— Have you chosen anything? — the voice sounded soft, yet with a hint of involvement, as if the waitress had been watching him from behind the counter for a long time.
Andrey finally tore himself away from the roadside café menu, where he had stopped to grab a bite during his lunch break. His fingers mechanically flipped through the pages, but his thoughts were far beyond this cozy little spot, which smelled of freshly baked goods and coffee. The day had been off from the very morning: his mother had once again played that old record about his «hopeless future,» and his boss at work had thrown a pointed look at his «lack of ambition.»
For the fourth year already, Andrey had worked as a computer sales manager at a modest trading company. The job suited him — calm, without unnecessary stress. He valued the freedom it provided: no calls after six, no «urgent meetings,» just a steady schedule and time for himself. But in his mother’s eyes, his life was a «waste.»
«After all, whom did I raise?» she often lamented, pacing through the kitchen in a robe resembling a royal mantle. «Some freeloader, who’s good for nothing. Do you ever think it might be time for you to get married? How are you planning to support a family on your miserable salary?»
Her idea of a «decent life» included villas, yachts, and trips to the Maldives — all of which Andrey had no desire for. He preferred the quiet of his parents’ home, evening walks with friends, and reading books by a campfire in the forest.
Today, however, everything had changed. Andrey, habitually escaping his mother’s reproaches, had fled to the café. But here, something more awaited him: a waitress with forget-me-not-colored eyes and a smile that could melt even an icy heart.
«— I’m asking — have you chosen something?» she repeated, leaning towards him. Her voice was like a melody, and her movements exuded a light grace.
Andrey froze, unable to take his eyes off her.
«— Let me order for you the tastiest thing we have,» the girl offered, taking the menu from him. A minute later, a plate was set before him with aromatic borscht, golden draniki (potato pancakes), and fresh bread.
He ate every crumb, feeling how the taste of the food mingled with the excitement of her presence.
«— No need, this is on the house,» she laughed when he reached into his pocket. «Not everything in this world is bought with money.»
Andrey returned to work in a strange state: his heart beating faster, her words spinning in his head. In the evening, contrary to his habits, he headed back to the café.
«Alena» — that was the waitress’s name — greeted him with an astonished look.
«— May I invite you to dinner?» he asked, clutching his car keys in his pocket. «I want to repay you for your kindness.»
«No, it’s not necessary… But that’s fine,» she nodded, and her eyes lit up like stars in the night sky. «I finish work in twenty minutes.»
Their meetings became daily. Andrey, usually reserved and withdrawn, blossomed with her, like a flower at dawn. They talked about books, about music, about dreams of traveling — not to luxurious resorts, but on camping trips with tents and bonfires.
One evening, unable to part from her, he stayed over at Alena’s. He only returned home in the morning, where a scolding call from his mother greeted him:
«— Are you even going to wait for me, or have you found a better place? Did you speak to the boss?» her voice cut through the air.
For the first time, Andrey felt he could no longer bear her pressure. Something snapped inside him — as if the icy crust that had bound him for so many years had cracked.
When he returned home, he found his mother in a nightgown, resembling a theatrical costume, her hair disheveled and her face twisted in rage.
«— I’m getting married, and that’s my final decision. I have met the girl of my dreams. I don’t care what you think,» his voice sounded firmer than ever.
His mother gasped, clutching her heart and nearly falling. His father, who had long since become a shadow of his former self, barely managed to catch her.
«— Who is she?» his mother whispered once she recovered. «Could it be someone from a respectable family?»
«— A waitress at the local café,» Andrey replied, feeling a wave of protest rising inside him.
His mother threw a tantrum, but for the first time in his life, he locked his door with a key, leaving her reproaches outside.
The next morning, Andrey woke with a light heart. With the money he had saved up for his «useless» trips, he bought a ring — not a diamond, but a modest silver band with a small sapphire. In the evening, when Alena approached his table, he got down on one knee, ignoring the curious glances of the other patrons.
«— Will you marry me?» Andrey knelt, his voice trembling like a string played too long. The ring, a modest silver band with a sapphire, glistened in the light of the evening lamp. It fit almost perfectly, as if made for her finger.
Alena beamed. It seemed she wasn’t even surprised by the sudden proposal, as if she had long been expecting it, yet deep down, there was still a trace of apprehension. Her smile was bright, but her eyes revealed caution.
«— Yes, of course,» she answered, but then her expression darkened. «But what will your parents say? I’ve never even seen them.»
«— It doesn’t matter,» Andrey squeezed her hand, trying to convey a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. «Your father will like me, but your mother…,» he hesitated, searching for the right words. «She will be more difficult. But just let her words slide by your ears. I love you and want you to be happy. Nothing will stand in our way.»
