It was Mother’s Day, and Charlie was in a panic.

Charlie and Ki had been together for two years. After a year of dating, they invited all their friends and Ki’s mother to join them in Ireland of all places for a lavish wedding at a castle on the coast of the Irish Sea. Ki declared Ireland neutral territory where neither Mandarin nor Spanish was spoken.

This was the first Mother’s Day since his marriage and Charlie so wanted to make a good impression on his mother-in-law. The two had invited mother up for the weekend, which she happily complained that it was too far to travel.

Not taking no for an answer, Ki and Charlie drove down the Friday afternoon, practically dragging mother back to New Hampshire. In order to impress this mother-in-law, he took her to the coast for an ocean side lunch with impossibly fresh fish and stunning views of the rough Atlantic surf.

“Too bland,” she complained as she cleaned her plate of every speck of the buttery baked stuffed haddock.

For dinner that night, Charlie made his first halal type meal. He had studied for weeks before settling on a beef brisket smoked with his homemade Asian spice blend. With roasted sweet potatoes and garlic green beans and a dessert, his first attempt at baklava, Ki had thirds of everything. His mother cleaned her plate as well, then whined.

“Not like my mother used to make.” She sniffed.

The next morning for breakfast, Charlie served homemade granola, fruit and yogurt in bed with fresh squeezed orange juice.

“Why is breakfast so early?” The woman criticized.

The clouds darkened on Ki’s face.

“Mother.” His tone dripping with warning.

“It’s okay, husband.” He pulled Ki out of the guest room, then locked himself in his own bedroom and punched pillows.

Before lunch, the two men bestowed gifts on the only woman they acknowledged as a mother. When she saw the cream-colored silk hijab, his mother smiled.

“Thank you, son, it’s beautiful.”

Charlie was a little nervous about his package. The woman looked at the brown paper wrapping as if she were looking at a pile of poop.

With a scant amount of energy, she opened the gift. A large dark wooden frame enclosed a fan shaped genealogy chart going back several generations with Ki’s mother in the middle. Wonder gathered in her eyes as she gently traced the names of her parents, grandparents, and more. All those long dead……one by one, tears plopped onto the glass covering the colorful list of loved ones.

“How did you do this?” Her voice cracked.

“A friend of mine is a genealogist who has several connections around Asia. I hired him to do the research of your family.”

“This….this…” Her voice choked.

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.” Charlie glanced at the other man in defeat. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain, Mrs. Roberts. I thought might enjoy seeing the history of you.”

“You did very well, son.” Mother’s voice was loud and clear. “And stop calling me Mrs. Roberts. Don’t you think it’s time you call me mom?”