Come on, get moving and make a good impression on the guests, the groom urged as his relatives arrived at the flat, ready to discuss the wedding.
Now, dear, youre officially our favourite daughterinlaw, Eleanor Whitaker said, wrapping her arms around Poppy once more. Just weeks earlier, her son Andrew had proposed, and the couple had announced their upcoming marriage. Andrew already knew Poppys parents, but for Poppy the meeting with her future motherinlaw was a first.
Poppys parents, James and Margaret, had spent their whole lives in London and were comfortably welloff. They had provided their daughter with everything: a flat, a car, an elite education and a respectable job, and they expected her to choose a husband of equal standing.
Andrew seemed, at first glance, a decent match. By twentyfive he already held a prestigious position, earned a solid salary at a large firm, and lived in a respectable London borough. The truth, however, was that his flat was a rental. Poppy persuaded her parents that, since she already had a roof over her head, there was no need for her future husband to take out a mortgage immediately.
Well live in my flat first, then buy something together, Andrew suggested.
Do you understand that anything bought together will be split fiftyfifty? James asked, frowning. He was uneasy that Andrews only dowry seemed to be a large extended family.
Were not planning to divorce, dad! What are you implying? Poppy snapped.
Things happen James muttered.
But not to us! Andrew and I love each other. He earns well enough to contribute to the household, she replied.
It may be decent by some standards, but its still less than yours. Thats not ideal, James retorted.
Poppy earns above the average. Youve set the bar too high, James, Margaret interjected, defending her future daughterinlaw. Let them be. He seems fine, and Poppy loves him.
Let them be, but theyre planning a wedding, James continued. Im glad the boy has serious intentions. Otherwise you know how it goes ten years together, kids, and the registry office never moves.
We know what serious intentions mean especially when it comes to a London flat, Margaret said dryly.
Dad! How can you say that? Mum, tell him! Poppy burst into tears; her fathers doubts cut deep. Feeling rejected, she fled the room.
What kind of man are you, James? Why are you hurting her? Margarets voice rose, but James said nothing more. Later, Margaret convinced James that Poppy could choose her own partner and that Andrew wasnt the worst option. James gave his blessing, and Andrew invited Poppy to meet his family.
Why dont we meet at a restaurant? Your relatives can come to town, the train isnt a problem, he suggested.
My family is huge. Where will they all stay? Poppy asked.
In a hotel, she replied uncertainly.
They cant afford hotels or restaurants; theyre simple folk. I cant house them all, we need to save for the wedding. Lets go to the village where I grew up. Youll have to take the train so you dont sit in traffic.
Alright Poppy thought that they didnt really need to save, since her father could fund a splendid wedding, but she acquiesced.
The thought of meeting strangers made her nervous, yet Andrews assurances steadied her. That weekend James and Margaret saw Poppy off to his relatives. James was displeased but kept his thoughts to himself after a word with Margaret. Margaret also disliked the idea of a long journey, but etiquette demanded the bridetobe attend, so only Poppy travelled.
Poppy, ever courteous, packed a few gifts after learning what Andrews family liked. For her future motherinlaw she bought a pretty tablecloth and a set of towels; for the others, sweets, tea and coffee.
Ready for introductions? Andrew asked.
Honestly, Im a little scared, Poppy admitted.
Theyre simple folk. Dont expect London luxuries, he laughed. No golden toilets here, love.
Theyre not that bad, Andrew replied, grinning.
The village they arrived in was clearly not a polished suburb. Old cottages, a cracked road, a few abandoned gardens overgrown with weeds. Andrews house stood out with a fairly tidy garden and a freshly painted fence, showing signs of constant habitation.
A large doghouse sat by the gate, and a dog barked loudly as the guests approached, startling Poppy.
Out of the way! Andrew commanded, pulling the dog away from his future wife.
Why is he so angry? she asked.
Because the dog guards the house. This isnt London where dogs are pampered, he explained.
Kids! My son! a woman cried, rushing from around the corner to embrace the newcomers.
Poppy, unused to such overt displays, felt out of place. Only after the motherinlaw kissed both Poppy and Andrew did she finally step inside.
Inside, the welcome was no less intense. She was enveloped in hug after hug, introduced to aunts, sisters, uncles with their spouses and children, a granny, distant cousins and even some neighbours. Questions flew like arrows.
How did you get here? Why keep such a beauty away from the family? When will you have children? Where do you live? What do you do? Who are your parents? How did you meet? Where will you live after the wedding?