That evening, the house greeted them with a deathly silence. Andrey’s father, hunched over a newspaper, looked up and smiled — a rare guest in their family. His mother, dressed in a silk robe that was once luxurious but now resembled a faded theatrical backdrop, cast a venomous look at Alena.
In the restaurant the next day, Alena stood before a mirror in a dress that seemed woven from moonlight. Silver threads shimmered, and the hem, embroidered with tiny pearls, rustled like autumn leaves. She dreamed that this day would mark the beginning of a new life. But Andrey’s mother seemed determined to turn it into a nightmare.
«— Guests?» Andrey’s mother, dressed in a dress the color of a raven’s wing, cast a disdainful look at Alena’s parents. «Really? They don’t even know how to hold a fork!»
Alena’s father, a modest history teacher, stood in a worn jacket, while her mother — in a dress made from old curtains — looked on. Their «Moskvich,» parked at the entrance, was covered in rust, like scars.
«— Ladies and gentlemen,» cooed the mother-in-law as she approached them, «do you even understand where you are? This is the ‘Edelweiss’ restaurant! Even the air here smells like money! And you…» she swept her gaze around, «arrived in this! Couldn’t you at least rent evening suits? After all, this is your daughter’s wedding! Have you decided to embarrass her? And what’s that clunker from twenty years ago outside the window? Perhaps a family heirloom dear to your heart?»
The in-laws exchanged embarrassed glances, like schoolchildren caught peeking. They slowly backed away, releasing their daughter from their embrace, as if afraid to sully her with their presence. Alena’s father, his face marked by wrinkles that testified to years of hard work, quietly said: «— We’d better go, dear. We don’t want to spoil your celebration.»
«No, Mom, Dad, please don’t leave!» Alena grabbed their sleeves, but her voice was drowned out by the sharp slam of a door. Her parents vanished, leaving behind only bafflement and the scent of old gasoline from the «Moskvich,» which, as it later turned out, was merely a prop in their act.
The mother-in-law, clad in a dress the color of black currant, smirked with satisfaction: «— Well then,» her voice rang with malicious glee, «I never expected such disgrace. How are you going to face people now?»
She tried to feign disappointment, but deep down she rejoiced like a conqueror. Her lips, painted the color of a raven’s wing, curled into a caustic smile.
Later, as Andrey sat at his table, his hand unconsciously reaching for the bank card — the cold gold which now seemed poisoned to him — the unexpected arrived. A courier burst into the hall—a figure in a black cloak, like a messenger from another world. He handed Andrey an envelope, sealed with wax bearing an ornate flourish, which Alena immediately recognized.
«— This is a wedding gift from the bride’s parents,» he announced before dissolving into the crowd.
The mother-in-law froze, her face turning as pale as a wedding tablecloth. The guests, sensing a scandal, fell silent.
«— This… this is impossible!» her voice shrieked. «You… you deceived me!»
Alena slowly rose, removing her gloves. Her dress, sewn with silver threads, suddenly appeared even more radiant.
«— No deception,» her voice was as cold as a winter wind. «I have always worked. I studied. I built myself up. And you…» she turned to her mother-in-law, «you judge a book by its cover without even reading it.»
Realizing the enormity of her mistake, the mother-in-law rushed off to a hotel where she assumed Alena’s parents were staying. But they weren’t there. Phones fell silent, as if swallowed by darkness.
Returning to the restaurant, she began writing an apology letter right at her table, blotting a napkin with red wine. Her fingers trembled, and the letters danced mockingly against her pride.
But Alena was already at the door. Tears, shining in the light of the chandelier, fell onto her dress, leaving traces reminiscent of dew.
«— I’m sorry, darling,» she whispered, removing the ring, the metal clinking against a plate like the final nail in a coffin. «I loved you. I was willing to endure humiliation. But you… you didn’t even try to defend me. You stayed silent when my parents were chased out of our wedding. You thought only of yourself.»
She stepped toward the door, and her dress rustled like autumn leaves underfoot.
«— Today I realized that for you, ‘family’ isn’t me. You failed the test, Andryusha.»
The guests froze, even the music seemed to lower its volume. Alena disappeared out the door, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and a bitter taste of truth.
Andrey, sitting at his table, stared at the empty seat beside him. His hand unconsciously reached for the bank card — the cold gold which now seemed like poison.
«— She’s gone…» he whispered, and in that moment, his mother understood: her own pride had destroyed something that no amount of money could buy.
In the corner of the hall, Andrey’s father, clutching a glass, quietly said: «— Now you know the price of misfortune, son.»
But Andrey could no longer hear him. His world had crumbled like a house of cards under the weight of one single question: «Why didn’t I stand up for her?»
