— Why Won’t You Open the Door? — I don’t want to, and I won’t. Visitors must give notice and stay off the drawers, fridge, and cupboards. — You mean you won’t? That’s my mum! She’s arrived! — Fine, welcome her—just not inside my house.

Why arent you opening the door?
I wont. Im not going to. Guests should give a headsup before they turn up, and they certainly shouldnt be rummaging through the cupboards, the fridge and the wardrobes.
You mean youre not going to? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then meet her elsewhere. Not in my flat.

At least Vicky got on better with my mum.

You know, if I start listing every way my ex was better than you, well both look foolish.

Im not too sure about myself, Emma snapped, rubbing the kitchen table anxiously. If you and Vicky got on so well, why did you break things off with her?

Victor turned away, his face darkening as he stared out the window.

You know the story

I do. So stop talking about your Vicky, Emma cut in. Otherwise Ill become your next ex.

Emma was already ready to take drastic measures.

Shed met Victor about a year ago at a mutual friends house party. She also knew Vicky from the same circle, albeit only peripherally, and Vicky had brought Victor along. A few months later Vicky vanished from everyones radar.

One night, Victor, clearly still drunk, boasted that hed split up with Vicky after catching her cheating. He even shed a tear.

To Emma that seemed oddly sweet: a man who wasnt afraid to show his feelings and who valued love. Something clicked, and she felt the urge to comfort him.

She realised that what she felt was more maternal instinct than any romantic spark, but it was enough to get things moving between them.

The early days were lovely. Hed pick her up after work, drive her home, send her cute texts every day, and ask whether shed dressed warmly enough. Emma felt wrapped in his attention.

Her first worry came when she got a message from Vicky herself.

Hi, Emma. I heard youre dating Victor. Its not really my business, but youd better be careful with him. He and his mum are a tightknit pair.

Emma noted it, but shrugged it off as just a minor nuisance. Love, after all, can weather such bumps. If hed been terrible with one woman, it didnt mean the same with another.

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

She didnt want to keep the conversation going; it felt a bit rude to Victor.

Victor, however, paid no mind to her comfort.

When his mother, Margaret Hart, first turned up at their flat unannounced, Emma took it surprisingly calmly. Perhaps they both didnt grasp how uncomfortable it was. In the end, Margaret was probably just worried about her son and wanted to see who he was living with.

Emma sent Victor to fetch his mum, threw on a simple dress, pulled her hair into a messy bun, and shuffled, halfasleep and with bags under her eyes, into the living room to meet the potential motherinlaw. She was still inspecting the sideboard when Margaret entered.

Ah, a lovely mix, Margaret said with a thin smile. And soon youll be wearing mismatched socks. Now, lets have breakfast, and Ill show you how to fold laundry properly so nothing gets creased or lost.

Instead of a polite hello, Margarets intrusion felt brash. Emma could have retorted sharply, but responding in kind at the start of a relationship felt wrong, so she held her tongue.

Oh dear, you look exhausted! Margaret cooed sympathetically. You need cucumber masks. Better still, a kidney checkup. I have a friend who

Emma forced a smile, nodded, and pretended to be fascinated by tales of strangers ailments, while all she wanted was to crawl back into bed; it was only eight in the morning on a Saturday, and shed stayed up late the night before hoping for a bit of extra sleep.

The visit stretched into the evening. Margaret dished out a torrent of criticism and helpful advice on watering plants, cleaning the bath, and polishing cutlery. Emma even managed a few practice runs. She felt squeezed like a lemon. Throughout it all Victor never offered to help or hint that they both needed a break.

Do you think your mum is always this energetic? Emma asked cautiously before turning in for the night.

She liked the idea of a big, closeknit family, but she also craved some space.

Yeah, shes just a social butterfly, Victor shrugged. We used to stay with Vickys mum; it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.

I hope we dont end up threeinone, Emma sighed.

Whats the problem? Youre against my mum? Victor snapped. She got along fine with Vicky.

Emma stayed silent. Vicky was eight years younger, a bit of a peoplepleaser, and she and Margaret probably knew each others names, ailments, favourite ironing settings, and cake recipes. Emma wasnt about to sign up for that kind of happiness. Shed learned that the fewer outsiders meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Victor, however, saw it differently.

My mum is very gregarious. She can chat up anyone.

That may be, but not everyone will be thrilled, Emma thought, but didnt say it.

The next day Margaret turned up again, bright and early, and launched a fullscale refrigerator inspection.

Freerange eggs? I only ever prepared quail eggs for Victor; theyre better for a mans health, she declared, eyes gleaming. Your shelves could use a good wipe down youll be eating that stuff later, you know. Emma, could you tidy them up?

Honestly, I dont eat straight off the shelves, Emma mused.

Ill clean them, Margaret Hart, she promised. We were hoping to relax today. Its the weekend, after all.

Victor, by the way, spent the day sleeping while Emma was forced to entertain his mother.

Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, the lady insisted. Grab a sponge and a rag. Next weekend Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll lick the plate clean!

Emma froze, arms crossed over her chest. She wasnt about to run around on someone elses instructions for a second day in a row.

Margaret, perhaps you could give me your number? So you can call before you pop round. I have plans for my own weekends.

Call? You think I cant visit my own son? Margaret said, eyes narrowing.

Of course you can. Just remember he now lives with a woman. Itd be grand if we all considered each others schedules.

We never had this problem with Vicky, Margaret muttered.

My exs mum never barged in early in the morning, either, Emma replied, cutting him off. 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 gaze.

Emma, think carefully. In our family the night owl doesnt disturb the day.

She left, but the sour taste lingered. Emma didnt know what to do. Victor was oblivious; his mother treated their flat as if it were her own home. And the spectre of Vicky hovered over everything.

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

Then let her teach you, and youll have to cook for me too, Emma warned.

She suspected Margaret was trying to mould her son, but she didnt want to argue. She just wanted the topic gone.

The following month passed quietly, free of surprise visits, until one morning the phone rang again. This time Emma resolved not to open the door.

Was it wrong? Perhaps. But why keep letting strangers barge in after a polite warning?

Within five minutes, Victor stumbled into the hallway, blearyeyed and irritable.

Why arent you opening the door?

I dont want to! I wont. Guests should announce themselves first, and they shouldnt be poking around my cupboards, fridge and wardrobes.

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

Then meet her elsewhere! Not in my flat.

Victors outburst was loud enough to draw the neighbours attention. He scolded Emma for rejecting his mother, which, in his eyes, meant rejecting him too. Margaret shouted from the street, demanding entry and ringing the telephone incessantly.

In the end Emma gave an ultimatum.

Enough! Either you send your mother packing and explain to her what guest means, or were done.

Victor chose the latter.

Emma wasnt devastated. They barely had time to sign the papers. Perhaps it was for the best. She didnt want a partner whose past came with a side of a meddling mother.

A few months later a surprise came. Victor had a new flame. Their mutual friend from the same old circle told Emma,

We work together now. Shes moved in with him and his mum, but shes already looking to get out. She asked me to set you up.

Really? For what reason?

If you believe Victors mum, youre the perfect woman beautiful, strongwilled, and a good cook.

So were still talking about Victors mum and me?

Apparently, anyone whos not living with Victor is now on good terms with his mum.

Since then Emma has learned to listen to other peoples gossip but keep her own head. She still watches out for men who constantly bring up exes and cling to their mothers like a lifeline.

With such macho dynamics life will never work out a mother will always be first on the list. Thats fine, as long as its kept within reasonable bounds. Do you agree?

Leave a comment with your thoughts and give it a like.