning thirtyher big milestone. Shed so wanted to celebrate in a restaurant, with a bit of glamour, music, and a new dress, not in an apron over the cooker. But a month before, their car broke down, cost a fortune to fix, and the family councilmeaning her husband, Daviddecided, Well celebrate at home. Em, youre the perfect hostess, no restaurant could compare. Hed kissed the top of her head, and with a heavy sigh, shed agreed.
Barbara, the mayonnaise is fine, its the same brand as alwaysjust new packaging, Emma replied as evenly as she could, chopping up the vegetables. Could you help finish off the salmon canapés? The guests will be here soon.
Barbara wasnt appeased. She peered suspiciously into the jar. You must have bought the salmon on offer as well, didnt you? Typical. The eggs are all squashed. Really, Emma, scrimping on a special day never leads to anything good. In my day, on a big birthday, the table was groaning with proper food, not cut-price imitations.
In wandered David, already suited up in a crisp white shirt and smart grey trousers, smelling faintly of aftershave.
Come on, ladies, lets not fall out, he said cheerfully, sneaking a piece of cheese from the tray. It smells amazing in here! Mum, dont be so picky. Its Emmas day, cant we celebrate with a bit less criticism?
Im not criticising, David, Im offering my many years of wisdom, Barbara pursed her lips. Who else will teach her? Her mums miles away, so Ive got to keep standards up. She shrugged, glancing at the bread. Now, wheres that baguette, Ill do the spreading.
Emma turned away, pretending to check the oven just to hide the sting in her eyes. Offering wisdom, she thought bitterly. In five years of marriage, Emma had become very familiar with Barbaras wisdom. Her mother-in-law was old-school, as thrifty as they come, and absolutely convinced she was always right. She kept empty margarine tubs just in case, washed disposable plates, and thought Emma wasted Davids money on nonsense like facials and good shoes.
But the preparation couldnt stop. The flat filled with the scent of roast chicken, garlic, and pastries. Emma ran back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, laying the table with the best china and ironing the napkins. She wanted everything to be perfect, despite Barbaras nitpicking and her own exhaustion. It was her big day, after all.
By five oclock, guests, bubbly and chattering, began to arrivefriends with their husbands, colleagues from work, Davids cousin Tom with his wife. The room grew noisy and lively, with the crinkle of giftwrap, laughter, and the gleam of wine glasses. The guests gifted Emma flowers, cards with cheques, and vouchers for spa treatments. The atmosphere was warm and cheerful.
Barbara presided at the head of the table, like the Queen herself, monitoring whod had how many sausage rolls and who needed their drinks topping up. Every so often, shed add a remark: Those gherkins are far too sharp, No apple in the trout salad? Its a must, I always say, This wines sour, my homemade elderflower cordial is much better. Friends smiled politely, ignored the mutters, and tried to enjoy themselves.
When it was time for speeches, David stood and raised his glass, offering a touching toast to Emma as a brilliant wife and partner. Emma felt tears pricking her eyes; she was glad shed made the effort. She looked at David thinking, perhaps it had all been worthwhile.
And now, Barbara suddenly declared, tapping her glass for silence. My turn to congratulate our lovely Emma. David, bring my gift, its in the hallway, the big bag.
David dashed out and returned struggling with a massive carrier bag tied up with a bright ribbon; it rustled ominously. Everyone stopped and waited. Even Emma tensed: her relationship with Barbara was always a bit frosty, but the woman always made much of tradition. Last year, it was a set of basic towelsnot glamorous, but useful. Maybe this year itd be something really thoughtful, like a proper duvet or that fancy food mixer shed once mentioned.
Barbara took the bag from David, set it on the empty chair beside Emma, and cleared her throat.
Emma, at thirty, a woman should start thinking sensibly. Enough with the short skirts and ripped jeans. Youre a wife, a future mum. I gave this a lot of thought. Moneys just spent and gone, gadgets break, but clothes that are made to lastthose can be passed on. Ive decided to give you the most precious things I own. My trousseau, my wardrobe piecesmy family heirlooms. Wear them with pride, and remember your mother-in-law fondly.
