«You know what?» Marina clutched the gift bag so tightly that the plastic crinkled pathetically. «You… you…»
«Is something wrong?» Andrey didn’t even look up from his laptop, where charts and numbers flickered across the screen.
«Wrong?!» She threw the plastic bag onto the couch. «Your mother showed up yesterday in a mink coat that cost two hundred thousand—a gift from her beloved son! And for me…» She pulled a ladle out of the bag, «THIS?!»
Outside, heavy January snow was falling. The city was still asleep after New Year’s Eve, with only a few cars cautiously moving along the snowy streets.
«Marin…»
«No,» she raised her hand sharply, «be quiet! Do you think I don’t see how your mother will now…» Marina contorted her face, mimicking her mother-in-law’s affected voice, «‘Oh, my Andryushenka is so caring! He gave me a mink coat! And what did yours give you? A ladle?'» She angrily tossed the unfortunate object back into the bag. «You know what? I’m going to Lenka’s. Right now.»
«In this blizzard?»
«Even if it’s a hurricane!» Marina furiously pulled on her boots. «Because if I stay…» She left the sentence unfinished, slamming the door behind her.
The wind threw a handful of prickly snow in her face. Marina stubbornly bent her head and marched forward. It was a twenty-minute walk to her friend’s place—just enough time to cool off.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket—Andrey. Marina irritably turned off the sound. Enough for today.
Lenka opened the door after a delay. On the threshold stood a disheveled and wrinkled version of her usually impeccable friend—it seemed the New Year’s Eve had been successful.
«Why did you come in such weather?» Lenka yawned, letting Marina into the apartment.
«Andrey…»
«What this time?» Her friend routinely reached into the cabinet for tea and cookies. After ten years of friendship, she knew that if Marina ran to her in such a storm, the conversation wouldn’t go without sweets.
«He gave me a ladle! And a ladle!» Marina flopped onto the kitchen sofa. «And to his mother—a mink coat for two hundred thousand!»
«That’s it?»
«Isn’t that enough?!» Marina slammed her fist on the table. «Imagine how I’ll look now? His mother has already blabbed to everyone about the coat. ‘Andryushenka gave it, such a caring son!’” she mimicked again, distorting her mother-in-law’s voice. «And today she’ll find out about my gift. And it’ll start…»
«Maybe there’s something else in that ladle?» Lenka thoughtfully stirred her tea. «In that ladle?»
«What could possibly be there?» Marina snorted. «A user manual? ‘Dear wife, here’s a hint—spend more time in the kitchen’?»
«Well, you know…» her friend dragged out. «Sometimes it’s not that simple.»
«Simple?!» Marina jumped up, pacing the small kitchen. «How much simpler could it be! We’ve been married ten years. Ten! And then this… No, I get it—his mother is alone, needs to be cared for. But two hundred thousand on a coat?! We’re barely making ends meet since he quit his job!»
Lenka silently handed her friend a cup of tea and a packet of tissues—tears were already rolling down Marina’s cheeks.
«You know what’s most hurtful?» Marina blew her nose loudly. «I was really happy when he started that cooking blog. I thought—let him stay at home, cook, make videos… He’s always been passionate about it. And now what? All the money goes on that damn coat, and for me…»
«Listen,» Lenka interrupted her. «How many subscribers does he have now?»
«I haven’t checked in three months,» Marina waved dismissively. «I’ve been swamped at work…»
«Maybe you should have?»
«What do you mean?»
«Well, remember that guy from the next building? Who also started with a cooking blog? Now he has his own show on TV.»
«What does that have to do with anything?» Marina rubbed her temples wearily. «You know what? I’ll go. Nothing’s going to change anyway.»
«In this storm?» her friend was alarmed. «Maybe you should stay the night?»
«I don’t want to. I’d rather go home and smash some dishes…»
The way back seemed endless. The wind seemed to deliberately throw handfuls of biting snow in her face, creeping under her collar, howling in her ears like a hungry dog. Marina stubbornly marched forward, swallowing her tears.
The apartment was dark and unusually quiet. Marina clicked the light switch—no one. On the kitchen table, a cold cup of tea, a laptop with an open window of some site. She glanced at the screen—some numbers, charts, comments in a foreign language.
«Let it be!» she defiantly walked past the bag with the «gift» thrown on the sofa.
In the bedroom, a garland they had hung together before the New Year blinked forlornly. Back then, Andrey had been so attentive, caring… He had found her favorite unicorn baubles—the very ones they bought in their first year of marriage. Marina had been surprised then—she thought they had been lost during a move…
No!» she shook her head, dispelling the unwelcome thoughts.
