Why arent you opening the door?
Im not. I wont. Visitors should ring first, and they certainly shouldnt start rummaging through drawers, the fridge and the cupboard.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes come to see me!
Then meet her elsewhere. Not in my flat.
And Beatrice always got along with my mum.
You know, if I started listing all the ways my expartner outshone you, wed both be embarrassed.
Im not even sure about myself, Eleanor stammered, rubbing the kitchen table with nervous fingers. If you and Beatrice got on so well, why did you break up?
Victor turned away, his gaze darkening as he stared out the window.
You know the story
I do. So spare me the Beatrice saga, Eleanor snapped. Otherwise Ill become just another exgirlfriend of yours.
Eleanor was already ready to take drastic measures.
Shed met Victor about a year ago at a mutual friends party. Shed also known Beatrice, albeit only peripherally, and Victor had brought her along. A few months later Beatrice vanished from everyones radar.
One night, drunk and angry, Victor confessed hed split with her after catching her cheating, even shedding a tear.
Eleanor found that oddly touching: a man unafraid to show his feelings, someone who still valued love. Something clicked; she wanted to comfort him.
She recognised that what she felt was more maternal instinct than romantic interest, but that was enough to ignite a relationship.
At first everything was perfect. Hed pick her up after work, drive her home, send sweet texts every day, ask whether shed bundled up enough against the chill. Eleanor felt wrapped in his attention.
The first time she felt a ripple of unease was when Beatrice herself texted her.
Hi, I heard youre dating Victor. Its not my business, but be careful with him. He and his mother are a tightknit, almostinseparable pair.
Eleanor noted it, shrugged it off. Love, she thought, could weather such bumps. After all, if Victor had a rough patch with one woman, that didnt guarantee the same with another.
Thanks for the warning, but well sort it out ourselves, Eleanor replied.
She didnt want to prolong the exchange. It felt like an unnecessary drama that would only sour things with Victor.
Victor, however, gave her comfort no further thought.
When his mother, Margaret Palmer, first turned up unannounced, Eleanor stayed remarkably calm. Perhaps neither realized how uncomfortable it was. Margaret likely worried about her son and wanted to see who he lived with.
Eleanor sent Victor to fetch his mother, threw on a hastily tied ponytail, slipped into a sleepy, bageyed state and walked into what felt like a meeting with a future motherinlaw. Already she was inspecting the livingroom sideboard.
Ah, everythings a bit mixed up, Margaret said with a patronising smile. And youll probably end up with mismatched socks. Darling, lets have breakfast and Ill teach you how to fold laundry so nothing gets wrinkled or lost.
Instead of a polite hello, Margaret dove straight into Eleanors personal space, rifling through her underwear drawer as if it were a harmless chore. Eleanor felt her stomach knot. Responding with equal rudeness at the start of a relationship seemed wrong, so she swallowed the bite.
Oh, love, you look like youve been up all night! You need cucumber masks. Or better yet, a kidney checkup. I have a friend who
Eleanor forced a smile, nodded, and pretended interest in Margarets health anecdotes while longing for a nap. It was only eight in the morning; she had stayed up late the night before, hoping to catch up on sleep during the weekend.
Margarets visit stretched into the evening. She handed down a torrent of critiques and helpful advice about watering plants, cleaning the bath, and polishing cutlery. Eleanor managed a few practice runs, feeling squeezed like a lemon. Throughout, Victor never offered to step in or hint to his mother that they needed a break.
Does your mother always Eleanor whispered before turning in for the night.
Victor shrugged.
She just likes to be sociable, he said. We used to live with Beatrice at her place; it was cosy. Now shes bored on her own.
I hope we wont be a trio, Eleanor sighed.
Whats the problem? Youre against my mum? Victors tone tightened. She and Beatrice were good friends.
Eleanor fell silent. Beatrice was eight years younger, a natural sycophant, and indeed theyd been close. Margaret probably knew every friends name, every diagnosis, could iron sheets perfectly and bake pies to her motherinlaws exact specifications.