With a dramatic flourish, she untied the ribbon, and tipped the entire content of the bag onto Emmas lap, and partly the floor.
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Even the background music seemed to fade out. Emma stared in disbelief at the heap of old clothes now covering her. A cloud of musty mothball smellold dust, and something distinctly unpleasantswamped the room, completely drowning out the aroma of perfume and roast chicken.
On Emmas lap was a heavy overcoat, an indefinable grey-brown, with a huge, battered, furry collar, clearly nibbled by moths. There followed a stack of dresses made of crimplene from the 1970s, in eye-searing colours: lurid green, grim orange, huge spots. There were blouses with ancient, yellow-stained ruffles, and a stiff tartan skirt that looked so scratchy it was an allergic rash waiting to happen.
Emma picked up one of the blouses, noticing a distinct yellow patch under the arm that looked like it had survived a nuclear accident. Buttons were dangling on by a thread.
Barbara… what is all this? she managed, trying to keep her voice steady but making sure everyone heard her.
What do you mean, darling? Barbara asked, beaming with pride in her own generosity. That overcoatI queued for it for six hours at Debenhams in 82! Its practically indestructible, just needs a clean, a few buttons. And those dresses? Original imports! Not this modern fast-fashion rubbish, but real, wearable fabrics. I used to get asked to dance all the time in that green oneDavids dad was smitten! Now its your turn to shine.
The guests exchanged awkward glances. Emmas friend, Claire, covered her mouthpossibly trying not to laugh or maybe gasp in horror. Tom, Davids cousin, hid his face in his plate, red with embarrassment. Only David stood close to his mum, an uncomfortable smile frozen on his face.
Mum, its vintage, eh? Thats all the rage now… he tried to joke.
Emma felt her cheeks burning with shame. This was more than disappointment. It was public humiliation. Barbara had dumped a bag of old, smelly rubbish on her lap and demanded she feel lucky.
She stood up, the coat sliding off and landing on the floor with a dull thump, sending up more dust.
David, vintage means something has style or value, Emma said, her voice cold. This is just a pile of old, filthy rags that stink of mothballs and someone elses sweat.
Emma! Barbara gasped, clutching her chest. How dare you say that? I saved those for years! Theyre memories! How can you call that rags?
Barbara, look at this stain on the shirt. Look at the collar eaten by moths. Do you really think, on my thirtieth, that I should be grateful for cast-offs from forty years ago? Do you honestly expect me to wear this?
Youre just spoilt! Barbara shouted, switching from a queenly air to a market traders screech. Look at her! A little mark and she turns her nose up! I was trying to help you dress decently, not like a show-off, and you put it all down. David, are you listening to how your wife talks to your mother?
David rushed between them. Mum, Emma, please, thats enough! Emma, Mum meant well, shes just old-fashioned. Mum, couldnt you have asked first
Asked? About giving her a coat that would cost three monthly salaries new? Barbara snapped. Ungrateful! Ill just pack it all up and leave! And I wont set foot in this flat again!
That would honestly be the best present you could give me, Emma said quietly but firmly.
The silence was deafening; you could hear the wall clock ticking.
What did you say? Barbara whispered, shocked white.
I said I wont have my birthday turned into a dumping ground, Emma replied, standing her ground. You can take your things back, Barbara. I dont want them. Not now, not ever. I have some self-respect.
Barbara was speechless, gasping in outrage. She bundled up the bag, hurriedly jamming everything inside with shaking hands. The overcoat wouldnt fit, so she shoved it in viciously, breaking a nail.
Come on, David! Lets go. Im leaving, and if youre any son of mine, youll leave too!
David looked torn between his wife and his mother. Mum, where are you going? Emmas birthday Let me get you a taxi.
Oh, so youre picking her over your own mother? Traitor! Hen-pecked! Abandoned your mother for that ungrateful woman!
Barbara stormed out in a huff, her haul over her shoulder. The door slammed behind her.
Everyone left in the flat sat motionless. The celebration was overruined. The air reeked of mothballs and the aftershock of a proper row.
Well lets raise a toast for the birthday girl, one of the friends eventually suggested, but the atmosphere had fizzled out. Conversation faltered, everyone side-eyeing Emma, who sat poker-straight, cheeks blotchy. Within the hour, people were quietly excusing themselves and heading home.