Poppy could not keep count of the lipstick smears on her cheeks. Realising she was overwhelmed, Andrew gently pulled her aside.
Lets get you a seat, love. Were all a bit fierce at first, he said, leading her away from the throng.
Give us a minute, were exhausted, he whispered to his mother.
Dont worry, theyll calm down, his sister Nina assured.
Where do you know this? Poppy asked, halfjoking.
Just know my family, Andrew replied. Lets change clothes and head to the table. Mums made dumplings especially for you. Praise her cooking, will you?
Okay Poppy murmured.
Seated at the head of the table, Poppy stared at her plate, barely noticing the food. A small crack ran along the edge of the plate, and the cutlery was old. A hole yawned in the tablecloth near her foot.
Crunchy, theyre eating from chipped crockery, she thought.
The relatives peppered her with more questionschildhood, adolescence, favourite dishesthough they never asked for her blood type. Finally, Andrew announced it was time for food.
Eat, dear guests, his mother declared. Ive followed my grandmothers recipe all evening. Do you have any family recipes, Poppy?
No Poppy replied.
Really? No signature dish from your side?
My grandmother died when I was three. My parents employ a housekeeper to cook and clean, she said, feeling the weight of his mothers disapproving gaze.
Ah, city folk, Nina scoffed. Do you cook at all?
Im not a fan of cooking. Im used to eating out or having my parents cook for me, Poppy confessed, feeling a sting of guilt.
Youll have to learn, love. Andrew adores those dumplings, his mother insisted.
Poppy didnt know what to say.
Andrew nudged her plate forward. Give it a try, or well all think youre being rude.
She lifted the spoon cautiously, the broth too hot, the salt overpowering.
How is it? the table asked, eyes fixed on her.
Its delicious, she lied, not wanting to appear impolite. Andrew stroked her hand approvingly, and Poppy managed a weak smile, yearning for the evening to end so she could escape the relentless scrutiny.
Can we leave today? she asked when a lull appeared.
Your mother will be upset, Andrew protested. We promised to stay until tomorrow.
Then well leave at first light. I still have work to finish, she replied.
You work too much, love. Its the weekend, you should rest, he chided.
She fabricated another excuse, claiming a migraine, and Andrew begrudgingly cancelled their joint meals for the day.
Too bad youre leaving so soon. We never got to talk properly, Eleanor sighed.
Well come back again, Poppy promised politely. We have no one else in London besides our son, her future motherinlaw added.
Poppy smiled at the parting, and Andrew asked, How did you find my family?
Lovely people, she replied, keeping her discomfort to herself.
Thanks for being kind to my mum. It means a lot, Andrew said.
Honestly, those dumplings were terribly salty! Poppy blurted, surprised by his disappointment.
So you lied about liking them? he asked, hurt flashing across his face.
You said Id like them even if they werent great, she replied, unable to meet his eyes.
He muttered something about not expecting criticism of a dish made especially for her. The tension lingered.
Andrew tried to smooth things over. Lets pretend this never happened. Poppy nodded, not wanting a fight over something trivial.
But when my relatives arrive, youll have to learn to cook. We cant serve storebought salads, he warned.
What? Theyre coming? Poppy asked, bewildered.
You invited everyone, didnt you? he retorted.
I only invited your mother, she protested.
She wont travel alone; family ties are everything in our village. Its not like in the city where everyone looks out for themselves, he said.
Poppy swallowed his words, hoping the meeting would be delayed; she still had work and other commitments, and the week flew by.
We need to pick a wedding cake. The top bakers schedule is booked six months ahead, but I managed to get a tasting tomorrow, she reminded Andrew when he returned from work.
Cake can wait, not this weekend, he replied.
Why?
Because well have guests.
I wasnt expecting that, Poppy stammered.
We agreed last week. Tomorrow at noon were meeting the relatives at the station. Ask your father for company cars.
Cant they just take a taxi? she asked, reluctant to involve her dad.
Theyre ours, not just mine. And no, taxis would be a waste. Think of the cost to shuttle everyone around.
How many are coming? she pressed.
Im not sure, but three cars should suffice, plus ours.
Where will we put them all? A hotel? she exclaimed.
Theyre not highmaintenance; they could even sleep on the floor.
Poppy called her mother, venting. I have a meeting and a mountain of work, and he still wont tell me how many are coming!
Her mother, Margaret, soothed her. Dont worry. Kira, our housekeeper, will have everything ready and can accommodate some of them here.
Relief washed over Poppy. By the appointed hour, the table was set, the finest tablecloth spread, and everything ready for the arrival.
