I was folding the fresh kitchen towels – the new ones with a tiny daisy print – when my phone buzzed. Four missed calls from Kate, a mate from the office. I thought, probably nothing urgent, and went back to the cupboard, but it buzzed again.
“Emily, why aren’t you picking up?” Kate was already babbling. “Did you hear Margaret’s birthday is this Saturday?”
I froze, towel clutched in my hand.
“What birthday?”
“She’s turning seventy‑five. Sarah rang me, she’s coming with Dave. Margaret sent out invites to everyone two weeks ago.”
The towel slipped. Thirty‑two years married to James, and I’ve never missed a family gig. Yet here’s Margaret’s big day and I’m not on the list.
“Maybe they just forgot?” I whispered, though I didn’t really believe it.
“Forgot? Sarah says the guest list is twenty people – James’s brothers with their wives, even the neighbour from flat five.”
I plonked down on a stool. Memories flooded: looking after my mother‑in‑law after her gallbladder operation, giving up my holiday days so she could get new dentures, watching her grandkids when everyone else was out.
“I’ll tell you why,” Kate went on, “it’s all because of that cake at New Year’s. Remember you bought the wrong one?”
“Kate, the cake has nothing to do with it. She’s always treated me like an outsider.”
The front door slammed – James had come in, shaking the rain from his hair like a kid. I said a quick goodbye to Kate.
James shook off the water, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Thirty‑two years together, and I still felt like the odd one out.
“James, is your mum having a birthday this Saturday?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
He froze by the fridge, not turning.
“Yeah, something’s planned.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
James opened the fridge and stared at the leftovers as if for the first time.
“Mom doesn’t want a big do. Just the closest family.”
“Closest family,” I repeated, echoing him. “And I’m not part of that?”
“Emily, why bring this up now? You know Mum – she’s got her quirks.”
“Quirks?” I felt a surge. “I’ve put up with her quirks for thirty‑two years! Those aren’t quirks, James, that’s… that’s…”
I waved my hand, unable to find the right word.
“I helped her after the surgery while you were on a work trip. I gave up my holiday so she could get dentures. I looked after the grandkids when Irma was away. Thirty‑two years of trying to be a good daughter‑in‑law. And this is how it ends?”
James rubbed his bridge of the nose.
“Emily, do we really need to keep tallying every little thing? Who owes who?”
“I’m not keeping a score!” My voice trembled. “I just want to feel part of the family. Is that too much?”
He let out a deep sigh and sat down.
“You’re blowing this out of proportion. Mum just wants a quiet celebration.”
“Quiet? For twenty people? Even the neighbour from flat five is invited!”
“How does that…?”
“Does it matter how?” I grabbed a towel and started wiping the already dry countertop. “Thirty‑two years, James! What did I do wrong? Tell me!”
James reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
“Emily, you know Mum still thinks you stole her son away.”
“Stole him?” I laughed bitterly. “You were twenty‑five when we met, not five!”
I remembered the first time I walked into Margaret’s house, trying to impress her with a pie from my grandma’s recipe. She just pursed her lips and said, “We don’t bake like that in this family.”
“All my life,” I went on, “I’ve tried to please her. And what does she do? She told everyone I was raising Daniel wrong, she told my parents I couldn’t cook, and you just stood by, neutral as ever!”
“So what do you want me to do?” James’s tone grew irritated. “Should I argue with my mum over a party?”
“Not the party!” I snapped. “The way she treats me! She’s never considered me part of the family for thirty‑two years, and you let it slide!”
I turned to the window. The rain was drizzling, grey and dreary, just like my mood.
“Emily, stop making a drama out of it,” James said, awkwardly putting his arms around my shoulders. “Do you want me to talk to her? Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” I slipped out of his embrace. “No, it would have been a misunderstanding if this was the first time. Now it feels like a slap in the gut.”
The next few days I moved through a fog. At work I forced a smile, at home I kept quiet. James tried to smooth things over, but every argument only made the sting sharper.
“You have no idea how mad she was last year about that cake,” he said one Thursday night over dinner. “Mum thinks you did it on purpose.”
“On purpose?” I set my fork down. “I went to three bakeries to find a gluten‑free cake because she’s allergic!”
“But you know she only likes meringue, and you got the one with cream.”
“Because they were out of meringues!” Tears welled up. “Do you really think I spent half a day hunting for a cake just to get it wrong?”
He fell silent, and that silence said more than any words.
Friday evening I knocked on Daniel’s room. He was sprawled on the couch, glued to his phone.
“Daniel, Grandma’s birthday is coming up.”
“Yeah,” he replied without looking up. “Dad told me.”
“And you’re… going?”
He finally glanced at me.
“Grandma asked. What, I’m not going to wish her happy birthday?”
I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. Even my son didn’t see the injustice.
“Of course,” I said quietly. “Of course, I’ll wish her.”
Saturday arrived and the house was empty. James and Daniel left early with gifts and flowers. I was left alone, drifting from room to room. In every photo Margaret stood a little apart.
I ran my finger along a frame. It was a family picture from five years ago – Daniel’s wedding. I was in a blue dress, James in a sharp suit, the newlyweds beaming. Margaret looked as if she’d been forced to drink vinegar.
“Even on a day like this,” I whispered to the photo. “Even at my grandson’s wedding.”
I recalled how my mother‑in‑law had pulled James aside, loud enough for everyone to hear, and said, “At least my grandson married a decent girl, unlike some.” James stayed silent, as always.
That evening James and Daniel came back, a little tipsy, smelling of the expensive perfume Margaret always wore.
“How was it?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“Great!” James flopped into a chair. “Mum was thrilled. You should have seen her light up when we…”
He stopped, noticing the look on my face.
“Sorry, Emily. I didn’t think.”
Daniel shuffled awkwardly in the hallway.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” he muttered, disappearing.
“Say hi to Mum for me,” James added after a pause.
“Hi?” My insides clenched. “She remembered I exist?”
“Emily, come on…”
“No, you come on!” I couldn’t hold back. “Stop pretending everything’s fine. Your mother humiliated me again! And you just stand by?”
“I do care,” James said, standing. “I just don’t want to be stuck in the middle.”
“What are we both?” I cut in. “Finish your sentence! What are we both?”
He rubbed his temples. “You’re both too emotional. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Ah, I see,” I gave a bitter smile. “So my pain is just ‘making a mountain out of a molehill’?”
I turned and slammed the bedroom door.
Ten days passed. James and I spoke coldly, business