Once the last door closed, Emma began scraping the leftovers up briskly. David sat on the sofa, head in hands.
Did you have to say all that? he finally asked. You could have just thrown them out later, or taken them to a charity shop. Why make a scene in front of everyone? Mum will probably have a nervous fit now.
Emma slammed the stack of plates down. Dont you see the difference, David? If shed given me those in private, I might have let it slide. But she did that in front of everyoneto show I was nothing, to rub it in that I wasnt good enough even for new things. Thats not care. Thats showing off and disrespect.
She doesnt get it! Shes from a time when you didnt waste a penny
We all grew up watching the pennies, David. My mum did too. She still bought me a little gold pendant for my birthday, saved up for months. Your mumwho has more saved in the bankgave me a bag of rags. And you stood there, saying nothing. You were happy for me to be treated like rubbish?
I just didnt want a family row
Well, I dont want to live feeling humiliated. And the worst part? You didnt even notice the stain on that shirt. To you, its all vintage. To me, it was a slap in the face.
With that, she walked out and shut the bedroom door behind her. David stayed in the kitchen surrounded by dirty plates and cold food, staring at the empty chair that had held that doomed present. For the first time, he tried to look at things not as a loyal son but from the outside. He remembered Claires shocked face, the way Emma recoiled from those tatty clothes. And an intense wave of shame washed over him.
Emma was up early the next day, not saying much. After a swift coffee, she bundled up Barbaras old scarfwhich had been left behindand went to the hallway.
Im off to see your mum, she told David.
To apologise? he asked, hopefully.
No. Just to take her scarf back. I need to set things straight. No more pretending.
Ill come, David offered.
You dont need to. Ill handle this.
It took Emma an hour to get to Barbaras. When she answered the door she was clearly still in drama modehair wrapped in a towel, smelling of camomile tea and stress.
Come to finish me off, have you? Barbara croaked. Well, come on then. Take a good look.
Emma stepped past her without a fuss, put the scarf on the kitchen table.
Barbara, lets cut the theatrics, alright? she said calmly. I respect your age and the fact youre Davids mum. But I expect to be respected in return.
Respect? You shamed me in front of everyone last night!
No. You embarrassed both of us. And you know perfectly well those things you gave me werent fit to wear. That was an insult, Barbara, not a present.
How dare you
Listen, Emma raised her voice, cutting through Barbaras sputtering. I dont need your old clothes. David and I buy what we need, thank you very much. If you want to give a present, ask what Id actually like. Or just bring flowers and a kind wordhonestly, thats enough. But never, ever dump your old things on me again and call it care. Im not a dustbin. Im your sons wife, who he loves. And if you want us to visit, if you want to ever see your grandchildren, youll have to accept that.
Barbara was too shocked to argue. Shed expected Emma to just keep quiet as usual. This sudden revolt left her speechless.
And what if I dont want to? she finally hissed.
Then well only talk on special occasions, over the phone. Your call.
Emma turned towards the door, then glanced back.
Ohand everyone loved the potato salad. Even with your least favourite mayonnaise. Probably because I made it with love. Not bitterness.
Emma walked outside and breathed in deeply. For the first time in five years, she didnt feel like a doormat. She felt free.
That evening, David came home with an enormous bouquet of red roses.
Mum rang, he said, not meeting her eye.
And?
She said you had quite some nerve. She admits she overreacted. She wanted to let you know shes taking that coat to the charity shop, since youre too proud.
Emma giggled, the first real laugh in days. Let her. Maybe someone else will actually want it. As for uswere celebrating my birthday this weekend. Out, in a restaurant, with a new dress. On my terms.
You bet, David grinned, hugging her. No penny-pinching, either. You absolutely deserve it.
From then on, things changed in their family. Barbara never became an angel; she still grumbled and tried to lecture. But she was more careful now, and presents were strictly money in cardswith some complaining about the young peoples odd taste. Emma didnt mind. The important thing was there was no room in her wardrobe for anyone elses dusty leftovers.
And that, my dear, is how I finally laid down the law with my mother-in-lawbest birthday present I ever gave myself.
