Why wont you open the door?
Im not. I wont. Guests must give warning before they turn up, and theyre not supposed to rummage through cupboards, the fridge, or the wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes here to see me!
Then meet her elsewhere. Just not in my flat.
At least Lucy got on with my mum.
You know, if I start listing everything my ex did better than you, well both be embarrassed.
Im not sure about myself, Emily snapped, rubbing the kitchen table anxiously. If you and Lucy were so great together, why did you end it?
Tom turned away, his face dark, and stared out the window.
You know the story
I do. So keep your Lucytale to yourself, Emily cut him off. Otherwise Ill be your next ex.
Emily was already ready to take drastic measures.
Shed met Tom about a year ago at a mutual friends party. Hed even introduced her to Lucy, though they werent close. Lucy had come over with him, then vanished from every radar a few months later.
One night, Tom, clearly drunk, bragged that hed dumped Lucy after catching her cheating. He even shed a tear.
Emily found that oddly sweet a man unafraid to show his feelings, who valued love. Something clicked; she wanted to console him.
She realised it was more motherly instinct than romantic interest, but it was enough to spark a relationship.
It started well. He met her after work, drove her home, sent daily sweet texts, asked if shed kept warm. Emily felt wrapped in his care.
Her first worry came when Lucy messaged her.
Hey, I heard youre seeing Tom. Thats none of my business, but be gentle with him. He and his mum are a tightknit pair.
Emily noted it, but brushed it off. Love, she thought, could survive such trivialities. If his previous relationship was a mess, it didnt mean the next one would be.
Thanks for the headsup, but well sort it out ourselves, Emily replied.
She didnt want to keep the conversation going; it felt like an ugly intrusion on Toms comfort.
Meanwhile Tom didnt give a thought to her peace of mind.
When his mother, Margaret Clarke, first turned up unannounced, Emily reacted with almost calm resignation. Perhaps they both didnt grasp how uncomfortable it was. After all, Margaret probably worried about her son and wanted to see who he lived with.
Emily sent Tom to fetch his mother, threw on a shirt, pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail, and, halfasleep and still with dark circles, marched to meet the wouldbe motherinlaw. She was already inspecting the sideboard in the sitting room.
Ah, a lovely mess, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And Im sure your socks are mismatched too. Emily, lets have breakfast, and Ill teach you how to fold laundry so nothing gets lost or ruined.
Instead of a simple hello, Margarets intrusion felt like a violation of Emilys private space. Yet reacting with equal harshness at the start of a relationship seemed wrong, so she swallowed her irritation.
Oh dear, you look like youve been up all night! You need cucumber masks. Better still, a kidney checkup. I have a friend
Emily forced a smile, nodded, and pretended interest in these strangers ailments, all the while wishing she could crawl back into bed. It was only eight oclock in the morning; shed deliberately stayed up late hoping to sleep in on her day off.
Margarets visit stretched until evening. Emily endured a torrent of criticism and helpful advice on how to water plants, clean the bath, and polish cutlery. She even got a brief practice session. She felt squeezed like a lemon. All the while Tom never offered to help or suggest a break to his mother.
Does your mum always intervene like this? Emily whispered before bedtime.
She liked close families, but a little distance would be nice.
Shes just friendly, Tom shrugged. We used to live with Lucys mum; it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.
I hope we dont end up three under one roof, Emily sighed.
Whats the problem? Youre against my mum? Tom snapped. She got along great with Lucy.
Emily stayed silent. Lucy was eight years younger, always trying to ingratiate herself. Of course theyd been friends.
Margaret seemed to know every acquaintances name, diagnosis, how to iron sheets perfectly, and how to bake pies from her motherinlaws recipe book. Emily wasnt signing up for that happily ever after. Shed learned that the less interference in a couples life, the better. Tom, however, had another view.
My mum is very social. She finds common ground with anyone.
Thats nice, but not everyone will be thrilled about it, Emily wanted to say, but held her tongue.
The next day Margaret turned up again at dawn, this time launching a fridge inspection.
Freerange eggs? I only ever serve quail eggs to Tom; theyre healthier for a man, she declared, looking important. Those shelves need a proper clean youll be eating from them, wont you? Emily, could you tidy them up?
Emily thought, *I dont eat straight from the shelf.*
Ill do it, Margaret Clarke, she promised. We were hoping for a quiet weekend.
Tom, by the way, was asleep, oblivious as Emily endured his mothers endless directives.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, Margaret asserted. Grab a sponge and a cloth. Next weekend Ill teach you Toms favourite meat pie. Youll lick your fingers clean!
Emily froze, arms crossed over her chest. She wasnt ready to be bossed around for a second day.
Margaret, could you perhaps write down my number? So you can call before you drop by. I might have plans next weekend.
Call? You think I cant visit my own son? the woman replied, hurt.
Of course you can. Its just that he now lives with a woman. Itd be lovely if we all considered each others wishes.
We never had this issue with Lucy, Margaret said, tightening her lips.
Well, my exs mum never barged in at dawn either, Emily retorted. She used to bring cherry pies. Want the recipe?
Margarets face hardened, a flicker of anger flashing in her eyes.
Emily, think carefully. In our family, the night owl never outsings the early bird.
She left, but the sting lingered. Emily didnt know what to do. Tom didnt hear a word; his mother treated their flat as if it were 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.
She suspected Margaret was trying to steer Tom, but she didnt want to argue. She simply wanted the spectre gone.
The next month passed without visits, then the cycle resumed. Emily woke to the phone ringing. This time she resolved not to answer.
Bad? Perhaps. But was it right to keep letting strangers barge in after a polite warning?
Within five minutes, Tom stumbled into the hallway, halfasleep, irritable, clearly angry.
Why arent you opening the door?
I dont want to! I wont. Guests need to give notice and stop poking around the cupboards, the fridge, the wardrobe.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! She came to see me!
Then meet her somewhere else. Not in my flat.
Toms outburst echoed through the hallway, surely loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He berated Emily, saying that rejecting his mother meant rejecting him too. Margaret shouted from the street, demanding to be let in, phone ringing nonstop.
Finally, Emily drew a line.
Enough! Either you send your mother home right now and explain to her what a guest is, or we end this.
Tom chose the latter.
Emily felt a strange relief. They hadnt even finished their arguments. Perhaps it was for the best. She didnt want a life entangled with exstories, a meddlesome mother, and constant comparison.
Months later a surprising rumor reached Emily. Tom had a new love. Their mutual friend from the same social circle the one whod introduced them to Lucy spilled the beans.
We work together now. She moved in with him and his mum, but she wants out. She asked me to introduce you, the friend said, smiling.
Oh? And why?
If you believe Toms mum, youre the perfect woman: beautiful, strongwilled, and a great cook.
So were talking about Toms mum and me?
Apparently, his mum likes anyone whos left Toms house.
Emily listened, but kept her own thoughts. She stayed skeptical of gossip, yet didnt ignore it completely. She also became wary of men who constantly referenced exes and clung to overprotective mothers.
A macho who lets his mum dominate will never have a balanced life. Perhaps thats right, but only within sensible limits. Do you agree?
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