My husband and I wanted to give our mothers a warm, memorable dinner at a fancy restaurant for Mother’s Day. I expected gratitude. Instead, my mother-in-law brought a crowd of strangers, turning the intimate dinner into a family banquet… and handed me the bill.
Some days I wonder if “working mom” is just code for “human ATM with a side of free childcare.” I’m Sherin, 32, mother of two tornado-like children, and apparently the designated financier of other people’s extravagant whims. Let me tell you what happened last Sunday… on Mother’s Day.
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“Are you sure we can afford Bellini’s?” Lucas asked, loosening his tie as he scrolled through our joint account on his phone. “The appetizers alone cost more than our grocery budget for the week.”
I smoothed down my rarely worn dress, the one I’d frantically ironed after getting the kids to bed. “It’s Mother’s Day, Lucas! For once, I want to do something nice for our moms without counting pennies.”
My husband’s worried expression softened. He knew what I meant. Between my 60-hour work weeks, his contract job with unpredictable hours, and two kids under seven, moments of genuine appreciation were as rare as uninterrupted sleep.
“Besides,” I added, “that promotion means we can splurge a little. Four people at a nice restaurant won’t break us.”
Lucas kissed my forehead, his familiar scent of aftershave momentarily drowning out my anxiety. “You’re right. They deserve it. Especially your mom, after everything she’s done for us with the kids.”
My mom, Daisy, had been our lifeline since Ethan was born. Even when exhausted from her own job, she’d show up with homemade casseroles and endless patience.
Meanwhile, Charlize—my husband’s mother—contributed mainly opinions and thinly veiled criticisms of my parenting.
But today wasn’t about scorekeeping. It was about gratitude.
Let’s just make them both feel special,” I said, checking my lipstick one last time before heading out.
Little did I know what “special” would actually cost me.
***
The valet took our car as we stepped into Bellini’s, the fanciest restaurant in town. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over white tablecloths, and the soft clink of expensive silverware filled the air.
“I reserved under Chen,” I told the hostess, whose practiced smile never reached her eyes.
“Of course. Some of your party has already arrived.”
“Some?” I exchanged glances with Lucas as we followed her through the dining room.
Then I saw them—not just our mothers, but an entire section of the restaurant that had been pushed together into one long table. Charlize sat at the center like a queen holding court, surrounded by her sisters, their adult children, three of her bridge club friends, and someone I barely recognized bouncing a fussy baby on her knee.
My heart sank to my stomach, then literally plummeted through the floor.
“What is this?” I whispered to Lucas, who looked equally stunned.
Before he could answer, Charlize spotted us. “There they are!” she called out, her voice carrying across the restaurant. “Our generous hosts!”
She rushed over, wine glass in hand, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her perfume enveloped me as she kissed my cheek with theatrical affection.
Oh honey, you look tired,” she stage-whispered. Then, with a sweeping gesture toward the crowd: “I hope you don’t mind. It’s Mother’s Day, and all these lovely ladies deserve to be celebrated too!”
I stood frozen, doing quick mental math. Ten extra people at Bellini’s? My budget-conscious brain short-circuited.
Lucas cleared his throat. “Mom, we—”
“Lucas! Come sit by Aunt Trish. She hasn’t seen you since Christmas!” Charlize steered him away, leaving me standing alone.
Across the chaos, I spotted my mother pushed to the far end of the table. She looked uncomfortable and out of place in her simple dress. When our eyes met, she gave me an apologetic smile that broke my heart.
Sherin,” someone called. “Come tell everyone about that promotion!”
With leaden feet, I made my way to the only empty chair directly across from the baby who was now gleefully smashing breadsticks into crumbs.
“Another bottle of the Cabernet for this end,” Charlize’s sister Trish called to a passing server. “And more of those truffle things!”
Two hours into this ambush dinner, my jaw ached from forcing smiles. Lucas tried to intervene when the first unrequested bottle of champagne arrived, but his mother brushed him off with, “Don’t be such a worry-wart! Sherin’s moving up in the world!”
My mom caught my eye from her distant seat. “You okay, honey?” she mouthed.
I nodded, though we both knew it was a lie.
“So then,” continued Charlize, loud enough for nearby tables to hear, “I told my book club, ‘My daughter-in-law is finally getting recognized at that firm! All those late nights away from her children finally paid off!'”
My fingers tightened around my water glass. Every working mother’s favorite guilt trip… served with a side of judgment…….👇👇
