— Is there nothing else? — Oleg grimaced when a plate with buckwheat porridge and two sausages was placed in front of him. — I don’t eat buckwheat. You know that, brother.
— What would you like me to cook? — Inna’s voice turned sharp.
— Well… I’d like some meat, of course, but chicken will do too.
Inna came home from work, carrying a bag of groceries, and went straight to the kitchen. It had been a tough day — clients were nagging, the boss kept picking at small details, and on top of that, the air conditioner decided today it would be just a decorative piece.
She wanted to collapse on the sofa, close her eyes, and sink into silence. But no. She changed shoes, tied her hair into a ponytail, and turned on the stove. Potatoes with chicken, salad, soup for tomorrow — all on schedule.
There always had to be a fresh dinner in the house. This unspoken rule had somehow become mandatory. And Lesha? He came home earlier but didn’t stay — as usual, he went to his brother.
Oleg had recently become a constant figure in their lives. He had just bought an apartment in the neighboring building and was doing the renovations there alone. His wife and kids were staying with her parents for now, and Lesha had practically moved in with him. Holding nails, carrying a wardrobe up to the seventh floor, laying tiles to save on the tiler’s work.
“He’s my brother!” Lesha would say and disappear for the evening. Meanwhile, the household chores seemed to take care of themselves.
When dinner was ready, Inna called Lesha:
— Everything’s ready. Come eat while it’s still hot. And it’s late already…
— Coming now, — he answered shortly.
“Coming” made Inna uneasy. Fifteen minutes later, footsteps and voices sounded in the hallway. Lesha really had come — but not alone. Behind him stood Oleg, in work pants and a dusty T-shirt with a fresh plaster stain.
— Oh, it smells delicious! — he exclaimed, entering the kitchen and sitting down at the table. — I just knew I’d make it in time for dinner!
Inna froze with the ladle in her hand. Lesha smiled as if nothing unusual was happening and was already getting plates.
— Why are you frozen? Serve the food.
Inna looked at her husband, who signaled he didn’t understand her hints.
This was the third or fourth time Oleg “came over” just to eat. Inna sighed deeply, bit her lip, and began plating the potatoes with chicken. She silently put the plates in front of the men, without a trace of a smile.
Oleg, comfortably settled at the table, noisily inhaled the aroma and then, with his mouth full, muttered:
— Hey, Inna, is there any soup? I haven’t eaten all day… just had coffee in the morning.
“Who do you think I am, a cafeteria? Maybe some compote too?” — she thought. But out loud she said quietly:
— There is. I’ll pour some now.
She went to the stove, pulled the pot closer, poured soup into a deep bowl, and set it before Oleg. He didn’t even thank her. Just started eating as if that was the natural order.
After dinner, the men pushed their empty plates to the table’s edge, and Lesha lazily stretched:
— Oh, that hit the spot… Inna, you’re a master cook, as always.
Oleg stood up, stretched his whole body with a cracking back, and headed toward the living room. He approached the sofa, ready to plop down in his dirty work clothes, when a loud, almost piercing voice came from behind him:
— Nooo!!!
He jumped and turned around. Inna was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest, looking at him like he was a ticking bomb.
— Don’t you dare sit on the sofa in those clothes! It’s new, by the way.
Oleg raised his eyebrows, puzzled, looked at Lesha as if to say, “What’s wrong with her?” But Lesha just shrugged and went back to his phone.
Inna wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen. Her voice was calm but chilling:
— If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you. But unlimited hospitality is not my specialty. This is a home, not a renovation lounge. Oleg, you have your own apartment — please rest there. Or at least clean up before you settle on our sofa. Lesha, you’re the host, but I’m not the help here.
With those words, she left the kitchen and closed herself in the bathroom. Water running could be heard behind the door. Oleg stood in the middle of the room, scratching the back of his head, and Lesha frowned.
— Why did she get so mad? — he asked his brother.
After that evening, Oleg didn’t come by anymore. Not the next day, not two days later, nor even on Sunday — which was surprising itself. Inna felt quietly relieved. Inside there was relief mixed with a slight anxiety:
“What if he’s just hiding?”
A week passed. Inna almost believed her words had had an effect and that Oleg finally realized he shouldn’t just treat their home like a cafeteria. But on Friday evening, just as she kicked off her shoes and put a pot of buckwheat on the stove, the key turned in the lock. Lesha came in, loudly sneezed, then turned and shouted back:
— Come on in, what are you standing there for?
Inna froze. First Oleg appeared in the hallway — with a satisfied grin and, surprisingly, a clean fresh T-shirt. Behind him was his wife Lenka with her hair pinned up high and a confident look. Then two boys followed: one with a backpack, the other with a plastic sword and a chocolate-smeared mouth.
— Hi, Inna! — Lenka said cheerfully. — Hope it’s not too early? We thought we’d drop by while Oleg finishes bringing in the last boxes. Now we live nearby anyway!
Inna silently nodded, slowly turned to the stove, and switched off the burner. The buckwheat boiled and hissed like her own irritation. She wiped her hands on a towel and turned around:
— Sorry, but I just got home from work.
— Oh, come on, we’re only here for a minute! — Lenka fussed, settling the kids on kitchen chairs. — Grishka, don’t touch the knife! Anton, don’t put your hands in the salad! Come on, Lesh, give the boys some spoons.
