The Perfect Family
“Oh, I’m scared,” Alice stopped in front of the building.
“Of what? My parents?” George asked, taking his girlfriend’s hand.
“That they won’t like me,” Alice admitted, guilt and fear flashing in her eyes.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see—it’ll be fine. I love you. And I’m the one marrying you, not my parents. Come on.” George tugged her toward the entrance.
“Mum’s name is Vivian Henrietta. Got it?” he instructed.
Alice repeated it slowly.
“I’ll forget or mix it up, I just know I will,” she confessed.
“And Dad’s—”
“Edward James,” Alice blurted out. “At least your father’s name is simple. Where did your mum get that middle name? Was your grandfather French or something?”
“Why would you think that?”
They stepped into the lift, and George pressed the button.
“Her father named her after his wife. Said she was a radiant woman—an actress. Pity I never met her, she died young. There was some distant English heritage, too.”
The lift chimed, and the doors slid open. They stepped inside.
“Don’t fret. I’m right here,” George murmured, pulling her close.
The door was answered by a petite woman with a sharp bob. Alice thought she looked too young to be George’s mother. She smiled warmly, ushering them in.
She wore flowing beige silk trousers and a crisp white blouse. Under the hall light, Alice caught the faint lines on her face—just enough to betray her age.
“Hello,” Alice said, glancing at George for guidance. He stayed silent, leaving her to fend for herself. Afraid of slipping up, she avoided using Vivian’s name and ducked her head.
“Come in, Alice. Don’t be nervous. Nobody gets my name right the first time,” Vivian said knowingly. Alice gave a grateful smile.
“No need to take off your shoes. Just come through. Ned! Where are you?” Vivian called to her husband.
Soon, a broad-shouldered man strode into the room. He reminded Alice of Cary Grant—though not in looks exactly, but in presence. Beside him, Vivian looked like a delicate girl. *What must he have been like in his youth?* Alice wondered.
“Edward James,” the man introduced himself, offering his hand.
Alice placed hers in his large palm. His grip was brief, warm, and firm.
“To the table, before everything gets cold,” Vivian commanded.
“George, look after Alice,” Edward said, pouring wine from an already-open bottle.
Vivian questioned Alice gently, skimming over details, then filling the gaps with stories of their family. Whether it was the wine or the easy rhythm of the meal, Alice felt the tension melt away.
“Tell your parents not to worry. We’ll handle the wedding,” Vivian said finally, offering a kind smile.
George’s family seemed perfect to Alice. Hers was nothing like it. Her mother fussed over feeding everyone, while her father drank too much, topping up his glass without waiting. Once tipsy, he’d ramble, dispensing unsolicited advice, deaf to whether anyone listened. He’d snap at her mother, humiliating her in front of guests when she tried to rein him in.
Alice had always been ashamed of him. Part of her didn’t even want to invite her parents to the wedding—but they’d take offense. If only her family were like George’s. Why had she agreed to marry him? They were from different worlds… Lost in thought, she missed George’s words.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I said they like you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I wish we could be like them—you can tell they love each other. And you. But mine… God, imagine them at the wedding.”
“Don’t stress. They’ll behave. We have rows too—just quieter, less often. Speaking of, have you picked a dress? I want you to be the most beautiful bride.” George stopped to kiss her.
Alice didn’t want to go wedding-dress shopping alone, and George couldn’t see it beforehand. Her mother was out—too practical, always pinching pennies. No, she wouldn’t ask her. That left only her friend Maisie.
Back home, Alice called her immediately.
Maisie squealed into the phone, launching into her own life updates before pausing to ask, “Why’d you call, anyway?”
“I need help picking a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Brilliant! Congrats! Of course I’ll go!” Maisie babbled about some mutual friend’s wedding, but Alice tuned out.
“So, will you?” she cut in.
“Duh! When?”
They arranged to meet the next day at a café near the bridal shop.
