Why arent you opening the door?
Because I wont! Guests ought to announce their arrival, and they shouldnt be rummaging through cupboards, fridges and wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mothershes come to see me!
Then meet her just not in my house.
Olive always got along with my mum.
Honestly, if I start listing every way my ex was better than you, well both be embarrassed.
Im not so sure about myself, Poppy said, nervously rubbing the kitchen table. If you and Olive got along so well, why did you break up with her?
Victor turned away, his gaze drifting gloomily toward the window.
You know the story
I know it. So spare me the saga about your Olive, Poppy snapped. Otherwise Ill become your next ex.
Poppy was already bracing herself for drastic measures.
Shed met Victor about a year ago at a shared office party. Shed also known Olive, though only peripherally, and Olive had brought Victor along. A few months later Olive vanished from everyones radar.
One evening, halfdrunk, Victor confessed hed left Olive after catching her cheating, even shedding a tear.
To Poppy that seemed oddly sweet: a man unafraid to show feelings, who valued love. Something clicked, and she felt the urge to comfort him.
She recognised that what she felt was more maternal instinct than romantic interest, yet it was enough to spark a relationship.
At first everything was idyllic. He met her after work, drove her home, sent sugary texts daily, and asked whether shed dressed warmly enough. Poppy felt wrapped in care.
Her first unease came when Olive texted her:
Hey, I heard youre seeing Victor. Its none of my business, but treat him gently. He and his mum are a tightknit, unbreakable duo.
Poppy noted it but dismissed it as trivial. Love, after all, overcame such obstacles. If Victor had troubles with one woman, it didnt mean the same with another.
Thanks for the warning, Poppy replied. Well sort it out ourselves.
She didnt want to prolong the conversation; it felt oddly unsightly to keep the peace with Victor.
Victor, however, paid no mind to her comfort.
When his mother, Margaret Palmer, first dropped by unannounced, Poppy remained oddly calm. Perhaps they both failed to grasp how uncomfortable it was. In the end, Margaret probably just wanted to see who her son was living with.
Poppy sent Victor to fetch his mother, threw on a hastily tied bun, and, halfasleep with bags under her eyes, trudged to meet the wouldbe motherinlaw. She was already inspecting the sideboard in the lounge.
Ah, everythings a jumble, Margaret said with a patronising smile. Soon your socks will be mismatched. Poppy, breakfast is in an hour, and Ill teach you to fold laundry so nothing gets crushed or lost.
And that, instead of a polite hello, summed up Poppys bewilderment. The thought that a stranger was rummaging through her intimate spaces felt crude. Yet replying with cruelty right at the start of a relationship felt equally wrong, so she swallowed it.
Oh dear, you look like youve barely slept, Margaret cooed sympathetically. You need cucumber masks. Better yet, a kidney checkup. I have a friend.
Poppy smiled, nodded, and pretended fascination with the health anecdotes of strangers. Inside, she longed to slip back to sleep; it was only eight in the morning, a lazy Saturday after she had deliberately stayed up late, hoping for a few extra hours of rest.
Margarets visit stretched into the evening. Poppy received a flood of critiques and helpful advice on watering plants, cleaning the bath, and polishing spoons. She even managed a few practice runs. She felt squeezed like a lemon. Throughout, Victor never once offered assistance or hinted to his mother that they needed a break.
Is your mother always this enthusiastic? Poppy asked cautiously before bedtime.
She liked large families and close ties, but a little distance would have been nice.
Yes, thats her style. What of it? Victor shrugged. We used to live with Olive and her mum; it was cozy. Now shes bored alone.
I hope we wont end up three under one roof, Poppy sighed.
Whats the problem? Youre against my mum? Victor snapped. Olive got along with her, everything was fine.
Poppy fell silent. Olive, eight years younger, was a consummate peoplepleaser; theyd certainly been friends. Margaret probably knew all her friends by name, diagnosis, could iron linens perfectly and bake pies from her motherinlaws recipe book.
