**Diary Entry**
I cant believe its come to this. My mother-in-law, Margaret, sent my wife, Emily, to pick mushrooms in the quiet pine woods near Yorkshirebut she didnt return alone.
You do understand this isnt up for debate, right? Emily strode past me in her bathrobe, a towel loosely wrapped around her damp hair, tossing the remark out as casually as if she were choosing between fish and chips or a roast for Sunday lunch.
I barely glanced up from my laptop. To anyone else, I might have seemed absorbed in work, but those who knew me well wouldve recognised it immediately: I was avoiding the conversation.
What exactly isnt up for debate? I set my glasses aside and looked at her properly. Without them, my expression sharpened, as if I were trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind her offhand tone.
Youll pay for Sophies wedding, she announced cheerfully, as though shed just won the lottery.
Sorrywhat? I let out a short laugh and leaned back in my chair.
Yes. The whole thing. Every last penny. She unwound the towel and began fluffing her hair absentmindedly.
Hang onwhen was this decided? At which family meeting did I suddenly become responsible for funding this?
The living room, painted in a warm sage green, seemed to hold its breath. It was a practical but cosy space, the kind youd see in magazine spreadsminimal clutter, a few framed photos on the shelves, including one from our wedding day. I always thought of that day like laying the first brick of a house: a hopeful beginning, though no one could say how many more would be needed to finish it.
Its tradition, Emily said smoothly, as if reciting an ancient family decree.
Whose tradition? Ours? I adjusted my glasses and studied her. We live here, in Manchester, in this flat, and Ive never once heard of this so-called family rule.
She was unshakable as always. Every gesture precise, her tone immaculate, as if she already knew how every argument would unfold.
Youre the man of the house. Its your duty to help, she said, as though explaining something obvious to a child.
Of course Ill help. Two hundred quida perfectly reasonable amount.
Emilys eyebrows shot up as if Id suggested serving crisps at the reception instead of a proper meal.
James, listen to yourself. Two hundred pounds? You might as well have suggested sending a congratulations card!
Emily, be serious. Is this about budgets, or is it just another one of your whims? The five hundred Id set aside was already stretching it, and now youre talking four grand? Four thousand? Are you having me on?
My voice rose before I caught myself. Ive always prided myself on keeping my temper, but sometimes it slips. *Steady now, dont lose it.*
In my family, Emily continued breezily, as if this were all just a simple misunderstanding, we help each other. Mum covered Aunt Lucys wedding, Dad paid half for Uncle Toms car Its normal.
Ive heard the stories, yes. But where does affordability fit into this grand scheme of yours? A budget isnt a suggestionits reality. Were not exactly living hand-to-mouth, but four grand just for a wedding? Really?
Emily sank onto the sofa and went quiet. Her hands smoothed the folds of her robe, but her stare stayed sharp.
This is about principle, isnt it? She narrowed her eyes. You just dont care about my family.
No, thats not it! I exhaled sharply. Im happy for Sophie. Let her get marriedIll even give a toast. But dont turn me into a walking cash machine!
Silence settled between us, thick and heavy. I stood and paced, restless as a caged animal.
Fine. Two hundred. Thats my final offer. Understand?
Darling, Emily said coolly, Sophie wont forget this. And neither will I.
***
A few days later.
I found myself at my mums house, tucked into her favourite armchair by the bay window, the last of the evening sun warming the room. To me, her place had always felt like a sanctuarya world away from stress, filled with the scent of freshly baked scones and lavender. After the row with Emily, I needed it more than ever.
Mum, you wont believe it, I started, keeping my tone light, as if discussing the weather. She expects me to pay for her sisters entire wedding. Like Ive just pocketed a fifty-thousand-pound bonus.
Mum stirred her tea thoughtfully before answering.
Really? She actually said that? Maybe she meant a giftsomething symbolic? Its only natural to want to do something nice for the young couple.
Years had softened her; where once she mightve been furious, now she just sounded weary.
No, Mum, not a gift. She said, Pay for the wedding. Like its my lifes purpose.
From the kitchen came the sound of running water and the creak of a cupboardmy sister, Claire, digging out biscuits. She leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head.
James, stop winding yourself up. Maybe she was joking? You know how women exaggerate sometimes. And you took it seriously.
A joke? I turned to her. Her tone left no room for doubt.
But then I paused, replaying the conversation in my head. Claire had a pointwhat if it *had* been a joke?
Wait, I muttered. What if it was?
Claire smirked, noticing the shift in my expression.
Listen, four grand for someone elses wedding? Come off it. At least your own wedding had something to do with you. This is her sister. Sounds like a wind-up to me. Besides, Em loves winding you up.
I bit my lip, picturing it: Emily in her robe, deadpanning that ridiculous demand while fighting a laugh. Me, ever the pragmatist, falling for it hook, line, and sinker.
Well, there you go, I admitted, finally exhaling. She got me good. If youre right, Claire, Im going to look a right fool.
Dont worry, Jamie, Claire said, passing me a biscuit. When you find out the truth, youll laugh about it. Just dont let it eat at you.
Mum gave a faint smile, still stirring her tea. She shook her head slightly, as if marvelling at how her serious son had ended up with a woman who took life so lightly.
Alright, I muttered, settling back. Ill have to bring it up again. If she *was* joking, Ill apologise. At least itll make a good story.
For the first time in days, I laughed properly. The weight lifted. Maybe Id been wrongand if so, itd be worth the ribbing.
***
A few days later.
Id just changed out of my work clothes and flopped onto the sofa when Margaret, my mother-in-law, swept in unannounced. She had that air of effortless authorityimpeccably dressed, every word measured. Her sudden visit put me on edge, though I tried not to show it. Within minutes, any hope of relaxing vanished.
James, dear, she began, her tone sweet but firm, you know Sophies getting married soon, dont you?
Yes, Ive heard, I said, bracing myself.
Good. She folded her hands neatly. In our family, we rally together for important occasions. Now that youre part of us, that includes you. Sophies wedding is a milestone, and its your duty to contribute.
Her tone brooked no argument, but I wasnt having it.
Of course Ill help, I said evenly. Emily mentioned it. I can spare three hundred. More than reasonable.
Margarets eyebrows arched in disapproval.
James, three hundred? You may as well offer to pay for the confetti. The full cost is only right.
I stared at her.
The *full* cost? Youre serious? I forced a laugh. Lets be clearwhy me? What about the grooms family?
She didnt miss a beat.
Because youre family now, and it matters to Emily. Family isnt just a wordits action. If you want respect, you must give it.
Right. I leaned forward. And whats the grooms family contributing? Why is this solely on me?
A flicker of hesitation crossed her face before she recovered.
The grooms young, still finding his feet. His parents well, you understand. So were relying on you.
I exhaled sharply.
So I paid for my own wedding, and now Im expected to fund Sophie
