“You’re not family,” said the daughter-in-law when I brought flowers on the day they submitted their application.
“Margaret Elizabeth, you left work early today,” remarked Mrs. Jenkins from upstairs, surprised to see Margaret at the doorstep. “Feeling poorly?”
“No, Mrs. Jenkins, Im quite well. Just had urgent matters to attend to,” Margaret replied, adjusting her handbag on her shoulder.
“Good to hear. At our age, anything can happen. My blood pressure shot up yesterdaythought Id have to call an ambulance.”
Margaret nodded absently, barely listening to her neighbours complaints. One thought consumed hershe had to reach the town centre in time. Her son, Oliver, hadnt given her an exact time, but she knew young couples usually handled these things early in the morning.
The bus crawled through traffic, and Margaret checked her watch repeatedly, rifling through her bagpassport, payslips, proof of addresseverything they might need if the young couple wanted to sort out the paperwork straight away.
She imagined Olivers delight at seeing her, how Emily might blush and thank her for caring. How could they go through such an important day without their parents?
The registry office stood in an old stone building at the heart of the city. Margaret climbed the steps, her nerves as frayed as they had been forty years ago when shed married her late husband. Back then, her own parents had stood beside her.
The lobby bustled with activitycouples clutching documents, young parents registering newborns. Margaret scanned the room but saw no sign of Oliver.
“Excuse me,” she asked a receptionist, “where do we submit marriage notices?”
“Second floor, room two-oh-seven,” the woman replied without looking up.
The corridor upstairs stretched long and dim, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Margaret found the door ajar and peeked inside.
“Mum, what are you doing here?” Oliver asked, startled.
He sat across from a stern-faced registrar, Emily beside him in a pretty blue dress. Their passports lay open on the desk.
“Oliver, darling!” Margaret beamed, stepping inside. “I couldnt miss such an important day. I wanted to support you both.”
Emily shot Oliver a glance before fixing Margaret with a cool stare.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said flatly.
“Emily, love, congratulations!” Margaret moved to embrace her, but Emily stiffened.
“Excuse me,” the registrar cut in, “but were in the middle of processing. If youd like to stay, take a seat by the wall.”
Margaret sat and retrieved a small bouquet from her bag.
“Emily, these are for you. I know you like chrysanthemums.”
Emily took the flowers without expression.
“Thanks.”
“Right, lets continue,” said the registrar. “Preferred wedding date?”
“October fifteenth,” Oliver answered.
“Eleven a.m. is available. Does that suit?”
The couple nodded.
“Oliver, wouldnt a Saturday be better?” Margaret interjected. “Weekdays are difficult for family.”
“Mum, weve already decided,” Oliver said tersely.
“Of course, of course. Youre adultsyou know best.”
Emilys irritation was plain. Margaret pretended not to notice. The girl must just be nervous.
“Will you have witnesses?” asked the registrar.
“Yes, my brother and her best friend,” Emily said.
“Perhaps the parents could sign too?” Margaret suggested. “For traditions sake.”
“Mum, only two witnesses are allowed by law,” Oliver explained patiently.
“Oh, of course. Im just so excited for you.”
The paperwork took another half-hour. Margaret watched them fondly, touched by their solemn faces. When everything was signed, she stood first.
“Well then, lets celebrate!” she announced. “Ive booked us a table at that lovely café on High Streettheir cakes are divine.”
Oliver and Emily exchanged a look.
“Mum, we werent planning on celebrating today,” Oliver said carefully.
“Not celebrating? This is a milestone! It calls for a proper toast.”
“Margaret,” Emily cut in, her voice icy, “we were planning to spend the day alone.”
“Of course, of course. What about this evening? Ive already bought ingredients for Olivers favourite shepherds pie.”
“Mum, we have plans tonight,” Oliver said firmly.
Something sharp twisted in Margarets chest. Shed prepared so carefully, dreamed of sharing their joy.
“But Im your mother,” she said weakly. “How can you do this without me?”