But Eleanor refused to sign up for that scripted happiness. Shed learned enough to know that the fewer outsiders meddle in a couples affairs, the better. Victor, however, saw things differently.
My mum is very outgoing. She can find common ground with anyone.
Thats fine, just not everyone will be thrilled about it, Eleanor wanted to say, but held her tongue.
The next day, Margaret returned at dawn, this time conducting a full fridge inspection.
Quail eggs? I only make Victor quail eggs; theyre healthier for men, she declared with a selfimportant air. Your shelves are a mess. Youll have to clean them, Miss?
Eleanor thought, *I dont eat straight off the shelves*.
Ill clean them, Margaret Palmer, she promised, though shed rather be resting.
Victor, meanwhile, slept soundly while Eleanor was forced to accommodate his mothers endless directives.
Exactly! A weekend is for cooking and cleaning, Margaret proclaimed. Grab a sponge and a cloth. Next weekend Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll lick your fingers clean!
Eleanor froze, arms crossed over her chest. She had no desire to be a puppet for a strangers checklist a second day in a row.
Margaret, could you perhaps give me your number? So you can call before you drop by. I have plans for my own weekends.
Call? Am I no longer welcome in my sons home? Margarets eyes flashed with hurt.
Of course you are. Its just that your son now lives with a woman. It would be lovely if we all considered each others boundaries.
We never had such problems with Beatrice, Margaret muttered, tightening her lips.
My exmotherinlaw never showed up at dawn, bringing cherry pies, Eleanor cut in. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened, a crease deepening on her forehead as a flash of anger flickered through her eyes.
Think carefully, Eleanor. In our family the night owl never messes with the daytime routine.
She left, but the sting lingered. Eleanor didnt know what to do. Victor seemed deaf to her pleas; his mother treated their flat as her own house. And the spectre of Beatrice still hovered over everything.
Beatrices cabbage rolls were better; her mum taught her them, Victor muttered over dinner, halfaccidentally.
Then teach me, and youll have to cook for me too, Eleanor snapped back.
She suspected Margaret was trying to shape her son, but didnt want to argue. She just wanted the topic gone.
The following month passed peacefully, free of surprise visits, until the phone rang again. This time Eleanor resolved not to answer.
Was she being unreasonable? Perhaps. But why keep letting an unannounced intrusion into her home after a polite warning?
Five minutes later Victor stormed into the hallway, blearyeyed, irritable, almost furious.
Why wont you open the door?
I dont want to! I wont! Guests should give notice and not rummage through cupboards, the fridge, or the wardrobe.
You mean you wont? Shes my mother! Shes at my door!
Then meet her elsewhere! Not in my flat!
Victors outburst echoed through the thin walls, enough for the neighbours to hear. He shouted at Eleanor, accusing her of rejecting his mother and, by extension, him. Margaret wailed on the phone, demanding entry.
In the end, Eleanor issued an ultimatum.
Enough! Either you send your mother packing, explain to her what a guest is, and she leaves now, she said, voice shaking, or we end this.
Victor chose the latter.
Eleanor felt a cold relief. They hadnt even managed a proper goodbye. Perhaps it was for the best. She never wanted a life accompanied by constant reminders of an ex and a meddling mother.
Months later, a surprising piece of news reached Eleanor. Victor had a new lover. Their mutual friend from the same circle, a colleague of Victors, relayed the story.
Shes moved in with him and his mum, but she wants out. She asked me to introduce you, the friend smiled.
Oh? And why?
According to Victors mum, youre the perfect woman beautiful, strongwilled, and a good cook.
So were talking about Victors mum and me now?
Apparently, anyone whos left Victors side gets a nice reputation, the friend shrugged.
Since then Eleanor has listened to gossip with a grain of salt, keeping her own judgment intact. Shes become more cautious about men who constantly reference exes and cling to overprotective mothers.
A macho who lets his mum dominate the relationship will never find peace. A balanced partnership needs boundaries even if a mothers love is genuine. Do you agree? Share your thoughts below. Like if you feel the same.