But Poppy wasnt signing up for that brand of happiness. Shed learned that the fewer external hands meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Victor, however, held a different view.
My mum is very sociable. She can talk to anyone.
Only some will be pleased with that, Poppy thought, but didnt say it.
The next day Margaret arrived again, bright and early, this time launching a fridge inspection.
Chicken eggs? I only serve Victor quail eggs; theyre healthier for men, she declared with grave seriousness. Your shelves are dusty youll eat that later, wont you? Poppy, you should clean them.
Honestly, I dont eat straight off the shelves, Poppy mused silently.
Ill clean them, Margaret Palmer, she promised. We wanted a quiet weekend. Its a weekend, after all.
Victor, by the way, spent the whole time sleeping soundly while Poppy was forced to entertain his mother.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, Margaret asserted, eyes flashing. Grab a sponge and a cloth. Next weekend Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll lick your fingers!
Poppy froze, arms crossed over her chest. The idea of obeying someone elses instructions for a second day in a row felt suffocating.
Margaret, could you maybe give me your number? So you can call before you drop by. I might have plans next weekend.
Call? I cant visit my sons house anymore? Margaret fumed, squinting.
Of course you can. Just remember your son now lives with a woman. Itd be lovely if we all considered each others wishes.
We never had such problems with Olive, Margaret muttered, tightening her jaw.
My exs mother never rang me at dawn either, Poppy retorted. She used to bring cherry pies. Delicious. Want the recipe?
Margarets face hardened, a crease appearing on her forehead as a spark of anger flickered.
Poppy, think carefully. Our family doesnt let a nightowl outsing the daycrow.
She left, but the residue of the encounter lingered. Poppy didnt know what to do. Victor seemed deaf to her; his mother behaved as if she owned the house. And the ghost of Olive hovered over their relationship.
Olives cabbage rolls were betterher mum taught her, Victor muttered over dinner.
Then let her teach you to cook for me too, Poppy replied, suspecting Margaret was trying to steer Victor, but unwilling to argue. She simply wanted the issue gone.
The following month passed without visits, but soon the pattern repeated. Poppy awoke to the ring of the doorbell. This time she resolved firmly not to answer.
Was it wrong? Perhaps. But could she continue to have strangers barge into her home without warning, after a polite hint?
Within five minutes, Victor staggered into the hallway, halfasleep, grumbling.
Why wont you open the door?
I dont want to, and I wont. Guests should announce themselves and stay out of cupboards, fridges and wardrobes.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then welcome her just not in my house.
Victors outburst was loud enough for the neighbours to hear. He berated Poppy for rejecting his mother, and by extension, him. Margaret wailed from the street, demanding entry, phone ringing incessantly.
In the end, Poppy issued an ultimatum.
Enough! Either you send your mother home, explaining the meaning of guest, or we end this.
Victor chose the latter.
Poppy felt little sorrow. They didnt even finish their goodbye. Perhaps it was for the best. She certainly didnt want to live with someone whose past relationship stories and overbearing mother were part of the package.
Months later a surprising rumor reached Poppy: Victor had a new lover. Their mutual friend from the same office, Lily, spilled the beans.
We work together now. She moved in with Victor and his mum, but wants to run away. She asked me to introduce you.
Why? For what reason?
If you believe Victors mum, youre the perfect womanbeautiful, strongwilled, and a great cook.
Were talking about Victors mum and me now?
Probably because her mums favourite people are those who no longer live with Victor.
From then on Poppy listened to gossip with a grain of salt. She kept her own head on her shoulders, didnt believe everything, but didnt ignore whispers entirely. She also grew cautious around men who constantly referenced exes and clung painfully to their mothers.
With such machos, life rarely works outmothers always take the front seat. Perhaps thats sensible, but only within reasonable bounds. Do you agree? Let me know in the comments, and dont forget to like.
