“Emma, aren’t those extra pounds a bit of a problem?”Dylan’s mother wouldn’t let it go. “In my opinion, I dont have anyespecially since my future husband likes me just as I am. Not everyone has to be a twig.” Emma gave Eleanor and Dylans mother a pointed once-over. The sheer cheek of it made Eleanor flush.
“Mum! Did you buy the slimming tea? The chia seeds? Whyd you put so much butter in my porridgeits just empty calories! Dylan, you bought yeast bread again? Its terrible for you! Three glasses of water in the morning, or the weight wont budgewheres my water?!” These were the sorts of things Dylan had heard since childhood.
His mother and elder sister were perpetually obsessed with their figures. Eleanor was thirty-eight now, never married, and reminded Dylan of a gaunt, hollow-eyed mare. His mother? More like a rigid knitting needle.
It wore him down so much that he was always drawn to cheerful, hearty people. He dreamed of a wife nothing like his mother or sister. And he found her.
Her name was Emma. Soft, pleasant, deliciouslike warm shortbread. No, Emma wasnt overweight. But at five foot eight, she carried a lush, radiant 180 poundsevery ounce of it glowing with health and joy. High breasts, a narrow waist, curves in all the right places, and dimples in her plush cheeks just begging to be pinched. Dylan was smitten the moment he saw her.
One evening, he dropped Eleanor at the bank on an errand. She took a ticket and sat, while he wandered the lobby, waiting.
Thensilvery laughter, light as a bell. Infectious enough that Dylan smiled without thinking. He followed the sound to a teller, a girl serving an elderly customer. Whatever hed said, she laughed again, and Dylan couldnt look away.
Her wavy hair, her bow-shaped lips. And yes, she was unapologetically curvyimpossible to miss.
In the car later, Eleanor droned on, but Dylans mind was back in the bank with that girl.
“Dylan, are you even listening?” Eleanor snapped.
“Of course,” he lied, scrambling to recall her gripe.
“And then I told him I only eat boiled chicken breast, never friedugh, men!” Dylan nodded sympathetically, clicking his tongue. What a cad, indeed.
The next evening, he raced back to the bank. She was there. Relief. At closing, he grabbed a bouquet of roses and approached.
“Miss. Would you happen to need a husband? Or a son-in-law for your mum?” he blurted, thrusting the flowers at her.
His face mustve been a picture, because she laughedbut took the roses.
“God, theyre gorgeous! The smell!” She buried her face in them, inhaling deeply, while he just stared, enchanted.
From then on, they were inseparable. Sometimes you meet someone and just *know*. That was Dylan and Emma. He proposed a month in; she said yes. Then came meeting the parents.
Emmas family welcomed him with a feast, laughter, and chaos. Her mother, a statuesque beauty, kissed both his cheeks, flustering him utterly. Her father clapped him on the shoulder like an old mate and steered him to the kitchen.
“Best stay clear of the womentheyll talk your ear off. But dont worry, Margarets harmless. Thats why Ive loved her thirty years. And Emma? Shes a gem. Look after her, lad.”
They ate heartily, told stories, sang along to her fathers guitar. Dylan felt like hed known them forever.
Three days later, they visited Dylans family. Emma bought handmade éclairs for the women. At five sharp, they arrived.
Dylans mother, Caroline, opened the door.
“Oh! Hello, loves” She froze, gaping at Emma.
“Mum, love you too. Can we come in?” Dylan nudged her inside.
“Of course, of course! You must be Emma?” Caroline recovered, eyeing Emma head to toe.
“I am! So pleased to meet you.” Emma offered her hand, breezing past while Caroline stood stunned.
“Dad, Eleanor, Mumthis is Emma, my fiancée. Weve set a date. Emma, meet my family: Eleanor, Caroline, and Dad, Nigel.”
The room went quiet. Silverware clinked awkwardly.
“Right! Emma, welcome. Is that wine? Perfect. And treatsthough those are for you girls, of course,” Nigel said, forcing cheer.
“Oh, we *dont* eat sweets. Especially at night,” Caroline said, pushing the box away.
“*We* do. Lets see whats in here. Emmas got taste,” Nigel boomed.
They settled. Chocolate, snacks, and sparkling wine appeared. Glasses clinked. Silence fell again.
“Mum, I met Emmas parents. Lovely peopleyoull like them,” Dylan offered. Emma studied her glass; Eleanor stared at her. Nigel told a joke. Tension easedbriefly.
“Emma, darling, dont worryI know an excellent specialist. Shell help with your… issue,” Caroline said suddenly.
“Issue?” Emma blinked.
“Wellthose extra pounds, dear. Surely thats a problem?”
“Not to me. Or my future husband. Not everyones meant to be a waif.” Emma smirked at Eleanor and Caroline. Eleanor stiffened.
“Youre twenty pounds overweight! Its unhealthy. And when you have childrengoodness, I cant imagine”
“When I do, Ill be even lovelier, with a husband and baby. Speaking ofEleanor, are *you* married? A slim beauty like you must have a dashing bloke and at least two children by now.” Emma took a smug bite of éclair.
Eleanor gulped, furious, but Nigel cut in, refilling glasses.
“To the women of this familydifferent, but dearly loved!”
They left two hours later. Exhaled in unison. Then burst out laughing.
“Well. Didnt expect *that* from my future mother-in-law.”
“Emma, youre gorgeous, and you know it. Mum and Eleanor? Forgive them. Cant choose family.”
The wedding was set for August 25th. At the registry office, then the reception, Emma glittered in a gown that hugged every curve. Dylan couldnt take his eyes off her. Her mother, Margaretjust as radiantdrew half the rooms attention, a stark contrast to Caroline, pinched into a stiff dress. Eleanor was her mothers double, only younger.
The first dance began. They swayed, lost in each other. The room held its breath.
“Honestly, the bride could stand to lose a few. That dress isnt doing her any favors,” Caroline muttered.
Too late. The words were out.
“Funnymost men dont fancy skeletons. Your son included. Watch your tongue, *Mother-in-law*. Im easygoinguntil someone insults my daughter.” Margaret advanced, her formidable bust herding Caroline against a wall.
The women locked eyesCaroline frightened, Margaret furious. Nigel swooped in.
“Ladies! Getting along splendidly, I see. But I must steal my wife. Margaret, dance with me. The kids had theirsnow its our turn.”
They waltzed off. Music swelled. Laughter returned.
Heres hoping the couple lives long, loves deep, and thrives.
Thats what matters, isnt it?
