Mother-in-Law’s Hospitality

The Mother-in-Laws Hospitality
Could you not look so glum, Emily? Honestly, its embarrassing in front of people, Patricia Bennett pursed her lips and began fussily straightening the tablecloth, which Emily had ironed a mere hour before. Weve got guests comingwhat a joy to have visitorsand yet you mope as if someones died.
What joy, Patricia? Emily leaned against the doorway, feeling that familiar wave of nausea rise in her throat. Even the smell of tea makes me queasy. I can hardly walk
And Im supposed to be delighted about five relatives from the countryside whom Ive never even met?
Thats exactly the point! This is your chance to be introduced, the mother-in-law didnt bother to turn, still smoothing wrinkles with wild abandon. Its Olivers uncle, his wife and the kids.
Family! Theyre coming with open arms, and you Oh, Emily. You really lack generosity of spirit.
Mum, honestly, Emilys struggling at the moment, Oliver chimed in, lugging a bundle of logs into the house. Maybe this wasnt the best time to invite everyone? The cottage isnt exactly spacious.
Not spacious? Patricia threw up her hands theatrically. Two rooms! Cosy, if a bit snug. Thats nothing to be ashamed of.
Oliver, youre making me sad now. All Im trying to do is strengthen our family, keep the ties alive.
Instead, you two hide away here in your rented cottage, never show your faces. Tomorrow at ten, dont forgetthe station!
Emily closed her eyes. Yellow circles danced in her vision.
She pictured the next daythe train station, the car bursting with bags, enormous pots of stew that shed have to lug around, the endless babble of strangers in their little house, where even finding a quiet corner to rest would be a challenge.
***
It all began when she and Oliver had just tied the knot and moved into their first rented flat. Patricia Bennett became a frequent fixturenever just popping in for a cuppa, mind you. She was there to supervise their domestic life.
But things got challenging when she decided Olivers flat was essentially a free branch of the family B&B for any and all relatives passing through.
Emmy, just grin and bear it, Oliver whispered back when their ten-foot kitchen was crammed with cousins from Durham, snoring away on rickety camp beds. Theyll be gone soon. Mums just very hospitable.
Hospitable on our dime, Ollie, Emily sighed. Why dont they stay at her place, with its two bedrooms?
Well, theres the DIY going on or her blood pressure or the cat gets stressed, Oliver offered, with a shrug.
Emily endured. She hoped it was all temporary.
But when pregnancy struck, with nausea twisting her inside out, they decided to escape to the countryside for winter.
They found a cheap little cottageold but sturdy, heated by wood-burning stove.
Peace, fresh air, a bare minimum of people. Emily hoped theyd finally be left alone.
But Patricia had other plans.
She turned up to help right before Christmas, and two days later announced a full-scale invasion by the rural relatives.
***
By morning, the stubborn stove decided to play up, smoke billowed into the room, and Emily, coughing, staggered to open a window.
Oliver, wake up, she croaked. The stoves acting up and we need to get to the station.
Mmm just five more minutes, Oliver mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.
No such luck! Patricia burst into the room like a tornado. Up! The guests wont wait.
Emily, have you laid out breakfast?
I can barely stand the smell of food, Patricia, Emily replied faintly.
Nonsense! Pull yourself together. Pregnancy isnt an illness, mother-in-law waved her hand. In the old days, women gave birth in the fields and went straight back to work.
You, on the other hand, are warm and comfortable. Come on, boil up some potatoes, prep the herring. The men will be starving after the journey.
Emily threw on her ancient coat and stepped out onto the porch. The cold air revived her, barely.
She looked at the snow-covered garden, the dwindling piles of logs. They had to heat the house twice daily so as not to freezeand now five more people would be slamming doors and guzzling all the hot water, which had to be warmed up in hefty pots on the stove.
Why did she agree to any of this?!
The station was a madhouse. Uncle Brianburly and wearing an enormous sheepskinimmediately went in for a bear hug, enveloping Emily in a cloud of indescribable aroma.
His wife, Maureen, loud and rosy-cheeked, bombarded them with questions.
Oh, Oliver! You look all grown up! And this must be your wife? She looks a bit peaky, Maureen gave Emily a once-over. Arent you feeding her properly?
Shes got morning sickness, Maureen, Patricia interjected, beaming. You know how it is, shes expecting.
Emily attempted a grim smile. She wanted nothing more than to disappear.
On the way to the car, Patricia slipped a bag of groceries into Emilys hands, quick as a flash.
Is it heavy? Oliver asked, taking it from her.
Extremely, Emily answered, truthfully. Both physically and emotionally!
Just bear with it, Em. Itll only be a couple of days. Mums wanted this reunion for ages.
When they arrived at the cottage, the place instantly grew cramped.
Maureens two teenage kids occupied the sofa, volume cranked up on the telly. Uncle Brian settled himself by the stove.
