Why arent you opening the door?
Im not. I wont. Guests ought to give a headsup before they turn up, and they certainly shouldnt be rummaging through the drawers, the fridge or the cupboards.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then greet her, but not in my flat.
At least Claire got on with my mum better than you did.
You know, if I started listing every way my ex was better than you, wed both be blushing.
Im not so sure about myself, Emma said, nervously rubbing the kitchen table. If you and Claire got on that well, why did you break up with her?
Victor turned away, his face darkening as he stared out the window.
You know the story
I know it. So dont start telling me about your Claire, Emma snapped. Otherwise Ill be your next ex.
Emma was already ready to take matters into her own hands.
Shed met Victor about a year ago at a mutual friend’s houseparty. Shed also known Claire from the same crowd, albeit only in passing. Claire had brought Victor along, and then vanished from everyones radar a few months later.
One night, after a few too many drinks, Victor confessed that hed split from Claire after catching her cheating. He even shed a tear.
To Emma that sounded almost romantic: a man unafraid to show his feelings, someone who valued love. Something clicked, and she felt an urge to comfort him.
She realised that what she felt was more of a motherly instinct than any romantic spark, but that was enough to get things moving between them.
At first everything was lovely. Hed meet her after work, give her lifts home, send sweet texts every day, and ask whether shed kept warm. Emma felt wrapped in his care.
The first time she got a message from Claire herself, she frowned.
Hey, I heard youre dating Victor. Its not my business, but youd better treat him gently. Hes got a fierce, inseparable pairbond with his mum.
Emma filed it away, thinking it was just a petty comment. Love, after all, overcomes small obstacles. If hed had a rough patch with one woman, that didnt mean the next would be the same.
Hi. I think well sort this out ourselves. Thanks for the warning, Emma replied.
She didnt want to keep the conversation going; it felt like it would only make things awkward with Victor.
Victor, however, paid no heed to her comfort.
When his mother, Margaret Whitfield, first turned up at their flat unannounced, Emma took it surprisingly calmly. Perhaps neither of them realised just how uncomfortable the situation was. Margaret was probably just worried about her son and wanted to see who he was living with.
Emma sent Victor to fetch his mother, threw on a shirt, tied her hair into a hurried bun, and, still halfasleep with bags under her eyes, went to meet her potential motherinlaw. By the time she stepped into the lounge, she was already snooping through the sideboard.
Oh dear, everythings a bit jumbled, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And soon youll be wearing mismatched socks. Now, lets have breakfast and Ill show you how to fold clothes so nothing gets creased or lost.
And that was her version of hello. To say Emma was flustered was an understatement. A stranger rummaging through her belongings in her own house felt downright rude.
But answering rudeness with rudeness at the start of a relationship felt wrong, so she held her tongue.
My dear, you look exhausted! You need cucumber masks, or better yet, a kidney cleanse. I have a friend who Margaret went on.
Emma forced a smile, nodded, and pretended to be fascinated by the health tips of people she barely knew. Inside, she was counting the minutes until she could crawl back into bed; after all, it was only eight in the morning on a Saturday. Shed stayed up late the night before, hoping for a proper liein.
The visit stretched on until evening. Emma endured a torrent of criticism and helpful advice on everything from watering houseplants to washing the bathtub and polishing cutlery. She even managed a few practice runs. She felt squeezed like a lemon, and Victor never once offered to help or even hint to his mother that they needed a break.
Does your mum always get this enthusiastic? Emma asked cautiously before turning in for the night.
She didnt mind a big family, but she did crave a little distance.
Yeah, shes just keen to make friends, Victor shrugged. We used to live with Claires mum, it was cosy. Now shes bored being on her own.
I hope we wont end up a threeperson household, Emma sighed.
Whats the problem? Youre against my mother? Victor snapped. She got along fine with Claire.
Emma stayed quiet. Claire was eight years younger than her and always liked to be the chameleon in a crowd. Of course theyd been friends.
Margaret probably knew all of her own friends by name and diagnosis, ironed linens to perfection and baked pies from her motherinlaws recipe book. Emma wasnt about to sign up for that brand of happiness. Shed had enough life experience to know the fewer outside hands meddle in a couples business, the better. Victor, however, had a different view.