— Inna, should I run out and get some pizza? — Lesha suddenly offered, feeling the tension rising.
— No. I’ll cook some sausages now. Get the pastries from the top shelf, — Inna said calmly, looking her husband straight in the eyes.
Oleg scratched his nose and spoke up:
— Come on, Inna, we’re family! Why are you acting like a stranger? We’re neighbors, after all…
Inna took a deep breath and silently started unwrapping the sausages.
— Is there nothing else? — Oleg grimaced when a plate with buckwheat porridge and two sausages was placed before him. — I don’t eat buckwheat. You know that, brother.
Silence hung in the room. Only Grishka poked with a fork in the salt shaker.
— What would you like me to cook? — Inna’s voice became sharp.
She put her hands on the table and leaned toward her brother-in-law.
— Well… I’d like some meat, of course, but chicken will do too.
— Yeah, Oleg’s used to home-cooked food. We hardly eat that.
— Really? — Inna smirked. — Remind me, Lena, do you work?
— No, but what’s that got to do with it? — Lena protested.
— Exactly! I just got home. When were you supposed to set the table for six?
Lena and Oleg exchanged looks.
— Inna, what’s wrong? — Lesha whispered.
— Don’t tell me what to do. Her husband eats here every day. And she’s going to tell me what he eats and what he doesn’t.
Inna threw her apron at the sink and went to the bedroom.
— Fine then, we’ll be going! — Lena said sarcastically, trying to take a sausage from the older son. — Let’s go home. We have our own kitchen!
Oleg sighed, muttered something like “okay, okay,” and started gathering the kids. A couple of minutes later the front door closed.
Inna stayed sitting on the bed in the bedroom when her husband came in.
— You could be a bit softer, — Lesha said quietly, approaching from behind.
— And you could sometimes check with me before bringing guests home.
— I didn’t think it was such a big deal for you…
— A big deal? I don’t want to cook when I come home from work. Not cook, not clean, not even vacuum. I just want to lie down and stare at the wall. I need rest. But you keep dragging your brother to our house again and again. I don’t remember us barging into their apartment like that. Lena always says to give notice about visits and invites us only on big holidays. And what holiday is today? A housewarming they want to celebrate at our place? Don’t you get it, Oleg takes advantage of your kindness and willingness, and you’re happy about it!
Lesha scratched the back of his head, listened to his wife’s monologue silently, and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers entwined. His face was tense, as if he was struggling internally.
— I really… didn’t think it was so hard for you, — he finally said. — You’re always so composed and handy… I thought you didn’t mind.
Inna sat next to him, tilting her head slightly.
— Exactly. You “thought.” But you didn’t ask me. You don’t know how sometimes I just want you to say, “Innushka, rest. I’ll have dinner myself.”
Lesha sighed and lowered his eyes.
— Sorry…
Inna looked at him with quiet fatigue in her eyes.
Since then, everything changed. Lesha started warning Inna in advance if someone was coming over. But honestly, those visits became rarer. Oleg came less and less after the “buckwheat with sausages” incident. His pride was hurt.
He really disappeared from their apartment for a long time. For several weeks, Inna didn’t hear his loud voice or catch Lena’s sidelong glances as if Inna personally owed them pies with choice fillings. Peace finally reigned at home.
But one day after work, Inna found Lesha in the kitchen, talking on the phone. He nodded and said into the receiver:
“Yeah… got it. I’ll check now.”
Seeing his wife, he fell silent and then said:
— Inna, Oleg wants to come by. Alone. You okay with that?
Inna silently opened the fridge. There, neatly placed on a plate, were yesterday’s cutlets. Perfectly fried with a crust but still yesterday’s. She closed the door, turned, and shrugged:
— Let him come.
Lesha nodded and quickly called his brother back. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Inna was already lying in the bathtub with a book and bubbles on her shoulders. She heard Oleg come in, shuffle his sneakers on the floor, and ask at the kitchen doorway:
— What’s for dinner?
— Cutlets. I’ll warm them up now, — Lesha replied calmly.
Oleg froze. A clicking tongue was heard:
— Ah… no. I’m not really into yesterday’s food. Maybe better coffee?
— Fine, — Lesha turned on the kettle.
— I’ll have an eclair, — Oleg put one leg over the other.
— But there’s no pastry… — even Lesha was surprised by his brother’s boldness. — There’s chocolate and cookies. Want some?
— Man… I’m shocked by your wife. Not only did she not come to greet me, but also didn’t cook.
When Inna came out of the bathroom, Oleg was already getting ready to leave. He said goodbye weakly and never came back alone. Sometimes Inna saw him outside, with supermarket bags or with the kids, but he didn’t try to come in anymore. Lena didn’t call either.
Oleg was no longer satisfied with the “service level” and, without thinking much, moved with his family to his parents’ — “it’s cozier there, and grandma will make pancakes.”
And silence reigned in Inna and Lesha’s apartment. One evening, Lesha even cooked soup himself — though he oversalted it a bit. Inna just laughed and suggested diluting it with broth.
And that same evening, when Inna lay in the bath with a book, Lesha quietly knocked on the door and said:
— Inna, I ordered sushi. Let’s just be together?
Inna closed her eyes and for the first time in a long time was truly happy.