Ooh, thats a proper fire! he declared. Bit stingy with the logs, though. Oliver, give us a hand. Lets bring in some more.
Emily found herself relegated to the kitchen, knuckles trembling as she peeled potatoes for the entire mob.
The smell of herring, which Patricia had already plated, made Emily hold her breath until her chest hurt.
Emily, whats taking you so long? Patricia poked her head in. The guests are ready for the table. Hurry up. And get some pickles from the cellar.
Patricia, could you perhaps help me? Emily asked quietly. Im honestly feeling awful
Oh, Emmy, Id love to, but I need to show Maureen the house, update her on all the news. Youre young, youll manage. Hard work builds character!
The evening passed in a haze. Emily served food, cleared dishes, scrubbed endless plates in ice-cold water, mixing it with kettle-brewed hot water.
The guests were boisterous. Patricia regaled everyone with tales of how splendidly they all got on, how happy she was to see everyone.
Were one big family! she declared, raising a glass of homemade sloe gin. Nothings too much for familynot time, not effort!
Emmy, fetch the main course!
Emily brought out the roasting dish, meat steaming away. The heat hit her face, and she felt faint.
Barely making it to her room, she collapsed onto the bed, still fully clothed.
***
Deep in the night, Emily woke to silence. The cottage had chilled considerably. Oliver snored quietly beside her.
She wrapped a shawl around herself and tiptoed to the kitchen for some water. Passing the sitting roomwhere Patricia had commandeered the sofaEmily heard muffled voices.
Her mother-in-law was muttering on the phone.
Yes, Linda, they arrived Oh, tell me about it. Scroungers, absolute scroungers.
They stripped the fridge bare in one evening. Maureens forever moaning about her woes, but turns up in a new coat.
Here for a little holiday, apparently! Honestly, they just descend, as if this is some spa retreat. No staying put in their own village.
Emily stopped dead. She couldnt believe her ears. The same woman whod spent hours waxing lyrical about generosity of spirit was now tearing into her guests.
And the daughter-in-law? Dont ask. Face like I owe her a fortune. Always scowling, holding her belly. Miserable as sin! Shes made me look awful, made out like Im exploiting her.
But I do everything for them, everything for the family. No respect for their elders. Not to worry, Ill set her straight tomorrow. Shell know her place.
Emily spun round and headed back to her room. Water suddenly didnt seem so appealing.
***
The morning beganas alwayswith Patricias booming voice.
Emily, time to get up! Breakfast wont make itself!
Emily ventured into the sitting room. Everyone was already assembled. Uncle Brian scratched his head, the teenagers fiddled with their phones, Maureen stretched on her chair.
Morning, Emily said quietly.
Morning, replied Patricia, giving her a pointed look. Emily, come out onto the porch for a quick chat. We need to talk.
They stepped outside, and Patricia immediately went on the warpath.
Emily, I was extremely displeased with your behaviour yesterday. The look on your face! Frankly, its insulting. You made it crystal clear that our guests were a burden to you. People pick up on that! Maureen even hinted they might be in the way. I was mortified.
Emily fixed her gaze on her mother-in-law.
You were mortified, Patricia? And what for, exactly? Because I made lunch for seven people while suffering horrendous morning sickness? Or because I washed up until midnight while you gossiped?
How are you speaking to me? Patricia gasped. Im your husbands mother!
I know. And I also know that last night you called your guests ‘scroungers’ on the phone. The ones who just keep coming’?”
Patricias face blanched, then turned beetroot red.
You were eavesdropping?! Thats appalling!
Whats appalling is making me wait on people you actually cant stand, just to show off in front of them, Emily shot back. If you want to play perfect hostess, do it yourself, on your own time and your own effort.
Oliver! Patricia stormed into the house. Oliver, are you listening? Shes spoken to me dreadfully! Im being insulted!
Oliver rushed in, buttoning his shirt mid-stride.
Whats happened? Emily? Mum?
Your wife shes impossible! Patricia pressed a hand to her heart, probably for dramatic effect. I bend over backwards for everyone, and she accuses me of hypocrisy! She doesn’t want to see my family!
Oliver looked from one to the other, clearly at a loss.
Em, why did you have to be like that? he began gently. Mum only meant well
Oliver, Emily took a step closer. If you dont tell your mum right now that these guests are her responsibility, and that Im not cooking another meal while theyre here, then Ill call a taxi and go to my parents this instant. Our baby will grow up there.
Choose. Right now.
Uncle Brian awkwardly coughed, Maureen turned away with exaggerated interest in nothing.
Youre giving me an ultimatum? Olivers voice wobbled.
No, Im stating my boundaries. Im a person, Oliver. Im your wife, and I’d quite like it if you respected me.
