The mother-in-law sent her daughter-in-law to pick mushrooms in a deserted fir forest, but she did not return alone.
“You do understand this isnt even up for discussion, right?” The woman in a cotton dressing gown, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, breezed past her husband as if they were debating where to order takeaway.
The man barely glanced up from his laptop. To anyone else, he might have appeared engrossed, but those who knew him well wouldve recognised it for what it wasavoidance.
“What exactly *isnt* up for discussion?” Edward removed his glasses, his expression sharpening. Without them, his face took on a sterner cast, as though he were deciphering hidden meaning in her casual tone.
“Youll pay for Emilys wedding,” Charlotte announced, her voice bright as if she were delivering good news.
“Excuse me?” Edward leaned back in his chair with an incredulous chuckle.
“Yes. The entire thing, start to finish.” She unwrapped the towel, idly fluffing her hair.
“I must have missed the family meeting where that was decided. When did I become solely responsible for funding this?”
The living room, painted in muted sage, seemed to hold its breath. It was a practical spaceneat, uncluttered, the kind of home described in magazines as “effortlessly lived-in.” A bookshelf displayed framed photos, their wedding picture prominent among them. Edward had always likened that day to laying the first brick of a housesolid, hopeful, but with no guarantee how many more would follow.
“Its tradition,” Charlotte said smoothly, as if reciting an age-old rule.
“Whose? Ours?” He peered at her over his glasses. “We live in London, in this flat, and Ive *never* heard of this so-called family regulation.”
His wife radiated certainty, every gesture precise, her voice unshaken. She spoke as though every counterargument had already been dismantled in her mind.
“Youre the man, the head of the household. Its your duty to help.” She said it plainly, as if explaining the obvious to a child.
“Fine. Ill contribute. Two thousand poundsa perfectly reasonable amount.”
Charlottes eyebrows shot up as if hed suggested serving crisps at a banquet.
“Edward, listen to yourself! Two thousand? You might as well send a congratulatory email!”
“Lets be clear. Is this about budget, or some abstract notion of fairness? Five thousand was already stretching it, and youre asking for forty. *Forty thousand?* Are you serious?”
His voice rose before he reined it in. Edward had presence, but his temper was a frayed wire. *Keep it together*, he reminded himself.
“In our family,” Charlotte continued, sweetly patient, “we help each other. Mum helped Aunt Margaret, Dad paid for half of Uncle James car Its what we *do.*”
“Ive heard the stories. But where does affordability fit into this grand scheme? Money isnt a fantasyits real. Were not in wartime rationing, but forty grand for a wedding? Honestly?”
Charlotte sat abruptly on the sofa, her hands smoothing her dressing gown. Her gaze didnt waver.
“This is about principle, isnt it? You just dont care about my family.”
“Thats not it!” Edward exhaled sharply. “Im thrilled for Emily. Let her get marriedIll even give a speech. Rhyming couplets, if she likes. But dont turn me into a walking chequebook!”
Silence thickened between them. Edward stood, pacing like a caged animal.
“Right. Two thousand. Thats my final offer.”
“Darling,” Charlotte said coolly, “Emily wont forget this. And neither will I.”
—
Several days later.
Margaret settled into her armchair by the bay window, the last amber light of evening warming the room. To Edward, her home had always been a sanctuaryfilled with the scent of baking and lavender, a place where even the heaviest troubles seemed lighter. After the row with Charlotte, it felt more vital than ever.
“Mum, you wont believe it,” he began, feigning nonchalance. “She expects me to pay for her sisters entire wedding. As if Ive just won the lottery.”
His mother stirred her tea thoughtfully.
“Really? Did she mean it, or was it just a figure of speech? A gift, perhaps? Its only natural to want to do something nice for the couple.”
Margaret had mellowed with age. Where once she might have bristled, now her voice was calm, almost detached.
“No, Mum. She said it outright: Pay for the wedding. As if its my lifes purpose.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of a trayhis sister, Lydia, bringing in fresh scones.
“Ed, stop winding yourself up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe she was joking? You know how women exaggerate. You took it too seriously.”
“A joke?” He turned to her. “There wasnt a hint of humour in her tone.”
But then he paused, replaying the conversation. It had all seemed so logical at the time. Now, doubt crept in.
“Wait,” he muttered. “What if it *was* a joke?”
Lydia grinned, seeing the shift in his expression.
“Honestly, Ed, forty grand for someone elses wedding? Come on. Yours at least involved youthis is her sister. Its a wind-up. Besides, you know how Charlotte loves teasing you.”
Edward bit his lip, picturing it: Charlotte in her dressing gown, suppressing laughter as she delivered the line with deadpan seriousness. Him, ever the pragmatist, taking it at face value.
“Christ,” he admitted, exhaling. “If youre right, Lyd, Ive made a proper fool of myself.”
“Dont fret,” she said, handing him a scone. “When you find out, youll laugh about it together. Just dont go picking fights over nothing.”
Margaret smiled faintly, still stirring her tea. She shook her head, as if marvelling at how her earnest, literal son had ended up with a woman who treated life like a game of poker.
“Right,” Edward muttered, slumping back. “Ill have to revisit it. If she *was* joking, Ill apologise. But bloody hell, shes good at winding me up.”
For the first time in days, he laugheda real, unguarded sound. The weight lifted. If hed misread her, at least itd make a good story later.
—
Several days later.
Edward had just changed out of his work clothes and collapsed onto the sofa when the doorbell rang. His stomach dropped. Margarets sudden appearanceimpeccably dressed, her voice polishedmeant one thing: an ambush.
“Edward, dear,” she began, her tone sugar-coated steel, “you know Emilys getting married soon?”
“Yes,” he said warily, bracing himself.
“Good.” She fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. “In our family, we support each other in times like these. Now that youre part of us, that applies to you too. Its your duty.”
Her words were a velvet-gloved fist.
“Of course Ill help,” he said carefully. “Charlotte mentioned it. I can contribute three thousand. More than fair.”
Margarets lips thinned.
“Edward, dont be absurd. Youll cover the full cost. A wedding is a significant event. Emilys young, and they cant afford it. You *can*.”
His smile vanished.
“Pay for the *whole* thing? Are you serious? Why *me*? What about the grooms family?”
“Because youre family now,” she said, as if explaining to a slow child. “If you want respect, you must give it.”
“Right.” He leaned forward. “And the groom? Whats *his* contribution? His familys? Or is it just convenient to dump it all on me?”
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, but she recovered swiftly.
“The grooms between jobs. His parents arent well-off. Were counting on you, Edward.”
He exhaled sharply, irritation simmering.
“So I paid for my wedding, and now Im financing Emilys too? Thats rich. Thirty-five hundred. My final offer.”
Charlotte, hovering in the doorway, chimed in:
“Ed, its *family*. Isnt that what matters?”
“I *am* being familyby not bankrupting us for someone elses party. If Emily wants a wedding, let the groom step up. Thirty-five hundred. Take it or leave it.”
Margaret stood abruptly, her disappointment palpable.
“Very well. Just remember, Edward: this isnt how family behaves. I thought better of you.”
She swept out, pausing only to whisper to Charlotte before slamming the door. Charlotte shot him a glare and retreated to the bedroom.
