— Very bright, beautiful, I would say, quite unusual, — Vadim said thoughtfully, carefully examining his wife’s drawings.
— Do you like it? — Natasha asked with a smile, sitting down next to him on the couch.
— Unusual, — the man admitted, flipping through the pages of the illustrations.
— Children love everything bright, but later, adults prefer something gray, inconspicuous.
— Well, probably, — Vadim mumbled, putting the drawings on the coffee table.
— Look, at the children’s playground, all the kids are colorful. And in a store where adults are, everything is gray, black, green, and rarely white.
— Well, that’s practical, — he replied immediately.
— No, it’s not about practicality, it’s about character. Children are bright, they are curious about everything, they find everything interesting, but adults don’t, so they become inconspicuous, they blend in, they mask themselves, so they won’t be scolded, so they won’t be noticed.
— Maybe you’re right, — Vadim agreed with her. — But why do you draw children’s drawings?
— I don’t know, I like them. Since childhood, I loved looking at books, see, — she pointed to two large shelves filled with old children’s books. — I’ve read them ten, maybe a hundred times. It’s a whole world, children get to know it through pictures.
— And do you help them? — Vadim asked, hugging his wife, not sure if it was a question or a statement.
— I help them see a new world.
— Good job, — he said and kissed his wife.
Outside the window, the spring wind swayed the branches of a blooming apple tree, and the sunlight, piercing through the tulle curtains, created whimsical patterns on the walls, almost complementing Natasha’s bright illustrations with its special light.
The next day, Vadim went to his mother’s house. She was already retired but still worked at least half a day.
— So, how’s your little doodler? — Vadim’s mother always called Natasha that.
— Drawing, — Vadim replied with a smile.
— Drawing, — said Lyubov Stepanovna.
She knew very well that Natasha was an artist, maybe even a good one, but instead of painting portraits, the kind that are in demand and worth good money, she drew, yes, drew, all sorts of little rabbits, bunnies, hedgehogs, and dragons.
— She should grow up, — the woman said, shaking her head.
— She likes it, — Vadim replied.
— You can’t live on “liking”. You need to earn money, and she’s been sitting at home for a year already.
— Well, — Vadim dragged out, not knowing what to answer his mother.
They had gotten married a year ago, and Natasha immediately said she would focus on her creativity, and Vadim didn’t object, but he, like his mother, thought that an artist’s creativity meant drawing portraits and landscapes, something concrete that brings in money, while Natasha seemed to be drawing just for fun.
— Well, I see, you can’t manage your girl on your own.
— Mom, — Vadim looked at her disapprovingly.
— I’ll have to help you, — she said, taking on a businesslike expression and began tapping her fingers on the table.
In the evening, after a hearty dinner that Natasha had prepared, Vadim sat down next to her and, stroking her hand, said:
— Mom’s coming to stay with us for a week.
— Why? — Natasha immediately asked.
Natasha loved her home, she had wallpapered the walls herself, painted the ceiling — it was no longer white but looked like the sky with clouds. She had her favorite flowers, her grandmother’s rug, a chair, and a chest of drawers that, no doubt, had belonged to her great-grandmother. She had sanded it herself, stained it, and then varnished it. She loved guests, but she didn’t like it when anyone stayed overnight, especially Lyubov Stepanovna, with whom there had been tension from the beginning.
— You see, — Vadim began, — Aunt Sveta has a problem with her husband. You remember her, don’t you?
— Of course I remember, — Natasha replied, — she was at our wedding. What happened?
— Well, I don’t know, they probably argued, and now Aunt Sveta and her daughter Yana have come to stay with my mother.
— And? — Natasha stretched out the word.
— So, mom’s coming to stay with us for a week.
Natasha didn’t like this idea, but on the other hand, Lyubov Stepanovna was her husband’s mother, maybe this was the way to find some compromise about how to run the house.
— Well, fine, — Natasha reluctantly said. — For a week, right?
— Just for a week. After that, Aunt Sveta will sort out her family problems, I think.
— Alright, — she nodded.
