A Daughter-in-Law Is Nothing to Me! declared my mother-in-law at my sons birthdaybut she never expected her own sons response.
I awoke at five in the morning, the first pale light of dawn barely seeping through the window. Beside me, James snored softly, his arm thrown over his head in the habitual pose of a man forever short on sleep. On tiptoe, I slipped into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and pulled everything for the cake from the fridge: sponge layers, cream, fresh berries. Today was Olivers fifth birthday, and I wanted it to be nothing short of magical.
Isnt it a bit early? came a voice from the doorway. My husband stood there, squinting against the light, his hair tousled.
Go back to sleep, I smiled, creaming the butter. If I dont start now, Ill never finish before the guests arrive.
He nodded but instead of leaving, he stepped close, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pressing his cheek to my neck.
Sometimes I think I dont deserve you, he murmured.
I chuckled and set the bowl aside.
Is this about your promotion? So youre the boss now, and Im still just a primary school teacher.
Lily, stop, he turned me to face him. Well tell everyone today. Itll be the best surprise.
I nodded, swallowing my excitement. Six years of marriage, and his touch still made my breath catch. Though once, no one had believed wed make it.
By eleven, the cake was assembled, the bunting hung, the presents stowed neatly in the cupboard. The doorbell rang. I took a deep breath, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and opened the door.
Margaret! Youre early!
There stood my mother-in-law, clutching an enormous wrapped box. Her immaculate blow-dry (weekly salon visitsnon-negotiable) and carefully applied makeup contrasted sharply with my bathrobe and messy hair.
Lily dear, she air-kissed my cheek, I came early to help. You understand how important it is for everything to be proper.
Silently, I took her coat and led her to the kitchen. Helping, in her mind, meant scrutinizing my every move and pointing out every flawespecially if it involved something her superior taste and status could have improved.
Oh, whats this? She pointed at the cake Id just taken from the fridge. You baked it yourself? Why not order from a proper patisserie?
I wanted to make it myself, I replied evenly, setting out plates. Oliver loves it when I bake.
Hes just a childwhat does he know? She wrinkled her nose. And the guests? What will they think? Dont take offence, Lily, but a patisserie is refined. This is well, homely.
I bit my tongue, focusing on setting the table. Six years of these remarks. Six years of hints that I fell short of her ideal daughter-in-law.
Wheres James? She glanced around. Still asleep? His father was the samenever an early riser.
He took Oliver to the park. Theyll be back soon.
She opened a cupboard, pulled out a mug, and immediately grimaced.
Still using this cheap set? I gave you that Wedgwood service for Christmas. Didnt you like it?
The set, worth nearly my monthly salary, I saved for special occasions. Today, I hadnt risked itchildren and delicate china didnt mix.
Every gathering was the same. Every visit, a test.
I remembered our weddingsmall, quiet. Margaret had leaned into Jamess ear and whispered, You couldve done better. She hadnt thought Id heard.
Six years on, could I say Id grown used to it? No. But Id learned to swallow the hurt like bitter medicine, chasing it down with a smile. For James. For Oliver. For peace.
The door burst open, and laughter spilled in.
Mum, look! Oliver charged into the kitchen, waving a paper kite. James followed, arms laden with bags.
Granny! Oliver hurled himself at Margaret. She lit up, scooping him into her arms.
My darling! How big youve grown! Heres your present from Granny, she nodded at the box.
Wow! Can I open it? Oliver turned to me.
After the candles, love. Thats the rule.
But Mu-um! he whined.
Lily, must you be so rigid? Margaret cut in. James was always allowed to open gifts straight away.
James cleared his throat.
Mum, lets stick to tradition. Oliver, be patientthe guests will be here soon.
The doorbell rang, halting the debate. The house filled with family and friends: my parents with a homemade pie, neighbours, Jamess colleagues with their children. Mum headed straight to the kitchen to help; Dad settled in the corner with his newspaper. I watched them out of the corner of my eyequiet, unassuming, the polar opposite of Margaret, whose presence seemed to fill every inch of the room.
Eleanor, hows your blood pressure? Margaret called across to my mother. At your age, its crucial.
Mum smiled politely. She was fifty-fivethree years younger than Margaret, who never failed to highlight the gap.
Fine, thank you, Mum replied softly, chopping vegetables.
Still at the factory, are you? Margaret pressed. Must be hard work.
My parents had worked at the factory their whole livesordinary engineers. Not like her, a former department head with connections.
The party carried on. Children raced about; adults lingered over food. I flitted between rooms, ensuring everyone was fed. James chatted with colleagueshis promotion was a triumph, though wed save the announcement for later.
Lily, change the boys clothes, Margaret caught my arm. I saw a lovely outfit at Harrods yesterday. If youd shopped with me, hed look like a proper birthday boy.
I glanced at Oliver. Jeans and a T-shirtcomfortable, chosen together.
Hes fine, Margaret.
Comfort isnt the same as presentable, she sniffed. In my day
Mum, enough, James interjected. He looks great.
Margaret pursed her lips and turned to my parents. I shot James a grateful look, but he was already deep in conversation.
Mum, why is Granny always cross? Oliver whispered, tugging my sleeve.
I froze, clutching the salad bowl. Behind me, Margarets laughter rang out as she complained about the difficulty of finding decent help.
Shes not cross, sweetheart, I knelt to his level. She just wants things to be right.
Whats right?
Good question.
Time for cake! I announced, checking my watch. Oliver, make a wish!
Everyone gathered round. James hit record on his phone. I carried in the caketwo tiers, chocolate ganache, raspberry filling, Olivers favourite.
Wow! His eyes sparkled.
Rather plain, Margaret muttered, just loud enough. A proper bakery wouldve added figurines, sparkles
I swallowed the sting. Today wasnt about her. Today was Olivers.
Make a wish and blow, love.
The room erupted into Happy Birthday. Oliver screwed up his eyes, inhaled, and blew out all five candles in one go. Cheers and applause followed.
Presents! James declared.
Oliver tore through the gifts: Lego from my parents, books from friends, a toy garage from us. Thenthe grand finaleMargarets enormous box.
A tablet! Oliver shrieked, pulling out the sleek device. A real one! Thanks, Granny!
Margaret beamed as if shed won the lottery.
Only the best for my grandson, she said pointedly, eyeing my parents. Some cant afford such things, but I believe in modern upbringing.
Mum looked down as if her gift had suddenly shrunk. My hands trembled slightly as I sliced the cake.
Whod like to give a toast? James raised his glass.
Allow me. Margaret stood, smoothing her dress. Today, we celebrate five years of Olivers life. Im so proud of the boy hes becoming.
She paused, relishing the attention.
I raised James alone. Everything I sacrificedlook at him now. Respected, successful. All because of proper upbringing.
Her voice waverednot with tears, but theatrics.
Now, watching my grandson some things trouble me.
The room tensed.
The unconventional parenting, she eyed me. Skimping on what matters. Ive always told James: its not just who you are, but who stands beside you.
Mum, stop, James cut in. She ploughed on.
Six years Ive held my tongue. Six
