“Dont you dare dress like that in my house,” hissed Margaret through gritted teeth as the guests began to arrive.
“Emily, have you seen my reading glasses? I think I left them on the coffee table,” Margaret called out, peering into the kitchen where her daughter-in-law was arranging a salad for the evening.
“Check the case by the sofa, Margaret. I tidied the living room earlier and put them there,” Emily replied without looking up, focusing on slicing each cucumber into perfect, even pieces.
Margaret pursed her lips but said nothing. In her mind, no one should touch another persons belongingsno matter how well-intentionedespecially not hers. But with guests due any minute, now wasnt the time for a lecture. Tonight was importantthirty years since shed moved into this grand Victorian home, with its high ceilings and antique furniture passed down from her own mother-in-law. Every corner held memories; every item had its rightful place. Though the house legally belonged to her son William now, Margaret still ruled it like a queen.
Emily had only been part of the family for two yearsa whirlwind romance, a rushed wedding, and suddenly William had brought home this bright, university-educated woman with what Margaret considered far too modern sensibilities.
“The salads nearly done,” Emily said, carefully arranging the dish. “I just need to change before everyone gets here.”
“Youre not planning to wear that red dress, are you?” Margaret remarked casually, smoothing her immaculately styled silver hair.
Emily paused, then met her mother-in-laws gaze calmly. “Actually, yes. William chose it for our anniversary. He loves it.”
“Its hardly appropriate for a family gathering,” Margaret snapped. “Far too… revealing. What about that lovely navy dress I gave you for Christmas? The one with the lace collar?”
Emily exhaled slowly. That navy dressstiff, prim, more suited to a schoolmistress than a grown womanhad been worn exactly once, out of obligation. It had been buried in the wardrobe ever since.
“Margaret, I think at thirty-two, I can decide what to wear,” she replied evenly.
“Of course,” Margaret said with a tight smile. “Just remember, my friends are coming tonight. People from a different generation. They have certain standards.”
Without waiting for a reply, she swept out, leaving Emily simmering in silence.
Upstairs, William was fastening his cufflinks when Emily entered. “All set for the grand reception?” he teased.
“Almost,” she said, pulling the red dress from the wardrobe. “Your mothers already started about my outfit.”
William sighed. “Ignore her. She just worries about appearancesyou know how she is.”
“Appearances for *us*or just for me?” Emily held up the dress. It *was* daringlow-cut with a thigh-high slitbut hardly scandalous.
“Not tonight, love,” William murmured, pulling her into a hug. “This means a lot to her. Thirty years in this houseits her whole life.”
“And *my* life is about self-respect,” Emily said quietly. “Im not a child to be dressed by someone else.”
William hesitated, torn between loyalties. Finally, he sighed. “Wear what you want. Youll be stunning either way.”
Emily kissed his cheek, swallowing her frustration. For him, shed play along.
By six, guests trickled inMargarets oldest friends from her days at the architectural firm, neighbours like sharp-eyed Beatrice, whose tongue was as quick as her witall people whod known Margaret for decades. Emily and William greeted them politely, while Margaret held court in the dining room, arranging hors d’oeuvres and reminiscing about her travels.
When Emily slipped into the kitchen to fetch the main course, Margaret cornered her, pulling a golden-crusted pie from the oven.
“Be a dear and bring the hot dishes,” Margaret said, though her eyes fixed on Emilys neckline. “Everyones raving about your chicken pie.”
Emily nodded, but Margaret didnt move. “Couldnt you have found something… *modest*?” she muttered.
“Weve been over this,” Emily said firmly. “Its a perfectly normal evening dress.”
“Normal for a nightclub, perhaps,” Margaret hissed, slamming the pie down. “Not for *my* table.”
Emily flushed but held her tonguenot here, not now.
Back in the dining room, laughter bubbled as William told a story. Emily set down the dishes, but Margaret cut in: “Emily, fetch more bread, would you? Were running low.”
