“Your mum isn’t invited,” said the daughter-in-law, slamming the door in the grandmothers face. The wood thudded shut, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps fading away, as if fearful the old woman might find the words to reply.
Edith Mayfield stood frozen in disbelief. In one hand, she clutched a bag of marshmallows; in the other, a carefully wrapped box of embroidered handkerchiefs. She hadnt planned to stay longjust to congratulate them, to be part of it, even if only for a moment. To catch a glimpse of her grandsons wedding. Little Alfies big day.
She sank onto the first step of the stairwell, awkwardly smoothing her skirt. The hurt was sharp, like a lump in her throat, the way it had been in her youth when unjustly scoldedno longer a child, yet not quite an adult. Tears threatened, but Edith dabbed them sternly with the edge of her handkerchief. Not becoming.
“Mum, you have to understand…” her son had mumbled the night before, shifting uneasily. “Emma… she has her own way of doing things. She wants it modern, you know… proper.”
“And I suppose Im ancient?” Edith had replied. “I wasnt going to barge in with advice. I even brought a gifthand-stitched, mind you.”
Alfred had stared at the kitchen corner, silent.
“Dont be cross,” hed said finally. “Its just… tense right now. Emma says theres no roomher mum, her aunt, colleagues…”
“So his nan isnt a guest. His nan is in the way,” Edith said quietly, feeling something tighten inside.
“Its not like that! Emma and I just thought… fewer relatives from my side would be simpler.”
“And you let her decide that?”
Alfred said nothing.
“Listen, son,” her voice trembled, “I dont interfere. But mark my wordsif you let her call the shots now, itll only get worse.”
“Mum, I dont want a row…”
“Neither do I.”
Alfred straightened his shirt, picked up his phone.
“I should go. Emmas waiting.”
“Go on, then,” Edith said curtly.
Mrs. Whitaker from next door found her on the steps.
“Edie, love, whats this? Off to the wedding?”
Edith forced a smile. “Was. Emma says I wasnt invited.”
“What rubbish! Its your grandson!”
“Apparently not.”
“Well, Id give her a piece of my mind! Come inside, have some tea. This isnt right.”
“Ta, but Ill head home. Best get used to my new place, eh?”
“Dont take it to heart. Young people these days…”
“And meam I so old?”
“Course not! Just too kind for your own good. Lets folk walk all over you.”
Edith trudged back to her flat, slipped off her shoes, hung up her coat. She set the handkerchiefs on the kitchen table, the marshmallows beside them.
“White ones, too. Wedding colours. For the new bride. With little roses.”
She sat, fingers trembling. Outside, car horns blaredthe wedding party off to the park for photos. Laughter in the air, while her chest felt hollow.
That evening, her cousin Margaret rang.
“Edie, why werent you at the wedding?”
“Wasnt invited.”
“Cant be! Alfie adored youspent every summer at your cottage!”
“Past tense, Margie.”
“So what now?”
“Now Im outdated. Dont fit the picture.”
“Dont cry.”
“Not crying. No point.”
A few days later, Alfred turned up. Lingered in the hallway, still in his coat. A supermarket bouquet in hand.
“Mum, we… went away after. Just got back. I wanted to…”
“What? Tell me how lovely it was? How perfect?”
“Mum…”
“Or maybe offer me a slice of cake I wasnt meant to taste?”
“Emma… she regrets how it happened.”
“Does she? Well, I regret it too. So much I cant bear to look out the window in case I see you twohappy. Wouldnt want to spoil the mood.”
Alfred stood, hands fidgeting.
“Listen,” Edith exhaled. “Youre grown. Live as you like. But my doors always open for you. For her? Not till she apologizes.”
“Mum, she… doesnt know how. Her familys strict, cold. No one says kind things.”
“And you think I was raised in some fairy tale?”
“No. I just want peace.”
“Peace takes two. She doesnt want me.”
Time passed. One morning, Edith bumped into Emma at the bins. Hair hastily tied, flip-flops slapping, rubbish bag in hand.
“Hello,” Emma muttered.
“Hello,” Edith replied, turning to leave. But Emma spoke again:
“I… I overreacted. About the wedding.”
Edith paused. “Go on.”
“Stress, nerves… I thought youd… fuss. Or that guests might judge.”
“So you cut me out?”
“I suppose.”
“What if your mum had come, and Alfie told her she wasnt welcome?”
“My mum wouldnt come uninvited.”
“I did. Because I thought I belonged.”
Emma hesitated. “I dont know how to be… close. In my family, everythings planned, controlled.”
“And what am I to you?”
“Dont know yet.”
“Figure it out. Then well talk.”
A week later, Alfred returned.
“Mum, Emmas pregnant.”
“Good for you.”
“She wants… you involved.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“Mum…”
“Im not a light switch, Alfie.”
He bowed his head.
“But I do love grandchildren,” she said softly. “If she means it, she can come. Alone.”
Emma arrived without gifts, in jeans and a nervous expression.
“I dont know how,” she said at the door. “But Id like to learn.”
“Come in,” Edith nodded. “Just baked a pie.”
They sat at the kitchen table. Tea, small talk. Emma spoke of work, sleepless nights, morning sickness.
“Come by anytime,” Edith said quietly. “Ill help.”
When the baby was born, Emma rang first.
“Would you like to meet your grandson?”
“Of course.”
Edith arrived, wary. But Emma opened the door herself.
“Come in. Were glad youre here.”
The kitchen smelled of milk and flowers. Alfred cradled the baby. On the tablemarshmallows and the embroidered handkerchiefs.
“Found them in a box,” Alfred said. “Lovely work.”
Edith sat, studying the sleeping infant.
“Whats his name?”
“Oliver. But I want him to know his nan. Love her.”
For the first time in ages, Ediths heart felt lighter.
“Right then,” she said. “Tea first. Then Ill show you how to make porridge without lumps. And the handkerchiefs… Ive more put aside.”
Oliver grew, as children do. Tears, laughter, first words. At first, Emma hovered, protective. But exhaustion wore her down, and soon she called oftenfor an hours rest, a shower, a meal.
“Mum, thank you,” Alfred would say, kissing her cheek. “Emma… its hard for her. Youve been a lifeline.”
“Not a hardship,” Edith would reply. “Olivers a treasure.”
Her pies, her soups, her embroidered linens spread through the house. Slowly, Emma softened.
“Your homes so warm,” she admitted once. “Mine was… correct. But cold.”
“A house is like dough,” Edith said. “Needs patience, care. Rushing ruins it.”
“Im trying.”
“I see.”
They werent close, not yet. But Emma no longer flinched when Edith entered a room. And Oliver reached for her without fear, babbling “nan-nan” like a lullaby.
One evening, Alfred arrived unannounced, clutching chocolates and gladioli.
“Mum, your birthday. Emma and Oliver couldnt cometeething.”
“She rang. Said theyll visit tomorrow.”
“Mum… weve been thinking. Why not move in with us?”
Edith blinked. “Did Emma agree?”
“It was her idea.”
She arranged the flowers, silent.
“Youre alone too much. We need you.”
The old flat was drafty, her hands ached. And Oliverand Emma, day by day, warmer. Alfred, steady now.
“Ill think on it.”
They moved her in late summer. Neighbours helped; Emma greeted her at the door.
“Weve given you the back roomquieter. New curtains. Say if