My mum is very sociable. She can strike up a conversation with anyone.
Thats fine, just not everyone will be thrilled about it, Emma thought, but didnt say it.
Things only got worse. The next morning Margaret turned up again, bright and early, this time to inspect the fridge.
Freerange eggs? I only serve quail eggs to Victor; theyre healthier for men, she declared with a selfimportant air. Your shelves arent exactly spotless Youll be eating from them later, so youd better give them a good wipe.
Honestly, I dont eat straight off the shelves, Emma thought.
Ill clean them, Margaret Whitfield, she promised. We were hoping to have a lazy day today. Its the weekend, after all
Victor, by the way, was taking full advantage of the weekend, sleeping soundly while Emma was forced to entertain his mother.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, the lady proclaimed. Grab a sponge and a rag. Next weekend Ill teach you how to make Victors favourite meat pie. Youll be licking your fingers!
Emma froze, arms crossed over her chest. She didnt want to be dragged into a second day of someone elses instructions.
Margaret, could you perhaps put my number in your phone? So you can call before you pop round. I might have plans next weekend.
Call? I cant just barge into my own sons house? Margaret squinted, offended.
Of course you can. He now lives with a woman. Itd be lovely if we all considered each others schedules.
We never had such problems with Claire, Margaret replied, frowning.
Well, my exmotherinlaw didnt bother me early in the morning, Emma cut in. She used to bring cherry pies. Very tasty. Want the recipe?
Margarets face hardened; a line creased deeper on her forehead and a flash of anger flickered in her eyes.
Emma, think carefully. In our family the night owl never outsings the early bird.
Margaret left, but a sour feeling lingered with Emma. She didnt know what to do. Victor seemed deaf to her, his mother treated their flat as if it were her own. And the spectre of Claire hovered over everything.
Claires cabbage rolls were better her mum taught her, Victor muttered over dinner, perhaps unintentionally.
Then let her teach you, and youll be cooking for me as well, Emma replied.
She suspected Margaret was trying to shape Victor, but she didnt want to bring it up. She simply wanted the topic to disappear from her life.
The next month passed quietly, without surprise visits, until one Saturday the doorbell rang. This time Emma resolved firmly not to answer.
Was that wrong? Maybe. But was it right to keep letting strangers barge in after a polite warning?
Within five minutes Victor emerged from the hallway, blearyeyed and irritable.
Why arent you opening the door?
I dont want to! I wont. Guests should announce themselves, and they shouldnt be climbing into cupboards, fridges and wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mum! Shes come to see me!
Then meet her elsewhere! Not in my flat.
Victors outburst was loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He accused Emma of rejecting his mother, and therefore him. Margaret, meanwhile, shouted from the hallway, demanding entry and ringing the phone repeatedly.
In the end Emma drew a line.
Enough! Either you send your mum home and explain to her what a guest actually means, or were done.
Victor chose the latter.
Emma didnt feel devastated. They hadnt even had time to break up properly. Perhaps it was for the best. She certainly didnt want a life where every conversation involved an ex, and where a meddling mother constantly hovered.
A few months later a surprise arrived. Victor had a new flame. Their mutual friend from the same party the one whod introduced Emma to Victor in the first place told her about it.
We work together now. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but shes already looking to get out. She asked me to introduce you, the friend smiled.
Oh? For what reason?
If you believe Victors mothers gossip, youre supposedly the perfect woman: beautiful, strongwilled, and a great cook.
Are we now talking about Victors mum and me?
Well, perhaps the goodnatured ones are those whove already left Victors side, the friend shrugged.
Since then Emma has listened to outside opinions, but she still trusts her own judgment. She no longer jumps at every rumor, though she does keep an ear open.
She also treats men who constantly bring up their exes and cling to their mothers with extreme caution.
A macho who lets his mum take centre stage will never have a smooth life a mother can be first, but only within sensible limits. Would you agree?
Drop a comment below with what you think, and give it a like if youre with me.