A liethe basket was full. But Emily obliged. As she turned, she caught Margaret whispering to her friend Patricia:
“Honestly, this generationno sense of decorum.”
Emily froze, fists clenched. Then she returned empty-handed.
“Theres plenty of bread, Margaret,” she said smoothly, taking her seat beside William.
Margarets glare was icy, but she stayed silent. The evening rolled ontoasts, stories, debates about the latest headlines. Emily smiled and played her part, but the tension thickened like storm clouds.
Over dessert, Beatrice leaned in. “Goodness, Margaret, your daughter-in-law is a vision! That red dressstraight out of *Vogue*!”
Margarets smile was brittle. “Emily *does* love her fashion. Though a bit of modesty never hurt anyone.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Beatrice waved a hand. “If I had her figure at her age, Id flaunt it too. Wear what you like, dear!”
Emily smiled gratefullyuntil the kettles whistle summoned her to the kitchen.
Margaret followed, shutting the door with a snap. “How *dare* you humiliate me like this?” she seethed. “That dress is vulgar, and you know it!”
Emily stepped back, stunned. “Its just a dress, Margaret.”
“Dont play innocent!” Margarets voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You did this to spite meto show my rules mean *nothing* to you!”
“Thats not true,” Emily said firmly. “William loves this dress. *Your son* chose it.”
“William doesnt know any better! And youyou twist him around your finger!”
The door swung open. William stood there, face grim. “Whats going on?”
“Nothing, darling,” Margaret said sweetly. “Just discussing… fashion.”
“I heard enough,” William said quietly. “Emily is my wife. And I wont let *anyone* speak to her like thatnot even you.”
“This is *my* house!” Margaret snapped.
“No. Its *ours*. Yours, mine, and Emilys. And we *all* deserve respect here.”
Silence. From the dining room, Beatrices laughter rang out.
Emily spoke first. “I never meant to cause trouble. If Id known this dress would upset you, Id have worn something else.”
Margarets face twistedanger, pride, something else.
“Emilys been slaving all day to make tonight perfect,” William said gently. “She respects you. But you have to respect her tooher choices, her *right* to wear what she likes.”
Margaret looked away. Seconds ticked by. Then, grudgingly: “Perhaps I… overreacted. But in my day”
“Times change, Margaret,” Emily said softly. “But kindness doesnt.”
The kettle shrieked again, a reminder of the guests waiting.
“Lets get back,” William said.
But Margaret stopped Emily. “Wait. I… owe you an apology,” she forced out. “You *do* look beautiful. And Beatrice is rightyouth shouldnt be wasted.”
Emily blinked. In two years, Margaret had *never* admitted fault.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “That means a lot.”
Back at the table, no one seemed to notice their absenceexcept Beatrice, who gave them a knowing look but said nothing.
The night ended warmly. Margaret even asked where Emily bought the dress”for my friend Victoria, shed adore something so chic.”
As guests left, Beatrice lingered. “Fifty years Ive known you, Margaret,” she murmured. “First time Ive seen you apologise.”
Margaret feigned ignorance. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Dont play coy. I saw your faces. You backed down. *Good.* Means theres hope for you yet.”
“Youre insufferable,” Margaret muttered.
“Nojust observant. Emilys a gem. Williams happy. Isnt that what matters?”
When the taxi arrived, Margaret returned to find Emily and William clearing up.
“Leave it,” she said. “Well manage tomorrow. Tonight was… nice. Lets not ruin it with chores.”
They stared.
“But you always say dishes mustnt sit overnight,” William said.
“Rules are made to be broken,” Margaret said, smiling faintly. “Right, Emily?”
“Right,” Emily agreed, sensing a shift between themsomething fragile but real.
William hugged them both, and for a moment, they stood therethree generations, three worlds, one family. Flawed, clashing, but trying.
“You know,” Margaret said suddenly, “I saw a dress just like yours, Emilyonly in blue. Do you think itd suit me?”
And they laughedproperly, freelyfor the first time in years.