The phone vibrated again. Andrey. «I won’t answer! I won’t!»
She paced around the apartment like a caged tiger. She turned on the TV—then turned it off. She put the kettle on—then forgot about it. She took out her favorite book—then flung it aside.
Her gaze kept returning to the bag on the sofa.
«What if Lenka is right? What if there is something?»—the traitorous thought refused to leave.
«No way!» she said out loud. «You won’t get what you want!»
There was a knock at the door. It was her neighbor, Vera Petrovna—the local gossip and chatterbox.
«Marinochka! Happy New Year!» she chirped. «I’ve made some pies, have some! By the way,» she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, «is it true that Andrey…»
«What?» Marina tensed.
«Well… you know…» the neighbor hesitated. «Was he on TV?»
«Where was he?»
«What do you mean where? On the cooking channel! I saw him by chance yesterday, it seemed like him. It was such an interesting show…»
«Vera Petrovna,» Marina interrupted tiredly, «you must be mistaken. Andrey just runs a blog. It’s a hobby.»
«Really?» The neighbor seemed disappointed. «I thought… Well, since he bought such an expensive coat…»
«Goodbye, Vera Petrovna!» Marina slammed the door right in her face.
«Now there are rumors! Probably the whole building is talking about it…»
She flopped down on the sofa. The bag jingled traitorously.
«No! I won’t look! I won’t!»
Outside, the blizzard raged on. Somewhere in the distance, the last New Year’s fireworks were still rumbling. Marina sat in the dark, hugging her knees, trying to figure out—when did everything go wrong?
A year ago, they celebrated New Year’s Eve together—there was no money for a restaurant. Andrey had just quit his job, declaring he couldn’t sit in an office anymore. She had supported him then, telling him to pursue his passion. He was so enthusiastic about the idea of a cooking blog…
Something jingled in the hallway. Then the lock clicked.
«He’s back…» her heart skipped a beat.
«Marish, are you home?» Andrey’s voice sounded strange. Anxious.
She remained silent, deliberately staring into the dark window.
«Turn on the TV,» his mother walked into the living room, without that fur coat. «Channel twenty-one.»
«Not likely!» Marina snapped back. «You’ve come to mock?»
«Turn it on,» there was an unfamiliar earnestness in her mother-in-law’s voice. «Do you think I would partake in something… unworthy?»
Marina scoffed, but still grabbed the remote. The screen lit up with the intro of a popular cooking show. And a familiar face.
«That’s…» she choked.
«Your husband,» her mother-in-law nodded. «Who ‘just runs a blog’.»
On the screen, Andrey confidently directed an entire team of chefs. The camera showed the delighted faces of the audience, a long line waiting for a taste…
«It’s a promo. The program airs tomorrow,» Andrey sat on the armrest of her chair. «I wanted to surprise you.»
What kind of surprise?»
«Remember that recipe you got from your grandmother? The apple dumplings with the secret ingredient?»
«The one you kept trying to get out of me?» Despite her resentment, Marina couldn’t help but smile. Andrey had been following her around for a month, trying to get the recipe.
«I modified it a bit. I added your favorite spices. And guess what?»
«What?»
«The recipe won a contest. ‘Modern Interpretation of Family Recipes.’ The first prize—a contract with a cooking channel and…»
«And what?» Marina felt her heart start to race.
«Look in the ladle.»
«Again with your ladle!» she flared up. «I’m not…»
«Marina Sergeyevna!» her mother-in-law stood up, hands on her hips. «What stubbornness! I’ve been quiet for ten years, but now I’ll say it. You can be so… so…»
«What?»
«Difficult! Stubborn! Just like me!» she laughed unexpectedly. «Do you think I’ve lived with your father-in-law for forty years? Because I learned to sometimes do what I’m asked! Just look in that darn ladle!»
Marina flinched—she had never heard her mother-in-law speak in such a tone. Normally gentle and accommodating, Elena Pavlovna now resembled a general inspecting troops.
«Fine,» muttered Marina, «let’s see your ladle.»
She demonstratively slowly took it out of the bag, turned it over… A plain white envelope fell out, signed in a familiar flamboyant handwriting: «To my most beloved and stubborn wife.»
«Can I at least open this myself?» she asked sarcastically. «Or is there an instruction in here too?»
Andrey silently nodded. Meanwhile, on the TV screen, his on-screen version continued to passionately explain something to an enthusiastic audience.
