— Oh, really?! Let him try it! If he so much as lays a finger on me, he’ll be the one sent packing for a couple of years. And you— I’ll throw you out right now so I don’t have to look at that shriveled face of yours.
—
“How many times have I told you, Fedor: I don’t like your mother dropping by so often!” Irina hissed, annoyed, when her husband announced yet another visit barely a month after the last one.
“What am I supposed to do?” Fedor shrugged. “If she wants to come, let her come.”
“Seriously? Just like that?” his wife flared up.
“I don’t get it, Ira. What do you expect from me? If you don’t want her to come—call her yourself and tell her not to.”
“For your information, dear, she’s YOUR mother! Or did you forget?”
“What difference does it make whose mother she is? If your mother were bothering me, I’d call her myself and say exactly what I think! But you keep whining: ‘yours, mine’—nonsense!”
“Nonsense is everything connected to your mother! My mom never, not ONCE, did anything like that! She doesn’t meddle in our family affairs. She doesn’t criticize your looks. She doesn’t—”
“Yeah, you handle that part just fine yourself,” Fedor muttered, cutting her off.
“Excuse me—handle what, exactly?” Irina frowned.
“My appearance—what else!” he shot back after a short pause, glaring at her.
“Oh, you mean how I said that if you keep guzzling beer you’ll soon be borrowing my bras?”
“Exactly! That!”
“Then drink less of that swill and get yourself in shape. Stop plopping down every evening in front of the TV with that poison.” She snorted in disgust.
“Maybe I should switch to something stronger and chase you around the apartment after work? Then I wouldn’t drink beer!”
“Maybe you should just stop drinking altogether, Fedor—drop the beer, drop the gut, start working out, mend fences with your relatives—”
“Again with this? Got nothing else to talk about?” he snapped, leaping off the couch.
“I just want you to rein in your mother, your brother, your uncle—so they don’t visit us so often! Can’t you understand? It stresses me out. Your brother and uncle, fine—they stay a couple of hours. But your mother…”
“Then tell her yourself, Ira! Why drag me into it?”
“Drag you? She’s your mother! You’ve been ‘dragged’ since birth!”
“Why can’t you women live in peace? Why can’t you stand each other? What goes on in your heads? I’ll never get it.” Fedor clutched his head as if it might explode.
“That’s not it, Fedya. Your mother keeps meddling in our life! She tells me we’ll never make it, tells you bad things about me, turns the house upside down. My order and her order are two different things. She sees I’m angry, but still—”
“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME ALL THIS?!” Fedor shouted, unable to take another dig at his mother— or at himself by extension.
“Because I want YOU to stop it! Tell her she’s not needed here. A visit once every six months—once a year—is more than enough. Because—”
“I get it! Enough!” he barked, no longer screaming but still on edge.
“It would be nice if you really got it, Fedor, and weren’t just saying it so I’d leave you alone.”
“I did get it. As soon as Mom arrives, I’ll talk to her, tell her to cut back on the visits. All right? Deal?” He took Irina’s hands, speaking calmly, conciliatory.
“All right—deal,” she agreed, though doubt lingered in her face and voice. “Only, Fedor—”
“Oh, come on, Irina! Please! Let’s spend at least one evening without fights. I said I’ll talk to Mom, so I will. Stop lecturing me.”
Irina fell silent, staring at him, hurt. She wanted once more to explain how much his mother bothered her. She knew that as long as the fridge was stocked with food and beer, Fedor cared about little else.
It had taken huge effort before the wedding to teach him basic order—no clothes strewn around, everything in its place. Then the dishes: wash them right away, unlike at his parents’ where his mother cleaned up after everyone. Irina had broken those habits, but she had. Now she needed to wean him off nightly beer and make his mother understand she was unwelcome.
When his mother arrived, Fedor met her at the station, promising Irina he’d talk to her on the drive home. Instead, he said:
“Mom… You know… Irinka’s giving me hell because of you…”
“Because of me?” Antonina Vasilyevna blinked. “What did I ever do to her?”
“She’s mad that you come too often. Wants you to forget where we live. Says it’s her apartment and you’re in the way. Honestly, she’s lost her mind!”
“You don’t say!” his mother gasped, hand over mouth. “Then I suppose I should have a… heart-to-heart with her.” The last words came out with a predatory edge.