While Natasha was washing the dishes, Vadim began moving his wife’s things from her drawing studio into their bedroom.
— Where will I draw? — she asked her husband, feeling upset.
— Well, mom isn’t going to sleep in the living room, that would be improper.
— Yes, — Natasha agreed and went into the studio to pack up her paints.
If the apartment was a universe, then the studio was a separate world. Here, she had put up children’s wallpaper with giraffes, tigers, and monkeys climbing vines. There were also many flowers.
— We need to take these out, — Vadim entered the room, grabbed the first pot, and carried it to the living room. Natasha sighed deeply, also took a pot, and carried it to the bedroom.
The next day, in the evening, Lyubov Stepanovna arrived with two large bags of belongings.
— Wow! — Natasha was surprised when she saw them.
Vadim greeted his mother, took one of the bags, and carried it to the room.
His mother greeted Natasha coldly, then followed Vadim to the room where she would stay.
— Oh my God! — she exclaimed, looking at the wallpaper. — How awful!
— Don’t like it? — Natasha asked, entering the room.
— What a lack of taste, — the woman said, looking at the children’s wallpaper. — Take the flowers out, — she ordered her son, — I’m allergic to them.
Natasha shrugged and, instead of Vadim, began taking out the remaining flowers.
— And the curtains! Oh my God! — for another fifteen minutes, Lyubov Stepanovna grumbled, then she closed the door behind her and, apparently, began unpacking her things.
By lunchtime the next day, Lyubov Stepanovna came home from work. She changed into her house robe, came out, and, without asking Natasha’s permission, opened the door to her room.
— What are you doing? — the woman asked coldly.
— Drawing, — Natasha answered calmly.
— You’re an artist, you should be drawing.
— I am drawing, — Natasha dipped her brush in water.
— Is this even drawing? Just a hobby, playing around. You should see the art salons, where the paintings cost a lot.
— To each his own, — Natasha replied without engaging in an argument.
— That doesn’t make money. You need to find a real job. You’re a wife now, you’ll soon have kids, you need to take care of the house.
— That’s why I have a husband, — Natasha answered calmly.
— You need to help him! You’ve been sitting at home for a year.
— I work, — she replied, taking out a drawing and showing it to her mother-in-law. — How do you like it?
The woman glanced at the drawing and immediately frowned:
— Scribble!
— That’s what most museum visitors say when they look at paintings. For them, it’s scribble, but for others, it’s a canvas.
Lyubov Stepanovna wasn’t very familiar with art, but what her daughter-in-law showed her definitely didn’t look like any masterpiece. Yes, there were nice bunnies, some knights, but it was just children’s scribbling, not anything serious.
— Children see the world through their eyes, their hands, and their noses. For them, it’s important that the world is colorful.
— Grow up already, — Lyubov Stepanovna mumbled. She didn’t want to continue talking to her daughter-in-law, left the room, and quickly walked to the kitchen.
In the evening, when Vadim arrived, his mother started her usual complaints:
— Your wife didn’t want to cook dinner.
— Don’t lie! — Natasha immediately protested.
— I had to go to the kitchen and cook everything.
— I didn’t ask you to, — Natasha added. — You started cooking at two in the afternoon. Why? I usually cook by five and manage fine.
— Lazy girl, — Lyubov Stepanovna muttered.
— Natasha, — Vadim said to her, — maybe you should get a job after all?
— She’s already got one, — Natasha answered quickly.
— You know yourself, that’s not a job, it’s a hobby. I thought you’d paint for a month or two, but it’s already been a year…
— It’s a job, — Natasha said again, — my job. You’ve been working at the factory for two years. I don’t complain.
— Because it brings in money! — Lyubov Stepanovna defended her son.
— I earn too, — Natasha added.
— Pennies, — the mother-in-law said with disdain.
Natasha stood up, looked at her husband with hurt, then walked out of the kitchen.
In the evenings, Natasha loved to read, but now she didn’t feel like it, so she picked up her easel, attached a new sheet of paper, and filled a clean glass with water before starting to paint.