Inside the envelope were two tickets. To Italy. «A Culinary Tour of Traditional Family Restaurants,» read the bright brochure.
«This…» she fell silent, not knowing what to say.
«The first prize,» Andrey nodded. «Well, part of it. A tour for two and a one-year contract—I’ll be hosting a program about family recipes from different countries. And it all started with your apple pie.»
«But the fur coat…»
«Now I’ll say!» the mother-in-law stepped forward decisively. «That unfortunate fur coat—it’s faux! High quality, beautiful, but faux. I’m a long-time animal rights activist, did you forget? We just had to distract you somehow…»
«Distract?»
«From the fact that your husband has been missing for the last three months filming. From the fact that your mother was going crazy trying to keep the secret—it was she who told the channel about the dumplings story. From the fact that…»
She didn’t finish. The doorbell rang.
On the threshold stood Marina’s flushed mother with a huge bag. The bag enticingly smelled of fresh pastries.
«Well, daughter, did you admire your mother-in-law’s coat?» she started right away. «I thought you’d lose it sooner! But you lasted all day.»
«Mom?! You too…»
«Of course!» her mother decisively walked into the kitchen. «Who do you think ran all over town looking for that faux fur? It had to be beautiful and look just like real! Elena Pavlovna almost went crazy—she had to lie to everyone that it was mink!»
«And you…» Marina looked from her mother to her husband. «Why didn’t you tell me about the contract? About the victory?»
«Because I knew—you’d immediately ask where the money for the coat came from,» Andrey smirked. «And you would’ve figured it all out. But I wanted to surprise you. Remember how you dreamed of seeing real Italian cuisine?»
The tenderness in his voice made Marina’s eyes sting.
«And the ladle? Why?» she sobbed.
«Because that’s where it all started!» her mother chimed in. «You yourself told the story—when you first met, you cooked together. And you always complained that the ladle was uncomfortable…»
«‘Once I’m married, I’ll buy a proper one!'» her mother-in-law quoted. «We still remember that. And then life got busy…»
Marina silently looked at the ladle. Just a regular one, made of good steel, with a comfortable handle. Just like the one she had dreamed of many years ago.
«Lord,» she murmured. «What was I…»
«Stubborn?» suggested her mother-in-law.
«Difficult?» her mother smiled.
«Unobservant,» Andrey shook his head. «You haven’t looked at my blog for three months. And I, by the way, started every recipe with ‘Thanks to my wife…'»
«Stop!» Marina suddenly remembered Vera Petrovna’s words. «And what was the show on TV yesterday?»
«Oh, that…» Andrey became embarrassed. «A small preview. The channel decided to start advertising earlier. Now the whole building knows…»
«And rightly so!» declared her mother. «Enough with the modesty. By the way, about modesty—did you even look inside the ladle?»
«Is there something in there?»
«Take a look!»
At the bottom of the bag beneath the ladle, something glinted. Marina reached in—a key with a red keychain fell into her palm.
«This…» she stared at her husband in astonishment.
«For that red Honda you’ve been eyeing,» Andrey nodded. «The contract with the TV channel pays well. And you know what’s the funniest part?»
«What?»
«I almost messed it all up. I ordered those silly fridge magnets—’Best Chef,’ wanted to put them in the ladle. But when your mom saw…»
«She scolded me!» chuckled her mother. «The humorist! Ten years married, and he still jokes.»
«Well, how else with such a stubborn wife?» smiled her mother-in-law. «You should have seen her face when I showed up in that ‘mink’ coat!»
Marina’s gaze shifted from the ladle to the key, from the key to the tickets. On the TV, her husband was just finishing the program with his signature phrase:
«And remember—the main secret of any dish isn’t in the recipe. The main secret is in the love with which you cook. Thank you to my wife, who taught me that.»
«By the way,» Andrey put his arm around her shoulders. «There are still more surprises.»
«Just don’t tell me this ladle has a false bottom!» Marina laughed.
«No,» he took out his phone. «Remember that little restaurant in Italy? The one we stumbled upon when we dreamed of traveling? Well, I contacted its owner. He agreed to teach us his signature pasta recipe. Says he’d do anything for those apple ravioli—can’t explain to him that they’re actually dumplings.»
«Oh, Andrey…»
«What?»
«It seems I owe you an apology for the hysteria.»
«You don’t have to,» he pulled her closer. «Just promise me, next time…»
«What?»
«That you’ll at least occasionally check my blog!»
