“‘Why Won’t You Open the Door?’ ‘I’m Not Going to—Guests Must Announce Their Visits and Stop Rummaging Through Drawers, Fridges, and Cupboards.’ ‘You Mean I Can’t? That’s My Mother! She’s Come to See Me!’ ‘Fine—Welcome Her…Just Not in My House.’

Why wont you open the door?
I wont! Im not going to. Guests ought to announce their arrival, and they should never rummage through the cupboards, the fridge or the wardrobes.
You mean youll never let them in? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then greet her, but not in my house.

Claire got on better with my mum, you know.

If I start listing every way my ex was better than you, well both be mortified.

Im not sure about myself, Emily stammered, rubbing the kitchen table. If you liked Claire so much, why did you break up with her?

Victor turned away, his eyes darkening as they fell on the window.

You know the story

I know. So spare me the saga about your Claire, Emily snapped. Otherwise Ill become your next ex.

Emily was already poised to take drastic measures.

Shed met Victor about a year ago at a mutual workplace. Shed also known Claire, though only peripherally, and Claire had brought Victor along. A few months later Claire vanished from every radar.

One foggy night Victor, halfdrunk, confessed that hed left Claire after catching her cheating, even shedding a tear.

To Emily that seemed oddly sweet: a man unafraid to show his feelings, who treasured love. Something clicked inside her; she felt an urge to comfort him.

Emily recognised that what moved her was maternal instinct, not any romantic spark. Still, it was enough to set their relationship in motion.

At first everything was rosy. He met her after work, drove her home, sent daily love notes, asked whether shed kept warm. Emily felt wrapped in care.

Her first alarm came when Claire herself texted:

Hi. I heard youre seeing Victor. Its not my business, but be gentle with him. Hes got a clingy, inseparable duo with his mum.

Emily noted it, shrugged it off. Love, after all, overcomes such trifles. After all, if his past with one woman was a mess, it didnt mean the next would be.

Hi. I think well sort it out ourselves. Thanks for the warning, Emily replied.

She didnt want the conversation to linger; it felt a trifle untidy for Victor.

Victor, however, cared not a whit about her comfort.

When his mother, Margaret Pauline, first arrived unannounced, Emily kept a surprisingly calm face. Perhaps they both failed to grasp how uncomfortable it was. Surely Margaret was merely worried about her son and wanted to see who he lived with.

Emily sent Victor off to fetch his mother, threw on a hastily tied bun, dressed in a rumpled dress, eyes halfclosed with bags under them, and trudged to meet the prospective motherinlaw. Already she was inspecting the sideboard in the lounge.

Ah, everythings a muddle, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And soon your socks will be mismatched. Emily, lets have breakfast, and Ill teach you to fold laundry so nothing gets wrinkled or lost.

Instead of a polite good morning, saying Emily was flustered meant saying nothing at all. The strangers casual rummaging through her linens felt invasive.

Yet answering rudeness with rudeness at the start of a relationship felt wrong, so she endured.

Oh dear, you look halfasleep! Margaret cooed sympathetically. You need cucumber masks. Better yet, a kidney checkup. Ive a friend who

Emily forced a smile, nodded, and pretended curiosity about the ailments of people shed never met. Inside she yearned to drift back to sleep; it was only eight in the morning, a lazy Sunday after shed stayed up late the night before, hoping to catch up on rest.

The visit stretched into the evening. Margaret delivered a torrent of critiques and precious advice on how to water flowers, scrub the bath, and polish cutlery. Emily managed a few practice runs, feeling squeezed like a lemon. All the while Victor never offered help, nor hinted to his mother that they needed a break.

Do you think your mum is always this active? Emily asked cautiously before bedtime.

She liked the idea of a big, closeknit family, but also craved a little distance.

Yeah, what of it? She just wants a mate, Victor shrugged. We used to live with Claires mum; it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.

I hope we wont be three under one roof, Emily sighed.

Whats the problem? Youre against my mother? Victor snapped. She got on famously with Claire; they were fine.