“Yeah, better you handle it. I’m tired of the fights. She calls me an alcoholic… Says plenty. But to her, you’re Enemy Number One.”
“I’ll show her who’s the enemy once we get there! She won’t yell at my precious boy!”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be around, Mom. I’ve had enough since you phoned about coming. I don’t want more.”
“Of course, sweetie. Go somewhere—or wait in the car. When I’ve dealt with that viper I’ll call you.” She patted his hand.
“That’d be great.”
“Then drop me off and don’t come in. Give me your keys so I don’t buzz.”
Fedor handed over his keys at once. She tucked them into her bag, and they rode in silence. Outside the building she said:
“Wait for my call. Once I’ve sorted that swamp-hag, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, watched her get out, and drove off without saying where. Antonina Vasilyevna headed inside.
Opening the apartment door she smelled no food, no baking—nothing to suggest anyone awaited her visit.
“Irina!” she called loudly. “Irina!”
“Good afternoon, Antonina Vasilyevna,” Irina said, stepping from the living room, surprised not to see Fedor.
“‘Good afternoon…’” the older woman echoed, smirking.
“Is something wrong?” Irina frowned at the tone. “Where’s Fedor?”
“That’s none of your concern. My son is safe—far away from you. Now, dearie, we’re going to talk. Oh yes, we are.”
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Irina bristled.
“It’s not a hint,” the mother-in-law spat. “So you want to ruin my boy’s life? Don’t like me coming often?” She took off her boots, hung her coat. “You think that’s often? I could move in if I wanted!”
“Really? Won’t your face crack from such nerve?” Irina snapped back.
“Mine?”
“Yours! Who else?”
“Cocky little thing, aren’t you?” The woman’s smile was vicious.
“Enough! I’ve had it with your arrogance. Turn around, put your coat back on, and leave!”
“Me?”
Instead of obeying, Antonina strutted into the living room, sat on the couch, and stared defiantly.
“Didn’t get your wires crossed, you old witch?” Irina barked. “I said: pack up and go to your cowardly son wherever he’s hiding!” Her voice rose even more.
“My son will throw you out if you ever raise your voice at me again! And I don’t care that this is your apartment— got it?!”
“Oh yeah? Let him try. He’ll be the one looking for a new place for a couple of years if he dares lay a finger on me. And you? I’m tossing you out right now so I don’t have to see that wrinkled mug!”
Which is exactly what happened. Irina lunged, grabbed the older woman by the hair, and dragged her into the hallway.
Antonina Vasilyevna fought back, clawing and swinging, but Irina slapped her hands away, yanked the front door open, and shoved her onto the landing. The coat, handbag, and boots followed after.
“I’LL MAKE YOU PAY! My Fedia will turn you into Swiss cheese!” the mother-in-law screeched as her belongings rained down.
Irina merely smirked and locked the door.
Antonina rummaged through her bag for her phone. She managed to reach her son, but the signal kept cutting and she couldn’t explain. Still, Fedor sensed panic and raced home.
He couldn’t get into the building—Irina wouldn’t buzz him, and he’d given her the key-fob. He rang random neighbors until someone let him in. Ten minutes later he found his mother beating on the apartment door, kicking, sobbing with rage.
“Mama!” he yelled.
“That snake threw me out! Can you imagine—threw me out!” she shrieked.
“Calm down, Mom! Give me the keys—I’ll try to get in.”
From inside the door came Irina’s voice: “Go ahead, break in! Police are on their way—should be fun. And you, Fedosik, can start looking for a new place or crawl back under Mommy’s wing!”
“What?!” he roared. “Open up! This is my home too!”
“It WAS your home—until you sicced that monster on me! Now? You’re almost no husband. I’ve already filed for divorce; I’ll finish the rest after the holidays.”
“Irina! Think, cancel it all! I get it! I never meant for this. Open the door, love!”
She gave no answer, simply went about her business, waiting for the pounding to stop.
“Mama, looks like she’s serious… Let’s go sit in the car before the cops do show.”
Irina never did call the police, though she could have. She preferred watching, through the peephole, her “cockroaches” scurry away. Then she phoned her father, asked him to come change the lock if he could. He was delighted—he’d never liked his son-in-law or that family always mooching under some invented notion of kinship.
After the holidays Irina finalized the divorce, packed Fedor’s things, and shipped them to his mother by courier. She never heard from her ex-husband or her former mother-in-law again.