Patricia had always assumed that Oliver would leap to her defence. He always put Mum first, always.
But looking at his wifeashen-faced, exhausted, hands tremblingsomething finally clicked.
He remembered last night: her staggering under the weight of trays, her dashes outside to escape the overwhelming stench of garlic and pepper.
Mum, he said softly. Emilys right.
What? Patricias head shot up.
You invited the guests, without asking us. Emilys pregnancy is tough. If you want them here, fine, but youll cook, clean, and entertain. And please apologise to Emily.
Me? Apologise? Patricia spluttered. Never! Ill never set foot in this house again! Pack your bags! Were leaving! Clearly, were not wanted!
Maureen, Brian, and their kids scurried about, grabbing their things.
We we didnt want to be a nuisance, Uncle Brian muttered, donning his sheepskin. Patricia said you invited us
Of course I did! Patricia snapped. Some people here dont understand true hospitality!
Forty minutes later, Olivers car vanished round the bendhe was delivering everyone to the station. Emily was left alone. The silence in the house was blissful.
She wandered into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and settled by the window. Lord, it felt wonderful
***
Patricia Bennett didn’t speak to her son for three months. She rang all their mutual friends, bemoaning her wicked daughter-in-law whod thrown her out into the cold with helpless relatives.
Still, half a year later, when grandson arrived, the ice thawed and Patricia tried to regain her old influencebut Oliver just didnt give in.
Eventually, Emily and Oliver bought their own flat and now only host guests they’re genuinely delighted to see.
And as for those country relatives, turns out they stopped speaking to Patricia tooafter she called them scroungers during a petty spat. Karma, as they say, has a way of finding its mark.

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Mother-in-Law’s Hospitality
That’s Not How a Real Man Does Things — Mum, I’ve finally made up my mind about a mortgage. We’ll live with you for a bit, rent out Nastya’s flat, pay it off quickly, and then we’ll have our own place together, — Yegor announced casually over tea. When her son said he needed to discuss “something important,” Irina had no idea what was coming. Naively, she thought it would be about wedding dates or redecorating Nastya’s flat — something trivial but pleasant. Instead, Yegor dropped this bombshell… Irina nearly dropped the knife she was using to cut the still-warm apple pie. — Well, that’s great and all, Yegor… But this wasn’t part of my plan, — she replied, flustered, looking at her son. — After all, Nastya has her own flat and you’re both well over thirty now… — That’s just it, Mum. It’s her place. Doesn’t feel right for a bloke to live at his wife’s — makes me look like some kind of freeloader. Paying rent is just throwing money away. This way, we save money, Nastya’s flat doesn’t sit empty, and, in time, we’ll have a home we both worked for. You always said a man should have his own place. Her son spoke as calmly as if he were working through a maths problem. Other people’s need for peace and privacy didn’t appear anywhere in his calculations. — Yegor… — Irina struggled to find the right words, trying not to reveal her frustration. — I said that when you were just past twenty. When I was younger and you were still single. Now, I’m the one who needs my own space. I don’t want to share my kitchen with a daughter-in-law, even a lovely one. I don’t want to queue for the bathroom, live in constant noise, row about shampoo and hairbrushes… — Mum, what are you on about? — Yegor interrupted. — We won’t get in each other’s way. We’ll be in our room. Nastya’s really quiet. You’ll probably find it more lively! — No, — Irina snapped, alarmed at the prospect. — Yegor, please understand. I want to live on my own. Independently. It’s what suits me best. After all, don’t I deserve a bit of peace in my twilight years? Yegor immediately sulked, realising his mother wasn’t open to negotiation. — I see. I thought you’d care what happens to your son. I thought you’d give a toss about my life. — Of course I care. But it’s a bit late to be thinking about all that. — It’s not like I had much choice! I did what was best for you, gave you the chance to find happiness. If you hadn’t split with Dad, I’d have a place of my own like any normal bloke, and I wouldn’t have to humiliate myself like this! — Go tell your father that! — Irina retorted, finally losing patience. An evening that had started with pleasant anticipation ended in mutual accusations and tears. Yegor blamed Irina for not giving him a roof over his head, and Irina… she just couldn’t believe it. She’d done everything she could for him. …Irina had once never worried about Yegor’s future. Her plan was simple: see her son out of their nest and sign over the second flat to him. Her straightforward scheme was ruined by Yegor’s father — who, after a few drinks at Irina’s birthday, insisted on walking her friend Ludmila home, and ended up spending the night… — Well, I am an attractive woman, what man could resist? — Ludmila only shrugged to Irina. The friend became an ex-friend, the husband an ex-husband. They split the property, and Irina was left with just one flat. She spent years blaming herself for not giving Yegor a “proper” start in life. At first, she even wanted to give Yegor