Why arent you opening the door?
I wont! Guests should announce themselves before they appear, 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 welcome her just not into my flat.
At least Poppy got on with my mum better than you did.
If I started listing every way my exboyfriend outshone you, wed both be crimson with embarrassment.
Im not sure about myself, Emily whispered, rubbing the kitchen table nervously. If you both liked Poppy so much, why did you dump her?
Tom turned away, his face clouded, and stared out the window.
You know the story
I know. So spare me the saga about your Poppy, Emily snapped. Or Ill end up your next exgirlfriend.
Emily was already poised to take drastic measures.
She had met James about a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. Shed also known Poppy, though only peripherally, and had brought Tom along. A few months later Poppy vanished from every radar.
One night, Tom, halfasleep, confessed hed split from her after catching her cheating, even shedding a tear.
Emily found that oddly sweet: a man unafraid to show feeling, a man who valued love. Something clicked; she wanted to console him.
She recognised that the spark was more maternal instinct than any romantic interest, yet it was enough to set something in motion between them.
It began nicely. He met her after work, gave her lifts home, sent daily, endearing texts, asked whether shed dressed warmly. Emily felt wrapped in his care.
The first ripple came when Poppy herself texted.
Hi. I heard youre seeing James. Its none of my business, but be gentle with him. He and his mum are a tightknit duo.
Emily noted it, shrugged it off as trivial. Love, she thought, could weather such bumps. After all, if James had trouble with one woman, it didnt mean the same would happen with another.
Thanks for the warning, but well sort it out ourselves, Emily replied.
She didnt want to keep the exchange going; it felt like a blemish on what should be a smooth romance.
James, however, gave her comfort no thought.
When his mother, Margaret, first turned up unannounced, Emily reacted with an almost eerie calm. Perhaps both parties simply failed to grasp how intrusive the visit was. Margaret, after all, was probably just worried about her son and curious about the woman he lived with.
Emily sent Tom to fetch Margaret, threw on a hastily tied bun, slipped into a robe, and shuffled sleepladen, darkcircled eyes toward the supposed future motherinlaw. In the same breath she was still inspecting the kitchen cupboards.
Ah, everythings a delightful jumble, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And your socks will never match, Im sure. Now, lets have breakfast, and Ill teach you how to fold laundry so nothing gets lost or creased.
Instead of a polite hello, Margarets entrance felt like an assault on Emilys private space. Yet answering rudeness with rudeness at the start of a relationship felt wrong, so Emily swallowed it.
Oh, love, you look like youve been up all night, Margaret cooed. You need cucumber masks. Better still, a kidney checkup. I have a friend
Emily smiled, nodded, and pretended genuine interest in strangers ailments, all while yearning to slip back into bed. It was only eight in the morning; she had deliberately stayed up late the night before, hoping to catch up on sleep.
Margarets visit stretched into evening, filling the flat with a torrent of critique and earnest advice about watering plants, scrubbing baths, and polishing cutlery. Emily managed a few practice runs, feeling squeezed like a lemon. Through it all, James never offered a hint of assistance or a chance for a quiet escape.
Do you always have a mother this energetic? Emily asked cautiously before drifting off to sleep.
She liked the idea of a closeknit family, but longed for a sliver of distance.
Shes just looking for a mate, James shrugged. We used to live with Poppy and her mum; it was cosy. Now shes bored alone.
I hope we wont be a trio, Emily sighed.
Whats wrong? Youre against my mum? James snapped, his tone a little sharp. She got on well with Poppy, everything was fine.
Emily stayed silent. Poppy was eight years younger than her, habitually flattering everyone, and certainly friendly with Margaret. She probably knew every aunt of Margaret by name, memorised their medical histories, ironed sheets to perfection and baked pies from the motherinlaws recipe book.
Emily, however, refused to sign up for that version of happiness. Shed learned that the fewer outsiders meddle in a couples affairs, the better. James, though, held a different view.
My mum is sociable. She can strike up conversation with anyone.
Of course, not everyone will be thrilled, Emily thought, but didnt say it aloud.
The next day Margaret arrived again at dawn, this time launching a fullscale fridge inspection.
Quail eggs? I only ever made James quail eggs; theyre healthier for men, she declared, eyes twinkling with selfimportance. Those shelves arent spotless youll be eating that later. Emily, could you give them a wash?
Honestly, I dont eat straight from the shelves, Emily mused.
Ill clean them later, Margaret, she promised. We were supposed to relax today. Its a weekend, after all
James, by the way, spent the day asleep while Emily was forced to entertain his mothers relentless parade of chores.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, Margaret proclaimed unapologetically. Grab a sponge and a rag. Next weekend Ill teach you Jamess favourite meat pie. Youll lick your fingers clean!
Emily froze, hands clasped over her chest. She wasnt prepared to obey a strangers directives for a second day in a row.
Margaret, could you perhaps write down my number? So you can call before any future visits. I might have plans on the next weekend.
Call? I cant even visit my own son? the lady sniffed, hurt.
Of course you can. He now lives with a woman. It would be lovely if we all considered each others schedules.
We never had such issues with Poppy, Margaret muttered, a faint grin curling her lips.
My exmotherinlaw never rang at dawn either, Emily interjected. She used to bring cherry pies. Delicious. Want the recipe?
Margarets face tightened, a crease deepening on her forehead, a flash of anger in her eyes.
Emily, think carefully. In our family the night owl doesnt outsing the daybird.
She departed, leaving a lingering fog of unease in Emilys mind. James heard none of it; his mother behaved as if she were moving into his flat. And the ghost of Poppy hovered over their relationship like a lingering perfume.
Poppys cabbage rolls were better, James murmured absentmindedly over dinner. Her mum taught her.
Then let her teach you to cook for me, Emily retorted, suspecting Margaret was trying to shape her sons mind, but not wanting to raise the issue. She simply wanted that chapter closed.
The following month passed quietly, free of surprise visits, until the phone rang one morning. This time Emily resolved firmly not to answer.
Was it wrong? Perhaps. But could she continue to let strangers barge into her home without warning after a polite nudge?
Within five minutes, James staggered into the hallway, halfasleep, irritable, eyes glazed.
Why wont you open the door?
I dont want to! Emily shouted. Guests must announce themselves, and they must not poke around my cupboards, fridge or wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mum! Shes here to see me!
Then meet her elsewhere! Not in my house!
The argument echoed through the building; neighbours could have heard. James berated Emily for rejecting his mother, while Margaret screamed from the street, demanding entry and ringing the phone.
In the end, Emily drew an ultimatum.
Enough! Either you send your mother home and explain the meaning of guest, or we break up!
James chose the latter.
Emily felt a strange relief. They hadnt even had time to finish saying goodbye. Perhaps it was for the best. She didnt want a life stitched together with stories of exes and an overbearing mother.
A few months later a startling rumor reached Emily. James had a new lover. Their mutual friend from the old circle, Claire, delivered the news.
We work together. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but she wants out. She asked me to introduce you, Claire smiled.
Really? For what reason?
If you trust Victors mum, you must be the perfect woman: beautiful, strongwilled, and a good cook.
Are we now talking about Victors mum and me?
Apparently, anyone not living with James is suddenly a good person, Claire shrugged.
Since then Emily listened to the gossip but kept her own head. She didnt swallow every whisper, yet she didnt ignore them outright. She also grew wary of men who constantly brandished exgirlfriends and clung to their mothers like lifelines.
A macho with a mother forever first in line would never make a happy homeunless boundaries were drawn firmly. Do you agree?
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