And how on earth am I supposed to explain why youre not at Mums do? asked Tom with a look of helplessness.
Thank you, that was delicious, Tom said, pushing away his plate. Sophie, I need a word.
I think I know what about, she said, patting her lips with a napkin.
Oh? And whats that?
Your mums birthday.
Thats right. Its already the tenth and her birthdays on the eighteenth, Tom replied.
And mines on the twentieth. I hope you havent forgotten that? Sophie pointed out.
Of course not, darling
Dont even start, Tom the answer is NO! Sophie said, arms crossed before he could get another word in.
You havent even heard what I want to propose Tom protested.
I dont need to! Just so you know, Ive already booked a table for ten this Saturday at The Fox & Crown. Eight of those are my friends you know them all perfectly well and the other two are us. If you want to come, lovely. If not, well all still have a smashing time without you.
The awkwardness, you see, was that Toms mums birthday was the eighteenth of September, and Sophies was the twentieth. For the third year running, September sent Tom into wild confusion: how to organise two parties without anyone throwing a wobbly. So far, he was, frankly, failing.
Sophie, Mum says we should combine the celebrations both birthdays, on Saturday, at hers. It makes sense, really. Why splash out twice in one week? Plus, Thursdays are rubbish everyones busy, but Saturdays free.
Tom, and who exactly told you I want to celebrate with your endless string of cousins, uncles, nieces, God-knows-who from your mums side? Ive invited my friends all people you know and like, I might add, Sophie replied sharply.
But Mumll be upset, Tom sighed.
And its fine for me to be upset two years running, is it? Or have you forgotten? Sophie raised an eyebrow.
I thought it all went fine, honestly.
Oh, did it? Lets recap! The year before last: wed only just got married in April. September comes round: your mums big 6-0. Do you remember what you said?
Sophie, Mums turning sixty, she wants a family thing lets not plan anything else for Saturday!
So I used half my day off Friday and all Saturday morning in your mums kitchen, peeling, chopping, boiling, pickling you name it. Then all evening, sprinting between the living room and kitchen like a frazzled waitress. And, notably, not a soul wished me a happy birthday!
Thats not true, Zoe did, Tom protested.
She did not! When you told your sister itd been my birthday that week, she grinned and said, Oh, was it? Never mind, thats past now. Not exactly what youd call a greeting.
I spoke to Mum after that, and last year you were wished happy birthday at the table! Tom said.
Speaking of last year! Friday the twentieth once again, I was head chef and kitchen skivvy. When I asked your mum why Zoe didnt help, do you know what she said?
Zoes got her nails done, she cant risk ruining them the day before the party. And shes off to the salon and the hairdressers first thing Saturday.
And Zoe did arrive looking like she was off to the BAFTAs, while I barely had time to change before the guests came. Yes, they remembered to toast me. And then forgotten again! And for two years running, the only presents I got were from you and my parents. So this year, make it clear to your mum she shouldnt be counting on me!
But Mum wont manage on her own
Tom, your mums got other relatives, hasnt she? A son you and a daughter Zoe. I think the two of you can handle a bit of finger food. This Saturday is my birthday, and I want to spend it with my mates.
And how will I explain your absence at Mums thing? Tom asked, feebly.
Oh, dont pretend to be clueless. None of them ever remember me, unless they need someone to clear plates or fetch something from the kitchen. That lot are so tight-knit, I feel like an uninvited extra every time.
Sophies argument eventually swayed Tom she had a right to her own celebration. But Toms mum and sister werent having any of it. For days running up to the twentieth, they rang and messaged, lobbying her to comply with family tradition and be present at mums big lunch.
Sophie, called Mrs. Vera Martin, dont you see, weve built such a lovely tradition. Two years now, weve celebrated together. Why spoil it this time? Whats so wrong with it?
Mrs. Martin, its simple: First, I want my own celebration with friends, not a teapots worth of in-laws. Second, Id rather not spend it running from lounge to kitchen. I want to actually enjoy my birthday for once. Is that really so much to ask?
We all get along fine at home over tea and cake! objected her mother-in-law.
Thats because youre sat chatting while Im wearing grooves in the lino doing fetch-and-carry. No offence, but I want a party, not a part-time job.
I never thought youd refuse to help your husbands mother! sniffed Vera Martin.
Zoe was less subtle. Sophie! Seriously, stop being awkward. Mums already written out the menu, Dads gone and done the shopping. Pull yourself together and get ready to cook!
Mum sent Tom the shopping list. Stop fighting and think: do you really want to fall out with my mum? Its just one Saturday. After that, spend time with your friends to your hearts content.
Im not being difficult, Zoe I told your mum in advance I had my own plans. I think you can manage to help her this year.
The one having the roughest ride was Tom, who had to pick sides without scorched earth. Sophie hadnt insisted he spend her birthday with her, but any fool could see it would sting if he chose his mums over hers.
Sophie, for her part, didnt bring it up again. Friday afternoon, just as she was typing an email at work, her mother-in-law called:
Sophie, where are you? Surely you see sense now, dropping this silly business with the pub? Im waiting for you. We need to start, or well never be ready for tomorrows lunch!
Mrs. Martin, Im at work, as I said I would be. And I did tell you I wont be coming round to prepare food this time. Zoe can help you out.
Surely you realise Tom wont approve of this attitude? Not towards his family! replied Vera, clearly scandalised.
Marrying Tom doesnt make me the familys kitchen drudge for life, replied Sophie calmly. I have friends, interests, a life of my own, which actually includes Toms friends too. I dont intend to give that up just to play your housemaid every September.
With that, the conversation came to a dramatic yet civil close.
On Saturday, Tom brought a present and went round to his mums. Sophie, at 4pm, set off for The Fox & Crown, where shed booked the table.
Her friends arrived promptly. There was only one empty seat beside her. No one asked awkward questions they’d all heard the saga.
They toasted her, handed over presents, chatted and laughed but Sophie kept glancing at the doorway, hoping Tom would appear anyway.
And after nearly an hour, in he dashed, clutching a bunch of her favourite garden roses.
Soph, I barely managed to escape! Had to do a runner, practically. By the way, your name came up a lot. Auntie Ruth asked Mum why there was no mushroom Wellington this year shed loved it last time and wanted the recipe.
And the table was a little sparse. Zoe sat there sulking broke two nails helping Mum.
For the next two years, Sophies culinary skills were requested only in an advisory capacity, because well, soon she was expecting, and then busy with a lively baby boy.
And Vera Martins big sixty-fifth was, in the end, held in a restaurant.
What was it with that daughter-in-law anyway? Mrs. Martin would lament, Everything was just fine before she made a fuss!
So what do you think was Sophie right? Leave your thoughts below, pop a like, and give us a follow always thrilled to have another member of the club!
