Lisa knew that planning a wedding was a nerve-wracking business. She had read articles about it, listened to friends. But no one warned her that the biggest problem wouldn’t be the cost of the restaurant or choosing a photographer, but her future mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna. The woman seemed to have made it her mission to turn every day of preparation into a test of endurance.
“This dress doesn’t suit you,” Valentina Petrovna declared when Lisa showed her photos of the wedding outfit. “It’s too revealing. In our family, brides dressed more modestly.”
Lisa clenched her phone in her hand, feeling her jaw muscles tense. The dress was quite decent—covered shoulders, floor length. But she didn’t argue.
“All right, Valentina Petrovna. I’ll think about it.”
“And this menu of yours…” the mother-in-law continued, flipping through restaurant printouts. “Who’s going to eat these foreign salads? People are used to proper food. Olivier, herring under a fur coat. Everyone understands that.”
Maxim, Lisa’s fiancé, sat nearby in silence. Sometimes he nodded to his mother, sometimes he gently stroked Lisa’s hand to reassure her. When Valentina Petrovna went to the kitchen to brew tea, he whispered:
“Don’t pay attention. Mom’s just worried. She wants everything to be perfect.”
“Maxim, your mother criticizes every decision we make,” Lisa replied quietly. “The dress, the menu, the flowers, the music. Only the guests are left, and I’m sure she’ll find something to say about them too.”
“Oh, come on. She means well.”
Means well. Lisa had heard those words a hundred times already. When Valentina Petrovna objected to fresh flowers in the bouquet—means well. When she demanded to invite her friends whom Lisa didn’t even know—also means well. Apparently, in Valentina Petrovna’s mind, doing good meant turning someone else’s wedding into an expression of her own ideas of how things should be.
The guest list became the next battlefield…
