Why arent you opening the door?
I wont! Ive decided Im not going to. Guests ought to give a headsup before they turn up, and they certainly shouldnt be rummaging through my cupboards, fridge and wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then greet herjust not in my flat.
Lucy always managed to find a common tongue with my mum.
You know, if I started listing everything my ex did better than you, wed both be embarrassed.
Im not entirely sure about myself, Emily stammered, rubbing the kitchen table. If you got on so well with Lucy, why did you break things off?
Tom turned away, his eyes darkening as he stared out the window.
You know the story
I do. So spare me the Lucytale, Emily snapped. Otherwise Ill become your next ex.
Emily was already bracing herself for drastic measures.
Shed met Victor about a year ago at a mutual friends house party. Shed even known the same Lucy, albeit only peripherally, and had brought Tom along. A few months later Lucy vanished from every radar.
One night, a drunken Tom confessed hed split from Lucy after catching her in a lie, even shedding a tear.
To Emily that seemed oddly sweet: a man unafraid to display his feelings, who valued love. Something clicked, and she felt an urge to console him.
Emily realised that the spark was more maternal instinct than romantic interest, yet it was enough to set their relationship in motion.
At first everything seemed pictureperfect. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sugary texts every day, and ask whether shed bundled up warmly. Emily felt swaddled in care.
Her first alarm came when Lucy herself texted:
Hi, Emily. I heard youre seeing Victor. It isnt really my business, but you should be gentle with him. Hes got a clingy duo with his mum.
Emily noted it, shrugged it off as small talk. Love, after all, should survive petty obstacles. If Victor had a rough patch with one woman, it didnt mean the next would be the same.
Thanks for the warning, but well sort it ourselves, Emily replied.
She didnt want to prolong the exchange; it felt oddly improper to keep the conversation going with Lucy.
Victor, however, cared not a whit for her comfort.
When his mother, Margaret Palmer, turned up unannounced one rainy Tuesday, Emily reacted with a surprisingly calm air. Perhaps neither of them grasped how inconvenient the intrusion was. In the end, Margaret probably just missed her son and wanted to see who he lived with.
Emily sent Tom to fetch his mother, threw on a hastily tied bun, and, halfasleep with dark circles under her eyes, marched to meet the prospective motherinlaw. Already she was inspecting the dresser drawers in the lounge.
Ah, a delightful jumble, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And youll soon have mismatched socks. Lets have breakfast, and Ill teach you how to fold laundry so nothing gets torn or lost.
Instead of a simple hello, saying Emily was flustered would have been an understatement. The fact that a stranger breezed into her bedroom and rummaged through her undergarments felt crude. Yet replying with equal rudeness at the very start of a relationship felt wrong, so she swallowed it.
Oh dear, you look like youve been up all night, Margaret cooed sympathetically. You need cucumber masks. Better still, a kidney checkup. I have a friend who
Emily forced a smile, nodded, and pretended interest in the health woes of people shed never met, while yearning to slip back into bed. It was only eight in the morning, a lazy Sunday, and shed deliberately stayed up late the night before, hoping to catch up on sleep.
The visit stretched into evening. Margaret dished out a torrent of critique and golden advice on watering plants, scrubbing the bath, and polishing cutlery. Emily even managed a few practice runs. She felt squeezed like a lemon. Throughout, Tom never offered to help or even hint to his mother that they needed a break.
Does your mother always this active? Emily asked cautiously before bedtime.
She liked big families and close ties, but a little distance would have been nice.
Oh, thats just her, Tom shrugged. She just wants a mate. We used to live with Lucy, it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.
I hope we wont end up three under one roof, Emily sighed.
Whats the problem? Youre not against my mum? Tom grew tense. She got on fine with Lucy; everything was dandy.
Emily kept quiet. Lucy was eight years younger and had a habit of buttering people up. Of course they were friends.