Is your mum going to leave? Andrew asked as he entered.
No, she wants to meet yours, Poppy replied.
Id rather not introduce them before the wedding, but we have no choice. We need to discuss dowry and traditions, he said.
What traditions?
Caravan, vows, he listed.
Before Poppy could answer, the doorbell rangrelatives had arrived. Warm embraces and loud greetings filled the hallway. The house, though spacious, barely held the crowd; children were set at a separate table.
Shall we toast the happy couple? Eleanor raised her glass, pouring a modest bottle of wine shed snuck in, then whispered, Heres our villages version of champagne!
Only Poppys mother drank the wine; Poppy herself sipped water, feeling out of place in her own home.
Look at these delicacies, a guest remarked, holding a slice of duck pâté. Is that all you serve? What about a hot dish?
Andrew leaned toward Poppy. Come on, help the guests. It looks bad if you just sit while Kira does everything. Mums worked hard, and youre just a spectator.
Poppy, trembling, dropped a plate. Eleanor shook her head disapprovingly.
We were supposed to discuss the wedding, Andrew reminded, trying to steer the conversation.
Yes, the village tradition is that if were marrying, the whole hamlet celebrates for two days. Well host the second day here.
Do we need a café? Margaret asked.
Well set tables outdoors, thatll be fine, Andrew replied.
Catering? Eleanor suggested.
Were simple folk, not London. Well make jellied jam, dumplings, and a stew for the wedding?
Jelly for a wedding? Poppy gasped. She loathed jelly and could not imagine it at her own ceremony, let alone alongside dumplings. She dreamed of a sleek city venue, not a field of wooden benches.
The bride must help prepare the feast. Youll need to arrive a day early and help. The more we feed, the richer our lives, Nina added.
We plan to travel after the wedding, Poppy said, turning to Andrew. Well leave as soon as the second day ends. We must honour centuriesold customs; a oneday wedding isnt a celebration.
Will you help with the secondday preparations? What about the first day? Margaret asked.
Well need to know how many guests youre bringing, Andrew replied.
About one hundred and fifty, give or take, he guessed.
All close relatives? Margaret probed.
In the village we dont separate close and distant; everyone is family, Andrew said.
So well split the bill proportionally. Ten percent from us, ninety from you? Eleanor suggested.
We can cover fifteen percent, depending on the total, he said, but we wont pay for luxuries; well bring our own contributions.
Proportionally, you mean? Eleanor clarified. If ninety percent of guests are ours, we pay ninety percent of the cost.
Its simple arithmetic, love, James muttered, his expression souring.
Earn on us? Eleanor snapped.
Their gifts will be larger than ours, ninety percent of the total, James said.
How do you calculate that? Eleanor asked.
We expect ten guests from us and ninety from you. Even a hedgehog could see that, James retorted.
Our guests are welloff, Andrew defended.
Were not poor either! James shot back.
Poppy felt the floor give way beneath her. She was mortified by her parents argument, while Andrew alternated between nodding at his mother and casting glances at her. Finally, he whispered harshly into her ear, Calm your mother, Poppy. A wedding is a partnership; we must compromise.
Kira, could you bring the cake? Im feeling faint, the housekeeper offered, rescuing Poppy from a nearcollapse. We were supposed to taste a wedding cake today, but the patissier sent samples instead.
The cake will be expensive? Andrews sister asked.
Its a specialty, worth the price, but a friend is gifting it, so dont worry, Eleanor replied.
Its a ripoff, Andrews other sister muttered, three thousand pounds for a cake? Our village baker, Sonya, does it cheap and tasty. No fancy ingredients.
Agreed! It tastes like sand, not chocolate, his mother added. This isnt London!
Thank you for the dinner, Margaret said, signalling it was time to clear up. Can we have more tea?
Put the tea in disposable cups and the cake in containers. The train leaves soon, and the guests will need to catch the tube, Kira whispered.
Eleanor tried to protest, but Poppy ignored the dispute. She realised her mother was right.
When the guests finally left, Andrew began a tirade. Fortunately, Poppys mother intervened.
Sir, if you love your family so much, you can catch the train with them. Our family doesnt operate like yours. We cant have you dictating terms as if you own the place, Margaret said firmly.
Andrew fell silent, his mouth tightened. From then on, the wedding was postponed. Poppy decided to stay in the rented flat longer, needing to see whether Andrew, who now seemed less appealing each day, was truly the right man.
Soon after, she met Max, who instantly won over James and Margaret. Their ideas about marriage and future life aligned perfectly with Poppys own.