“Were adults, Mum. Well manage.”
They left the registry office together. The sun shone brightly over the square, young couples laughing by the fountain. Margaret walked beside them, feeling like an intruder.
“Oliver, could we at least take a photo?” she asked. “Ive got my phone.”
“Mum, well take loads later.”
“Just one, for memorys sake?”
With a sigh, Oliver relented. Margaret fumbled with her camera.
“Stand closer. Emily, darling, smile!”
Emilys smile was stiff. Margaret snapped a few shots.
“Lovely! Ill frame these straight away.”
“Mum, we need to go,” Oliver said, checking his watch.
“Where are you off to? Shall I walk with you?”
“We want to be alone,” Emily said sharply.
Margaret flinched but said nothing. She hugged Oliver and reached for Emily, who stepped back.
“Goodbye,” Emily said curtly.
“Mum, Ill call you tomorrow,” Oliver promised.
Margaret watched them leave, then trudged to the bus stop, her spirits sinking. Shed imagined them laughing together over tea, planning the wedding. Instead, theyd barely tolerated her.
On the bus, she scrolled through the photos. Oliver looked happy. Emily, even in pictures, seemed tense.
At home, Margaret cooked the shepherds pie, though she knew shed eat alone. Her hands moved automaticallychopping onions, browning mince, layering potatoes. But her mind kept circling back to the registry office.
Why had Emily been so cold? Theyd known each other for months. Emily had always been pleasant beforethough shed never visited. Margaret had assumed she was shy.
The phone rang as she plated the food.
“Margaret, hello!” chirruped Mrs. Jenkins. “How did it go? All sorted?”
“Yes, theyve submitted the notice.”
“Lovely! And did they invite you to celebrate?”
“No,” Margaret said quietly. “They wanted time alone.”
“How odd. In my day, parents were always included.”
“They say theyre grown-ups now.”
“Grown-ups or not, a mother is a mother. You raised that boy single-handed after your husband passed. And this is the thanks you get?”
Margaret sighed. Mrs. Jenkins wasnt wrong, but what could she do?
“Talk later, dear. My dinners getting cold.”
She hung up and sat at the table. The pie was perfect, but her appetite had vanished. The flat felt hollow. She turned on the telly, but the noise couldnt distract her.
Her friend Linda called that evening.
“Well? Did they file the notice?”
“Yes,” Margaret said shortly.
“Why so glum? You should be over the moon!”
“I am. Just tired.”
“Out with it, then. Dont leave me hanging.”
Margaret recounted the day, her disappointment raw.
“That little madam!” Linda fumed. “Who does she think she is? A grooms mother is sacred!”
“Linda, dont be unkind. Maybe she was just nervous.”
“Nervous, my foot! Shes marking her territory. Showing you whos in charge now.”
“Dont say such things”
“Why not? Olivers always been soft. Shes got him wrapped around her finger. Probably planning how to cut you out already.”
Margaret fell silent. The thought had crossed her mind, though she hated to admit it.
“Listen,” Linda said, “dont fret. Let them figure things out. The first real row they have, theyll come running back.”
“And if they dont?”
“They will. These independent types crumble fast when reality hits.”
Lindas pep talk helped a little, but Margaret still felt betrayed. The phone rang again the next morningOliver.
“Hi, Mum. How are you?”
“Fine, love. And you?”
“Good. Listen, I wanted to talk.”
His tone put her on edge.
“Go on.”
“Emily was upset yesterday. She felt you werent very welcoming.”
“Not welcoming? I brought flowers! I wanted to celebrate!”
“Yeah, but… She said you looked at her like you didnt approve.”
Margaret was stunned.
“Oliver, am I not allowed to care about my own son?”
“Of course you are. But Emily thinks youre overbearing.”
“Overbearing?” Her voice cracked. “I just wanted to share your happiness!”
“Mum, were adults. We dont need chaperones.”
“So Im unwanted now? After everything I
