Why wont you open the door?
Because I dont want to! Guests should give notice before turning up uninvitedand they certainly shouldnt rummage through drawers, fridges, and cupboards.
What do you mean, you wont? Thats my mother! She came to see *me*!
Then *you* go and greet her! But not in *my* house.
Honestly, Emily always got on better with my mum.
You know, if I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both be ashamed.
Though Im not so sure about myself, interrupted Charlotte nervously, scrubbing at the kitchen table. If you and Emily were so happy, why did you break up?
Victor turned away, offended, and glared out the window.
Well you already know how that ended.
I do. So spare me the tales of your precious Emily, Charlotte snapped. Otherwise, Ill be your next ex.
She was serious. Shed already reached her limit.
Shed met Victor nearly a year ago, introduced by a mutual acquaintancethe very same Emily, though theyd never been close. Emily had brought him along that night, then vanished from the social scene a few months later.
Once, after too many drinks, Victor confessed hed caught Emily cheating. Hed even shed a tear.
At the time, Charlotte found it endearinga man unafraid to show emotion, who cherished love. Something in her had stirred, a maternal instinct rather than romantic interest, but it was enough to kindle a relationship.
It began well. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sweet messages daily, and fret over whether shed dressed warmly enough. She felt cherished.
The first warning came when Emily herself reached out.
*”Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. He and his mum are a package deal.”*
Charlotte noted it but dismissed it as trivial. Love conquered worse obstacles, didnt it? Just because things went poorly with one woman didnt mean they would with another.
*”Thanks for the heads-up, but well figure it out,”* she replied, cutting the conversation short. It felt disloyal to Victor.
Victor, however, showed no such consideration for *her* comfort.
When his mother, Margaret, first dropped by unannounced, Charlotte tolerated it. Maybe they didnt realise how intrusive it was. Perhaps Margaret just worried for her son and wanted to see who he lived with.
Charlotte sent Victor to greet her, threw on clothes, tied her hair haphazardly, and stumbled outsleep-deprived, dark circles under her eyesto meet her potential mother-in-law. Margaret was already inspecting the dresser drawers.
Hmph. Everythings a mess, she said with a condescending smile. Next thing you know, the socks wont match. Charlotte, after breakfast, Ill teach you how to fold clothes properly.
No hello, just criticism. Charlotte was too stunned to react. The audacity of a stranger rifling through her underwear in her own home was staggering. But snapping back felt wrong so early in the relationship, so she bit her tongue.
Goodness, those dark circles! Margaret tutted. You ought to try cucumber slices. Or better yet, get your kidneys checked. My friend Gladys had the same
Charlotte nodded along, feigning interest in the ailments of strangers while longing to crawl back into bed. It was barely eight on a Sunday. Shed stayed up late, planning to sleep in.
No such luck.
Margarets visit stretched into evening. Charlotte endured a barrage of advicehow to water plants, scrub the bathtub, polish silverware. She even practised under supervision, feeling utterly drained. Victor never once intervened.
Is your mother always this involved? Charlotte ventured that night.
She didnt mind close families, but boundaries were non-negotiable.
Shes just being friendly, Victor shrugged. Emily and I used to live with herit was lively. Now shes lonely.
We *arent* moving in with her, I hope.
Whats your problem? You dont like my mother? Victor bristled. Emily got on with her just fine.
Charlotte stayed silent. Emily had been eight years younger, the type to ingratiate herself. No doubt shed memorised Margarets friends names, ailments, and starched sheets to perfection.
But Charlotte hadnt signed up for that. Experience taught her that meddling relatives poisoned relationships. Victor disagreed.
Mums sociable. She gets on with anyone.
*”Not everyone wants her to,”* Charlotte nearly said, but held back.
It worsened. Margaret returned the next Sunday, this time inspecting the fridge.
Chicken eggs? I only ever used quail for Victorbetter for men, she declared. And these shelves you *eat* off these? Charlotte, you ought to scrub them.
*”I dont lick the shelves,”* Charlotte thought.
Ill do it later, she said tightly. We were hoping to relax today.
Victor, of course, was still asleep.
Nonsense! Weekends are for chores, Margaret said. Fetch a cloth. Next Sunday, Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll love it!
Charlotte froze, arms crossed. She wasnt about to play housemaid on command.
Margaret, perhaps you could call first? We might have plans.
Call? Cant I visit my own son?
He lives with me now. Courtesy goes both ways.
Emily never minded, Margaret sniffed.
Well, *my* exs mother never barged in at dawn. She brought cherry scones, actually. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened. Charlotte, dear, rememberthe nightingale doesnt outsing the lark.
She left, but the tension lingered. Victor remained oblivious, his mother treated their home as her own, and Emilys ghost haunted every argument.
*”Emilys cabbage rolls were better. Her mum taught her,”* Victor would muse over dinner.
Then have *her* teach you, Charlotte retorted.
She suspected Margaret would poison Victor against her but refused to engage. She just wanted the topic gone.
A month passed peacefullyuntil the doorbell rang at dawn again. This time, Charlotte didnt budge.
Harsh? Perhaps. But was it fair to ignore her boundaries after clear warnings?
Five minutes later, Victor stormed out, groggy and furious.
Why wont you open the door?
I dont want to! Guests announce visits. They dont snoop.
Shes my *mother*!
Then greet her*outside*.
The row echoed through the building. Victor accused her of rejecting him by rejecting his mother. Margaret shrieked demands through the door, ringing nonstop.
Finally, Charlotte issued an ultimatum.
Enough. Either you explain what guest means and send her home, or were done.
He chose the latter.
Charlotte wasnt heartbroken. Theyd never married. Perhaps it was for the best. Living with a man still hung up on his exand his overbearing motherwasnt her idea of happiness.
Months later, gossip reached her. Victor had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend snickered as she shared the news.
She moved in with him *and* Margaretalready wants out. Asked to meet you.
Why?
Apparently, according to Margaret, youre the perfect woman. Pretty, strong-willed, a brilliant cook.
Are we talking about the same Margaret?
The friend shrugged. Seems she only likes the ones who escape Victor.
From then on, Charlotte listened more carefully to whispers. She kept her wits about her but no longer dismissed rumours outright.
And she steered clear of men who waxed poetic about exesor whose mothers came as part of the package.
Such gentlemen would always put Mummy first. Perhaps that was rightin moderation. But life with them? A recipe for misery.