*God, Maisie’s exhausting*, Alice sighed after hanging up. But she had no one else.
At the café, Alice arrived early. A waiter slid a menu toward her.
“Later, please. I’m waiting for someone.”
He nodded and vanished. Maisie, as always, was late. Alice scanned the room—then froze. Edward James sat a few tables away, oblivious to her, his eyes locked on a blonde across from him. She giggled, twirling her hair.
Alice looked away. *Where is Maisie? I’ll leave soon*. But her gaze kept drifting back. Edward held the blonde’s hands, speaking intently. That wasn’t just a casual chat.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
A date? A mistress? Did George know? Did Vivian? Alice debated leaving before Edward spotted her—this felt like spying. He wouldn’t appreciate that.
But she stayed rooted, afraid to move. So much for the perfect family. Then again, with a man like that, who wouldn’t fall for him?
“Al! Over here!” Maisie’s voice cut through the café as she weaved between tables, fiery-haired and impossible to miss. She plopped down with a dramatic exhale.
“Sorry! Traffic nightmare. Then I nearly twisted my ankle outside—these heels!”
Edward could’ve noticed Maisie—and by extension, Alice. But she refused to check.
“Maisie, lower your voice. Everyone’s staring,” Alice hissed.
“Let them!” Maisie shrugged, scanning the room.
“Listen, I need to go. Let’s reschedule the dress shopping, yeah?” Avoiding Edward’s direction, Alice stood abruptly.
Maisie chased her outside. “You call me, then bolt? What’s going on?”
“Just a headache. I forgot an errand. Sorry.” Alice hurried off before Maisie could offer a ride.
Later, calmer, Alice rang George for Vivian’s number.
“Good idea. Mum’s got excellent taste,” he approved.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” Vivian answered immediately.
“Vivian Henrietta,” Alice stumbled over the name, “could you help me pick a dress?”
“Of course. Tomorrow work?”
Vivian was a natural. The shop assistants deferred to her instantly. She selected three gowns, sending Alice to try them on. Each time, Vivian frowned and motioned for the next. Finally, the dress was chosen. Shoes took another two hours.
“Exhausted. Let’s grab coffee,” Vivian said, loading purchases into her car.
They returned to the same café. No sign of Edward or the blonde—Alice relaxed.
“Vivian Henrietta, how have you stayed married to a man like your husband? I’d have died of jealousy by now,” Alice ventured.
Vivian smiled faintly.
“Because I love him. It’s amusing, watching women flirt with him. I used to mind. Now I don’t. People think I’m not good enough for him—you too?”
“No! Not at all,” Alice said too quickly.
“Handsome as he is, he’s useless at home. Doesn’t know where his socks are. At work, he’s a charmer—here, he’s a child. Every morning, I lay out his clothes where he’ll ‘find’ them himself.”
“Remember this, dear. A wise woman never lets her husband know she’s cleverer. Advice must seem like his idea. Ask for his opinion, but steer him gently. That’s the secret.”
*And yet he chose a mistress. Should I tell her?* Alice hesitated. Maybe it hadn’t gone beyond a kiss. She stayed silent.
But weeks later, she spotted Edward and the blonde leaving a jeweller’s.
Unable to bear it, she hinted to George that his family wasn’t so perfect.
“What do you mean?”
Alice confessed what she’d seen—Edward, the kiss.
“Maybe you were mistaken. Dad adores Mum,” George said stiffly.
They nearly argued—their first real tension. Alice backpedalled.
At Edward’s birthday planning session, George left to fetch something. Alice stayed with Vivian.
“You’re fidgeting. Something on your mind?” Vivian asked.
“I… saw your husband with a blonde.”
Vivian’s face didn’t flicker—only her eyes dimmed slightly.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You think I don”Vivian sighed and took Alice’s hand, whispering, ‘Love isn’t about perfection—it’s about choosing what to overlook,’ and with that, Alice finally understood the quiet strength behind the family’s polished facade.”