— I want to sleep, — Vadim grumbled when he took off his clothes and approached the bed. — Turn off the light.
— Okay, — she said, putting the brushes aside and turning off the light. A minute later, Natasha undressed and lay down next to her husband.
The next day, closer to noon, Leonid, a man Natasha had met at an exhibition, came to visit her. He also liked watercolor painting and drawing children’s illustrations, though he wasn’t very good at it, so he took lessons from Natasha.
As usual, around two o’clock, Lyubov Stepanovna returned from work. Seeing a stranger in the house, she immediately asked:
— What’s he doing here?
— Lyubov Stepanovna, — Natasha approached her and said, — this is my guest, and I ask you not to insult either me or my friends.
In response, the woman snorted:
— Husband’s at work, and she’s bringing men over!
Leonid felt uncomfortable in the house, apologized to Natasha, got dressed, and quickly left.
As soon as the door closed, Natasha turned to her mother-in-law and loudly said:
— Don’t you ever insult my friends again! Your silly assumptions will lead nowhere!
— Oh, don’t you squawk at me! — the woman responded angrily. — You’d better do something useful instead of sitting on my son’s neck!
— I work! — Natasha almost cried out.
— That’s not work! You’re talentless and hide behind that! — she jabbed a finger at the unfinished sketch Natasha had left.
— My drawings are needed by publishing houses, and right now I’m working on an order!
In response, her mother-in-law laughed:
— Rubbish! — she said and looked at Natasha with disdain.
In the evening, when Vadim came home, his mother said:
— I quit my job to help you, — she meant Vadim.
— What help? — Natasha asked, shocked by the news.
— To maintain order, — the woman declared.
— Order? — Natasha asked, looking around. — Is it dirty in here? What order?
— Alright, — Vadim came up to her, — calm down, mom wants to help.
— What order? — Natasha asked again. — I vacuum every week, wipe the floors, clean the dust, water the plants! What order?! — she spoke louder now.
— Calm down, mom wants to help, let her.
Natasha got angry, turned around sharply, and walked into her room.
In the morning, as soon as Vadim left for work, Lyubov Stepanovna turned on the TV and sat down in front of it.
— Please, turn it down, — Natasha asked her.
Her mother-in-law did, of course, but it didn’t help. Natasha kept getting distracted by the voices coming from the screen. Everything they said irritated her: who slept with whom, who bombed who, who deceived whom, and so on.
— Please, turn it off! — Natasha went to the living room, took the remote, and turned off the screen.
— What are you doing? — Lyubov Stepanovna complained.
— I can’t work with that, — Natasha pointed to the screen.
— I can’t sit in silence at home!
— Get a job, — Natasha quietly said. — Or better yet, go for a walk.
— You should go for a walk, you sit at home all day!
Natasha didn’t listen to her mother-in-law. She seemed to be getting worked up, probably grumbling for at least half an hour. Natasha went into her room, shut the door, but even here, she could still hear the muttering.
She picked up her brush, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t paint anything.
In the evening, after dinner, Vadim said he wanted to sleep. Natasha gathered her art supplies and moved them to the kitchen, turning off the light in the bedroom.
Maybe her mother-in-law was doing this on purpose, or maybe she had insomnia, but Lyubov Stepanovna kept going into the kitchen, pouring herself water, and leaving.
Natasha worked almost all night. She loved the silence, the calm. During this time, her thoughts began to work, and her hand, as if guided by someone, began to paint. By morning, she finished two drawings. Satisfied with her work, she placed them on the shelf, and when her husband left for work, she collapsed into bed.
In the evening, as usual, Lyubov Stepanovna complained to her son:
— She slept all day, — the woman was referring to her daughter-in-law.
— She slept because I can’t work during the day. You watch TV all day, and at night I paint, — Natasha calmly replied.
— Oh, look, she’s painting! — her mother-in-law protested.
— Natasha, mom wants to help…
— What help? — Natasha raised her voice. — What help? The house is in order! I clean everything, and I also cook! What help? — she asked her husband again.
— You need to get a job.
— I work! — Natasha almost yelled.
