Why arent you opening the door? I ask.
Im not going to. Guests should give a headsup before turning up, and they certainly shouldnt be rummaging through cupboards, the fridge or wardrobes, Victor snaps.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes here for me! I protest.
Then meet her elsewhere. Not in my flat, he replies.
Emma, our mutual friend, always finds a way to get along with my mum.
Honestly, if I start listing everything my ex did better than you, well both feel embarrassed, Victor says.
Im not even sure about myself, I say, nervously smoothing the kitchen table. If you and Emma got on so well, why did you break up with her?
Victor turns away, his eyes darkening as he looks out the window.
You know the story, he mutters.
I know. So keep your Victoria out of it, I cut him off. Otherwise Ill be your next ex.
Im already ready to take drastic measures.
I met Victor about a year ago through a mutual group of friends. He also knows Emma, though they arent close. Emma brought Victor along that night, and a few months later she vanished from everyones radar.
One evening, after a few drinks, Victor bragged that he split up with Emma after catching her cheating. He even shed a tear.
At that moment I find it oddly sweet: a man who isnt afraid to show his feelings and who values love. Something clicks inside me; I want to comfort him.
I realise that what I feel is more maternal instinct than any romantic interest, but thats enough for a relationship to start.
Things begin nicely. He picks me up after work, drives me home, sends cute texts every day, asks if Im keeping warm. I feel wrapped in his attention.
My first worry arrives when Emma texts me.
Hi, I heard youre dating Victor. Its not really my business, but you might want to be careful. Hes got a clingy, inseparable duo with his mum.
I note it but shrug it off. Love overcomes small obstacles. After all, just because he had a rough patch with one woman doesnt mean the next will be the same.
Hi. I think well sort it out ourselves. Thanks for the warning, I type back.
I dont want to keep the conversation going. It feels a bit awkward with Victor.
Victor, however, doesnt think about my comfort at all.
When his mother, Margaret Patterson, first drops by unannounced, I stay surprisingly calm.
Maybe we both underestimate how uncomfortable it is. Margaret probably just worries about her son and wants to see who he lives with.
I tell Victor to meet his mum, throw on a hastily tiedup ponytail, pull on a sweater, and stumble out, halfasleep and with bags under my eyes, to meet the prospective future motherinlaw. Im already inspecting the kitchen cupboards.
Ah, everythings a bit jumbled, Margaret says with a forced smile. And your socks will never match. Lets have breakfast, and Ill show you how to fold laundry so nothing gets lost or ruined.
Thats her version of hello. Saying Im flustered feels like saying nothing at all. A stranger rummaging through my underwear in my own flat feels downright rude.
Still, replying with rudeness at the start of a relationship feels wrong, so I bite my tongue.
Oh dear, youre looking like you havent slept at all, she coos. You need cucumber masks. Better yet, a kidney checkup. I have a friend
I smile, nod, and pretend Im fascinated by her health anecdotes, while all I want is to crawl back into bedits only eight in the morning on a Saturday. I went to bed late last night, hoping to catch up on sleep.
I drift off.
Margarets visit stretches on until evening. She unloads a torrent of criticism and useful tips about watering plants, cleaning the bath, polishing cutlery. I even get a practice session. I feel squeezed like a lemon. Throughout it all Victor never offers to help or hint to his mother that we need a break.
Is your mum always this enthusiastic? I ask tentatively before bed.
Im not opposed to a big family, but I do crave a little distance.
Yeah, she just wants to be friendly, Victor shrugs. We used to live with Emma at her place; it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.
I hope we dont end up three under one roof, I sigh.
Whats the problem? Youre against my mum? Victor snaps. She and Emma got along fine.
I stay silent. Emma is eight years younger, always keen to ingratiate herself. Of course they were friends.
Margaret probably knows all her friends by name and diagnosis, irons sheets perfectly, and bakes pies from her motherinlaws recipe book. Im not signing up for that kind of happiness. I have enough life experience to know that the fewer outsiders meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Victor, however, sees it differently.
My mum is very sociable. She finds common ground with anyone, he says.
Only not everyone will be thrilled about it, I think, but I dont say it.
Things go downhill. The next day Margaret turns up again at dawn, this time launching a fridge inspection.
Chicken eggs? I only serve Victor quail eggs; theyre healthier for men, she declares, puffed up. Your shelves are a messhow can you eat off them? Natalie, you ought to clean them.
Honestly, I dont eat straight from the shelves, I think.
Ill tidy them later, Margaret Patterson, I promise. We wanted a lazy weekend, after all.
Victor, by the way, spends the whole day sleeping while I endure his mothers endless demands.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, Margaret insists. Grab a sponge and a cloth. Next weekend Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pieyour fingers will be licking them clean!
I freeze, arms crossed over my chest. Im not ready to follow someone elses instructions for a second day in a row.
Margaret, could you give me your number? So you can call before you pop round. I might have plans next weekend, I suggest.
Call? You think I cant visit my own son? she pouts, offended.
Of course you can. Just remember he now lives with a woman. It would be lovely if we all respected each others space.
We never had this problem with Emma, Margaret sighs.
My exs mum never bothered me at dawn, either, I retort. She used to bring cherry piesdelicious. Want the recipe?
Margarets face tightens; a flash of anger flickers in her eyes.
Natalie, think carefully. Our family doesnt meddle with the night owls schedule, she warns.
She leaves, but a sour feeling remains. I dont know what to do. Victor seems oblivious; his mother treats our flat like her own home. And the ghost of Emma hovers over everything.
Emmas cabbage rolls were betterher mum taught her, Victor mutters over dinner.
Well, let her teach you too, then youll have to cook for me, I reply.
I suspect Margaret is trying to control her son, but I dont want to discuss it. I just want the topic gone.
The next month passes peacefully, without visits, until the phone rings again. This time Im determined not to answer.
Is that wrong? Maybe. But is it right to keep letting strangers barge into my house unannounced after a polite warning?
Within five minutes, Victor stomps into the hallway, blearyeyed, disgruntled, and angry.
Why arent you opening the door? he shouts.
I dont want to! I wont. Guests should announce themselves, and they shouldnt be poking around my cabinets, fridge, or wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes here for me!
Then welcome her just not in my flat.
Victors outburst is loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He blames me for rejecting his mother, and therefore him. Margaret is shouting from inside, demanding entry, phone ringing off the hook.
I finally set an ultimatum.
Thats enough! Either you send your mum packing, explain to her what guest means, and get her out now, or we break up!
Victor chooses the latter.
Im not devastated. We barely finish the breakup paperwork. Maybe its for the best. Living with someone whose life comes with a revolving door of exstories and a meddlesome mum isnt for me.
A few weeks later, an unexpected piece of gossip reaches me. Victor has a new lover. Their mutual friend from the same social circle tells me.
We work together. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but she wants to get out. She asked me to introduce you, the friend says, smiling.
Oh? And why?
If you believe Victors mum, youre the perfect womanbeautiful, strongwilled, and a good cook.
Were talking about Victors mum and me?
Probably. She tends to fall for anyone who isnt living with Victor anymore, the friend shrugs.
Since then I listen to rumours with a grain of salt. I keep my own head on my shoulders and dont swallow everything I hear, but I also dont ignore gossip entirely.
I also tread carefully around men who constantly harp on their exes and cling to their mothers like lifelines.
With such machos, life never works outmothers will always be first on the priority list. Maybe thats okay, but only within sensible limits. Do you agree? Let me know in the comments and give this a like.