Emily fell silent. Claire was eight years younger than her and habitually slithered into peoples lives. Of course they were friends. She probably knew every name and diagnosis of Margarets circle, ironed the bedclothes perfectly, and baked pies by her motherinlaws recipe.

Emily, however, refused to sign up for that kind of happiness. Shed already gathered enough life experience to know that the fewer outsiders meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Victor, though, had a different view.

My mum is very sociable. She finds common ground with anyone.

Thats all well and good, but not everyone will be thrilled, Emily thought, but kept quiet.

The nightmare deepened. Margaret returned the next day, bright and early, and launched a fridge inspection.

Quail eggs? I only make Victor quail eggs; theyre healthier for blokes, she declared with an air of importance. Your shelves arent spotless youll be eating from them, after all. Emily, you should clean them.

I dont eat straight off the shelf, Emily thought.

Ill tidy them, Margaret Pauline, she promised. We wanted a day off. Its a weekend, after all

Victor, by the way, was napping blissfully while Emily was forced to entertain his mother.

Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, the lady proclaimed unapologetically. Grab a sponge and a rag. Next weekend Ill teach you a meat pie Victor loves. Youll lick your fingers clean!

Emily froze, arms crossed over her chest. She wasnt ready to chase someone elses instructions for a second day in a row.

Margaret Pauline, could you perhaps write down my number? So you can call before you drop by. I might have plans next weekend.

Call? I cant visit my own son? Margaret winced, offended.

Of course you can. Just remember your son now lives with a woman. It would be nice if we all minded each others schedules.

We never had those problems with Claire, Margaret muttered, frowning.

My exs mum never rang me at dawn, Emily cut in. She used to bring cherry pies. Delicious. Want the recipe?

Margarets face tightened, a furrow deepening on her brow, a flash of anger in her eyes.

Emily, think carefully. In our family the night owl doesnt disturb the daytime.

After that Margaret left, but a sour taste lingered in Emilys mouth. She didnt know what to do. Victor heard nothing; his mother behaved as if she were visiting her own home. And the ghost of Claire hovered over their relationship like a stray cloud.

Claires cabbage rolls were better her mum taught her, Victor muttered over dinner.

Then let her teach you too; youll be cooking for me.

Emily suspected Margaret was trying to mould her son, but she refused to discuss it. She simply wanted to erase the topic from her life.

The next month passed quietly, free of visits, until the pattern repeated. Emily awoke to a ringing phone. This time she resolved, firmly, not to answer.

Bad? Perhaps. But was it any better to let strangers barge into her flat after a polite hint?

Within five minutes Victor staggered into the hallway, blearyeyed, disgruntled, almost angry.

Why wont you open the door?

I dont want to! I wont. Guests should give notice, and they shouldnt be climbing through drawers, fridges and wardrobes.

You mean you wont? Shes my mum! Shes come to see me!

Then welcome her, but not in my house.

Victors outburst was loud enough that the neighbours must have heard. He scolded Emily for rejecting his mother, and thus, rejecting him. Margaret wailed, demanding entry, ringing the phone.

In the end Emily set an ultimatum.

Enough! Either you send your mum home, explain the meaning of guest, and let her leave, or we break up!

Victor chose the latter.

Emily wasnt devastated. They hadnt even managed a proper goodbye. Perhaps it was for the best. She didnt want a life accompanied by a revolving door of extalk, nor a meddlesome mother.

Months later, an unexpected tidbit arrived. Victor had a new love. Their mutual friend from the same workplacewho also worked with Victorrelayed the news.

We work together. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but she wants to run away. Can you meet her? the friend smiled.

Oh? For what reason?

If you believe Victors mum, youre just the perfect woman: pretty, strongminded, and a good cook.

Are we now gossiping about Victors mum and me?

Probably her mum only likes those who arent living under Victors roof any more, the friend shrugged.

From then on Emily listened to whispers, but kept her own head. She didnt swallow every rumor, nor ignored them completely. She also grew wary of men who constantly aired their exes and clung painfully to their mothers.

A macho life with a mother forever first on the agenda never works, she thought. Perhaps a little maternal love is fine, but within sensible limits. Do you agree?

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