— I want you to get a job next week! — Vadim said firmly and loudly.
Natasha looked at her husband, then at her mother-in-law’s smug face. It was useless to prove anything to them. She stood up from the table and, without saying a word, walked into her room.
The next day, Natasha decided to visit Aunt Sveta. She remembered her from the wedding — a kind woman. So, taking her phone, she called her:
— Aunt Sveta, can I come visit today?
— Of course, — the woman replied, surprised by the offer. — But I’m in the village.
— In the village? — Natasha was surprised. — And Yana?
— She’s with me, she’s in school.
Natasha started asking questions and found out that Aunt Sveta had never had an argument with her husband. She was living in the village as usual, so Lyubov Stepanovna and Vadim had lied about everything.
The girl got angry. She didn’t ask Lyubov Stepanovna anything during the day, but when Vadim came home, she asked her mother-in-law:
— How’s Aunt Sveta? Has she made up with her husband?
— Not yet, — Lyubov Stepanovna replied.
— You’re lying! — Natasha said, looking her mother-in-law in the eye. The older woman’s face turned red with anger. — Aunt Sveta lives in the village, just like her daughter, and they didn’t argue!
— Mom wants to help, — Vadim intervened.
— Yeah, help! — Natasha protested. — All I hear is how bad a wife, hostess, worker, and woman I am! I’m always bad!
— You’re talentless, — Lyubov Stepanovna quietly said.
— And do you understand anything about art? — Natasha asked curiously.
— You bring men into the house while your husband’s away!
Vadim sharply turned his head and looked at his wife.
— They’re my friends, — Natasha replied calmly. — And don’t look at me like they’re lovers. They’re my friends. What’s wrong with that?
— So they come over while I’m gone? — Vadim began to get angry.
Natasha understood one thing: Lyubov Stepanovna had come to their house specifically to either cause a rift between her and Vadim or force her to get a job.
— What I paint shouldn’t concern you, — Natasha told her mother-in-law.
— It’s all rubbish! — Lyubov Stepanovna immediately said.
The woman stood up, looked at her daughter-in-law with disdain, patted her son on the shoulder as if sympathizing with him for having such a wife, and headed to her room.
When it became quiet in the kitchen, Natasha turned to her husband:
— Please, talk to your mother, tell her to leave, or we’re definitely going to fight.
— She’s not going anywhere, — Vadim said firmly. — And you need to think about work.
A couple of hours later, Natasha sat down with her easel in the kitchen. It was hard to paint, tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the paper.
Her mother-in-law, as if sensing this, came into the kitchen and said:
— Stop whining!
— Leave, — Natasha quietly said.
— What did you say?
— I said, leave! — Natasha yelled so loudly that her ears rang.
In just a second, Vadim ran into the kitchen.
— Apologize to my mother! — he demanded from his wife.
— You’re a mama’s boy, — Natasha said bitterly. — Just because you work at the factory doesn’t mean everyone has to work at the same factory!
Her mother-in-law turned and slowly went to her room.
— You’re going to get a job tomorrow! — Vadim demanded from his wife.
— You used to like how I painted.
— I thought it was just a phase, but I didn’t expect you to sit in your childhood for years.
— It’s not childhood, it’s work!
— I’m tired of holding this house together, you’re getting a job tomorrow!
— You’re tired of holding the house together? — Natasha asked him. — You probably forgot — this is my house, we don’t pay rent. That’s a big difference! I pay for utilities and buy all the groceries. You only pay for the rent. Who’s holding this house together?
Vadim probably thought about it for the first time, mumbled something, then his face turned red, and realizing he had nothing more to say, he left the kitchen. When he entered the living room, he said:
— You need to find a proper job, or I won’t be able to live with you.
Natasha stayed in the kitchen for hours, unable to paint, nor to sleep. The next day she went to her friends, not wanting to stay in the house with her mother-in-law.
However, when she returned home, she found that her brushes and paints were gone.
— Where? — Natasha ran out of the bedroom and rushed to Lyubov Stepanovna. — Where are my paints?