Margaret probably knew all her friends by name, diagnosis, could iron sheets perfectly and bake pies from her motherinlaws old recipes. Emily, however, refused to sign up for that brand of happiness. Shed learned enough in life to believe the fewer external hands meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Tom, though, had his own view.
My mum is very sociable. She can strike up a chat with anyone.
Thats all well and good, but not everyone will be thrilled, Emily thought, but didnt say it.
The next day Margaret returned at dawn, this time armed with a fridge inspection.
Freerange eggs? I only cook Victor quail eggs; theyre healthier for men, she declared with importance. Your shelves arent tidy Youll be eating from them, you know. Emily, could you give them a wipe?
I dont eat straight off the shelves, Emily mused internally.
Then Ill clean them, Margaret Palmer, she promised. We were hoping for a lazy day. Weekend, after all
Tom, by the way, was happily asleep while Emily was forced to entertain his mothers endless checklist.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, the woman proclaimed, brandishing a sponge. Next weekend Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll lick your fingers clean!
Emily froze, arms crossed over her chest. She wasnt ready to chase another days orders from a stranger.
Margaret, could you maybe jot down my number? So you can call before any surprise visits. I might have plans for the next weekend.
Call? I cant even visit my sons house now? Margaret blinked, offended.
Of course you can. He now lives with a woman. Itd be lovely if we all considered each others schedules.
We never had these issues with Lucy, Margaret muttered, a twitch forming on her brow.
My exs mother never showed up at dawn either, Emily cut in. She used to bring cherry pies. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened, a flash of anger in her eyes.
Emily, think carefully. In our family the night owl never outsings the day bird.
She left, but the sour taste lingered. Emily didnt know what to do. Tom seemed deaf to her pleas, his mother treated their flat as her own home. And the ghost of Lucy hovered over everything.
Lucys cabbage rolls were better her mum taught her, Tom muttered over dinner.
Then let her teach you, and youll be cooking for me too, Emily replied, halfjoking.
She suspected Margaret was trying to push Tom back onto his old ways, but didnt want to dwell on it. She simply wanted the topic to disappear.
The following month passed quietly, without visits, until the phone rang again. This time Emily resolved firmly not to answer.
Was it wrong? Perhaps. But could she keep letting strangers barge into her home without warning after a polite hint?
Within five minutes, Tom stumbled into the hallway, halfasleep, disgruntled, eyes glazed.
Why arent you opening the door?
I dont want to! I wont. Guests should announce themselves first, and they shouldnt be climbing into cabinets, fridges and wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes here!
Then meet her elsewhere! Not in my flat.
Toms outburst echoed down the corridor, likely heard by neighbours. He blamed Emily for rejecting his mother, Margaret shouted, demanding entry, and phones rang incessantly.
In the end Emily issued an ultimatum.
Enough! Either you send your mum home, explain the meaning of guest, and we stay together, or were done!
Tom chose the latter.
Emily felt a strange relief. They hadnt even had time to say goodbye properly. Perhaps it was for the best. She didnt want to live with someone whose past lived in a suitcase, whose mother hovered like a storm cloud.
Months later, a surprising whisper reached Emily. Tom had a new lover, a friend from the same work circle, who had moved in with him and his mother but now wanted to escape. Their mutual friend, also from the original party, relayed the news.
We work together. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but she wants out. Can you meet her? the friend smiled.
For what reason?
According to Victors mum, youre the perfect woman: beautiful, strongwilled, and a brilliant cook.
Are we talking about Victors mother or me?
Well, apparently, those whove left Victors side become kinder, she said with a sigh.
Since then Emily listened to gossip with a grain of salt. She kept her own head, didnt believe everything outright, but didnt dismiss rumors entirely. She also approached men who constantly namedrop exes and cling to their mothers with caution.
Life with such macho types rarely works; a mother will always be first in line. Perhaps thats fair, but only within reasonable bounds. Do you agree?
Leave a comment with your thoughts, and give it a like.