half of her flat, so he’d have something, but her own mother stopped her. — Irina love, don’t rush. He’s a lad. When he’s older, he’ll sort himself out, that’s just how it goes — her mum had said. — Life throws curveballs… you know that better than anyone. Right now he’s your little boy, but you don’t know what you’ll have once he’s grown. You risk losing your son and your flat. Irina took her mothers’ advice with a pinch of salt, but eventually came round. It was tough: she felt she was robbing Yegor of what was rightfully his. Yet, if you think about it, Irina had given him more than most single mums. She paid for all his education: not uni or a big institute, but even college cost her dearly, scraping by with odd jobs. When Yegor finally graduated, Irina told him: — Son, don’t rush into living on your own. Stay with me for now. I won’t charge you for bills; just save up. Get a mortgage, so I can stop worrying about you. You may not get it now, but your own flat is a huge advantage in life. Properties never get cheaper. Yegor laughed and shook his head. — Mum, come on. I’m a grown lad. Not very ‘manly’ bringing girls to your mum’s house. Not ‘manly’… Yet it was very ‘manly’ to waste money on rent and not think about the future. Though Irina didn’t blame him. She’d accepted he’d live as he wanted. But shifting his responsibilities onto others… that was new. As were the claims he’d left home for her sake. She’d never thrown him out; quite the opposite — she’d tried to help him, even subsidising the rent. That night Irina couldn’t sleep after their quarrel. The anger faded, replaced by clarity. She didn’t want to be a free nanny, cook and therapist for a young couple. She didn’t want to become the ‘convenient mum’. But she didn’t want to completely wreck her relationship with her son either. So when, three days later, Yegor brought up the mortgage and moving in again, Irina decided to play her ace. — Does Nastya even know about your big plans? — she asked simply, rather than arguing. Irina knew full well: no bride wants to live with her mother-in-law when she already owns her own flat. Sons find it handy though — mum does shirts, breakfast, and backs him up in rows. Daughters-in-law? Not keen on sharing kitchen or husband with another woman. — Well… — Yegor hesitated. — We haven’t discussed it. But if you’re on board, I’ll work it out with her. Irina smiled knowingly. So Nastya didn’t know… That would be a ‘surprise’, then. — Son, it doesn’t work like that. Both of you come round, and we’ll talk. You’re a grown man — if this is my house, it’s my rules. We’ll discuss routines, cooking schedules, how we split the bills… Yegor frowned, but nodded. — Okay. I’ll talk to Nastya. — Definitely talk to her. And give her my regards. Tell her I’d love to see her. That evening, the topic didn’t come up again. For the first week, Irina was on edge — mentally preparing herself to ‘scare off’ her daughter-in-law with her standards for tidiness and quiet. But as time went by, the couple never raised the issue. Half a year passed. Irina visited Nastya and Yegor. Yegor was still a bit miffed; maybe he thought Irina would welcome them with open arms and even beg them to stay. But his expectations — his problem. At least he was having dinner with his mum and even joining the conversation. Irina got on splendidly with Nastya — precisely because of the distance. Today, Nastya had even baked cookies on sweetener especially for Irina’s diet. They weren’t perfect, but Irina appreciated the effort. When Yegor left to smoke, Nastya turned to chat: — You know, if it weren’t for you, none of this would exist — she sighed. — We almost split up not long ago. — Over what? — The flat, of course… Yegor tried to get your help, and you refused… Nastya briefly told her side. Apparently, Yegor had gone grumbling to her, saying his mum wouldn’t play along with their plans. Maybe he expected Nastya to comfort him, to slag off Irina together, but that didn’t happen. — Yegor, why take out a mortgage? We have a lovely flat. Let’s live here. Your mum’s right. She deserves her own life; we deserve ours, — Nastya replied. Yegor protested that it felt wrong living in his wife’s home, but when Nastya arched an eyebrow and folded her arms, he changed his tune. — Look, one day we’ll have a child, right? We can live in this flat, and the other will go to them. — It’s great planning for the future, but not at such a cost. I’d be uncomfortable, your mum would be uncomfortable — why bother? They argued for a while, repeatedly, but, in the end, Nastya always stood firm: she won’t inconvenience Yegor’s mum, nor borrow when they already have their own home. Yegor tried to insist, but ultimately backed down. He must have realised that if push came to shove, Nastya would choose divorce over moving in. — …If you’d kept quiet or tried to invite us in, I might have given in, — Nastya admitted. — Instead, we’d all be suffering for nothing. This way, knowing neither of us is happy about it… Well, honestly, I’m glad things turned out as they did. Irina agreed completely. Good thing she shifted the conflict and things unfolded as they did. Yes, Yegor chose resentment, while Irina chose her own peace. At the end of the day, everyone kept what mattered: Yegor started building his own family, Nastya kept her husband, and Irina shed her guilt and stood up for her personal space — and her right to quiet mornings.