The woman smirked:
— In the trash.
Without saying a word, Natasha quickly dressed and ran downstairs. She reached the garbage can, started rummaging through it, then moved to another can and kept going through the trash bags. A woman came up to her and asked what she was looking for. Natasha told her that her mother-in-law had thrown away her paints. The woman went to another trash can and started helping her search for what had been thrown out.
— It’s probably here, — the woman said, showing Natasha a bag with paints spilling out.
— Thank you! — Natasha quickly gathered the brushes and paints. — Thank you again, — she said and went home.
When she arrived home, Natasha went to the kitchen without saying a word, spread the cans out on the table, and began cleaning them.
— You’re a liar, — Natasha said coldly to her mother-in-law. — You’re a liar, an evil and envious woman.
She didn’t hear how her husband came into the house.
— Apologize! — Vadim demanded from his wife.
— Let your mother leave! — Natasha demanded, looking at the woman standing in the doorway.
— My mother’s not going anywhere! — Vadim said firmly.
— I think you’ve forgotten — this is my apartment. I’m the hostess here, and you have no right to dictate the rules to me!
— Oh, look who’s talking! — Lyubov Stepanovna chimed in.
Natasha opened the cupboard, took out the garbage bags, and headed to the bedroom.
— Your wife’s gone completely off the rails, — muttered Lyubov Stepanovna to her son.
After about five minutes, they were talking about something in the kitchen. Finally, Natasha appeared in the living room, dragging a big bag of stuff. She placed it in the hallway, returned to the bedroom, and dragged in another bag.
— What’s this? — Vadim asked her.
— Your things, — Natasha replied curtly. — You’re going to your mother’s.
In response, Vadim laughed.
— This is my apartment, not yours! You’re nobody here, a zero on a stick! If you don’t leave with your mother, I’ll call the police!
Hearing this, Lyubov Stepanovna began to fuss, cursing her daughter-in-law. She went into the room and came out a minute later with her bag of belongings.
— She’s beyond help, — Lyubov Stepanovna mumbled to her son.
Realizing his support was leaving, Vadim decided to spend the night at his mother’s. He went to the landing and started down the stairs when a bag of things flew in his direction, followed by another and a third.
— Don’t make a scene! — Vadim yelled.
— Get out! I don’t want to see you! — Natasha loudly declared and slammed the door behind him.
Sadness settled in her soul. In the spacious living room of the three-room apartment, furnished with old but solid furniture, she began to sob like a little girl, then howled like a village woman. She went into the living room, where the heavy velvet curtains let in the faint light of the evening day, and, sinking into the worn armchair, she cried.
However, she didn’t cry for long. She wiped her tears decisively, grabbed the usual rag, and began to wipe down the massive oak table. Within a couple of minutes, she got caught up in the housework, starting the cleaning. An hour later, the house was in perfect order: the windows shone, the furniture was dusted until it squeaked, and the rugs were vacuumed.
Natasha took her favorite easel, the one that had seen better days but held many creative memories, placed it in the middle of the room, and, turning on the bright light of her desk lamp, sat down in front of it. A dreamy smile appeared on her face. She dipped her brush into the water, then ran it over the dry paint. She paused for a second, examining the blank canvas, then began to draw.
A month later, Natasha released her first book with her illustrations — a colorful collection of children’s fairy tales in a hardcover. The book proudly took its place on the shelf in her workspace, which she had set up in a small room. Now there stood not only her favorite easel but also a comfortable desk with a computer, and the walls were adorned with sketches of future works.
She began to receive regular orders from publishing houses. Business offers piled up in her mailbox, and the phone rang off the hook with calls from editors. Everyone wanted to illustrate fairy tales with her bright, unusual drawings, where reality and fantasy blended, and every character seemed to come to life on the pages of the book.
Her apartment gradually transformed into a true artist’s studio, with fresh watercolors drying on the windowsills and stacks of books and sketchbooks piled in the corner. Even the old cat that Natasha had rescued from the street, lounging on the couch, seemed to be part of the cozy artistic chaos.
