A woman is visiting her in-laws for the first time—she’s never been to their home before. They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding day, and now their grandson is already five.
She’d always assumed they were too different to maintain family ties. “We’re well-off, and they’re just ordinary people. We live in a grand country house, while they’re in an old cottage. Maybe they resent us—who knows?”
How could they not? Some have luxury cars and multiple properties, while they dig in their vegetable patch and take the bus to work. Meeting them always felt tense and awkward—different social classes, no shared interests, nothing to talk about.
Her father-in-law has a severe, almost angry face, like he might snap at any moment. He didn’t even smile at the wedding—sat there like it was a funeral. Her mother-in-law, meanwhile, is too cheerful, with no filter, saying whatever comes to mind—no proper upbringing. Best to keep her distance to avoid trouble.
But she had to go—they’d invited her. They decided to celebrate the grandson’s fifth birthday there, in that humble old house.
Her husband didn’t come, not wanting to intimidate them with his importance. They’d surely feel the gap in status and shrink away—how embarrassing.
She needed to bring something. After some thought, the couple settled on caviar—something these simple folk had probably only seen on telly.
She didn’t wear any jewellery, opting for a smart business suit instead. No excessive emotions, just polite, clipped speech. She’d prepared a list of acceptable questions in advance—nothing too personal. No prying.
Best to stick to child-rearing, and even then, tread carefully. Mention foreign language lessons or the like, and they might not understand. They’d argue that health matters more, that a boy shouldn’t be robbed of his childhood.
Arguing would be bad taste.
She was nervous. How would she endure it? How could she stop herself from showing just how different they were—completely opposite people?
On the other hand, her daughter had settled right in with them, never complaining, though she didn’t share much. That made sense—her girl was tactful, a wonderful trait.
Pulling up to the gate, she hesitated. Stepping out of the car, gift bag in hand, she nudged the gate open and saw her father-in-law hoisting the boy onto his shoulders, bounding around the garden, singing, “We’ll ride, we’ll rush on reindeer in the early morn!”
The child laughed—loving every second.
Her father-in-law sensed someone had arrived and turned. Joy lit up his face, his eyes warm and full of love. He didn’t miss a beat. “Ah, there you are! Brilliant! Go on in—we’ve still got hide-and-seek to play!”
She meant to nod regally and glide inside, but something tugged her toward them instead. She took the boy, spun him around, and said, “Happy birthday! We’ve got a present—left it in the car, though. Grandpa and I bought you a big ride-on car. Look—here’s a picture.”
Her father-in-law grinned. “Right, we’ll finish up and be in.”
Inside, her daughter and mother-in-law were kneading dough for liver pasties, hands dusted with flour. They scrambled up, arms outstretched to avoid smudging her with flour, and kissed her cheeks.
Her mother-in-law beamed. “Took you long enough! Sit down, love—let me finish my story. So, the literature teacher kicked me out of class for calling Tatiana Larina a fool. I went pale, and she screamed, ‘Get out!’ Turns out *I* was the fool, not Tatiana.”
She laughed first, and her daughter joined in—they got on like best friends.
Her mother-in-law wiped her hands. “You finish up—I’ll heat the oven.” Then, casually, “Why didn’t your husband come? Always busy, is he?” Before shifting the subject.
It was simple. Easy. Like stepping into her own world—no tension, no pretence.
And suddenly, she felt awkward about the caviar.
After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled it out anyway. Her mother-in-law didn’t blink. “Never tried it! We’ll save it for New Year’s—won’t go bad, will it?” And stashed it in the fridge.
Her father-in-law returned, leading the boy by the hand, her son-in-law trailing behind in old trackies—he’d been tinkering out back.
Without thinking, she tied on an apron and began chopping veg for salad. Her son-in-law fetched a stool to reach the high cupboard for plates.
Meanwhile, the pasties were already on a platter. Her father-in-law snatched one when his wife wasn’t looking, winking and pressing a finger to his lips.
His wife caught him anyway. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”
After feeding the boy, her daughter took him to another room to nap.
The adults ate quietly, whispering so as not to disturb him.
Time flew. She didn’t want to leave—something kept pulling her there.
The whole family came out to see her off. Her mother-in-law tucked pasties into her bag. “For your tea tonight.”
Back home, her husband stepped out in his dressing gown. “Survived the visit? I bet it was dreadful.”
She set the bag on the table. “They sent you treats.” Then went to shower.
No words could explain how light she’d felt there—how unburdened.
Really—how *could* she explain it?
She couldn’t.
