— Tolik, you’re going to pick me up from work, right? We’re going to the theater tonight, remember? — Natasha glanced at the clock. There was an hour and a half left before the performance. And, as if on cue, rain mixed with snow started falling. She had spent the whole morning doing her hair. And she hadn’t put on a hat, so as not to mess it up. Silly woman.
— I can’t, Natasha. I’ll be coming from the other side of the city. But don’t be late, the traffic is terrible now, — he said and hung up. Natasha didn’t even get a chance to argue. He had promised… but apparently it was something urgent. Natasha couldn’t stay mad. She was an understanding woman.
— Svetlova, go to the director’s office! — they called to her, and she realized she wouldn’t be able to leave early… Which meant no taxi. With the traffic jams, the trip would take over an hour now.
Natasha walked down the office corridor. She was wearing high-heeled shoes, carrying a bag, an umbrella, and a coat. The workday was dragging on again. One thought kept running through her mind: she had to get to the theater no matter what. Tolik was probably already on his way, and she… couldn’t even call a taxi because of the snowstorm! She’d have to take the subway. Without a hat, in those awful heels.
She and Tolik had been dating for almost two years. They hadn’t lived together yet, but Natasha almost every morning woke up earlier to curl her hair, pick out a dress, dress up specially, because Tolik would definitely come after work. Or she would go to him. And he was a serious man—he always said that the woman by his side should be well-groomed. So she tried to live up to that. She wanted to be not just loved but worthy.
Tolik was a desirable fiancé: an apartment, a car, a respected position. His parents were from an aristocratic family. Natasha sometimes felt shy visiting him when his mother was there. She looked at Natasha in a peculiar way—either with distrust or pity. But Natasha tried very hard to fit in. She never refused to help: if she stayed overnight, she got up early, made breakfast for Tolik, and tidied his room while he slept.
When Tolik promised her tickets to a play she had dreamed of for their anniversary, Natasha was moved to tears. She had loved the theater since childhood. She remembered going as a little girl with her father to see the story of the Three Little Pigs. Then her father left.
Trying to push away the untimely memories, Natasha put on a thin, unseasonably cold autumn coat and stepped outside. October had turned out frosty. And she still had to walk to the subway…
She arrived at the theater on time. Made it. She didn’t want to let him down.
Trying not to slip at the entrance, Natasha grabbed the door handle to run into the lobby. She hoped Tolik was already waiting for her inside.
— Your ticket? — the attendant stood right at the entrance. Due to heightened security, “extra” people and those without tickets trying to warm up were not allowed in.
— My ticket is with the young man. He’s waiting for me! — Natasha squeaked, rubbing her frozen hands. She had been out too long: no hat or gloves, in a short dress and thin tights. God forbid she wouldn’t get sick.
— Let your young man meet you. Call him. Unfortunately, we cannot let you in without a ticket.
— Miss, are you coming in or what? — a displeased lady in a hat pushed Natasha.
The lobby guard politely asked her to wait outside. She didn’t argue. She stood against the wall, wrapped in her coat, watching the theater guests.
Tolik didn’t arrive and didn’t answer her calls. Ten minutes later, the second bell rang, signaling the start of the performance, and an electronic voice said in the receiver: “Subscriber unavailable.”
Natasha was still standing by the entrance, realizing the evening was hopelessly ruined and she would most likely get sick. Worry about Tolik added to the mix of emotions. Natasha was sure something had happened to him since he hadn’t come or gotten in touch.
— Miss, do you have a ticket for the performance? — a voice came nearby. Natasha looked at the approaching man. He was an elderly gentleman with a neat gray beard and a kind, attentive gaze.
— Yes. I was waiting for someone with a ticket, but… he didn’t come, — she admitted.
— I have an extra ticket. Let’s go. You look completely frozen.
— Extra?
— Yes… My wife and I planned to go. But she couldn’t make it. She didn’t live to see the premiere.
Natasha was taken aback. It was a 15-minute walk to the subway. Her head wouldn’t survive another walk without a hat. And she really wanted to see this play.
— Yes, I’ll go with you. My name is Natasha, — she said.
— Fyodor Petrovich. — He smiled. — Let’s go, Natasha. Looks like we’re running late.
They sat next to each other. The play was very interesting, and she almost immediately forgot that 15 minutes ago she had almost cried, freezing at the entrance.
The time until intermission flew by in an instant. Natasha turned on her phone. No messages. Anxiety gripped her anew.
— Let’s go, Natasha, I’ll treat you to coffee. You know, my wife Valentina and I loved to get éclairs, — at the mention of his wife, Fyodor Petrovich’s face grew sad. — Do you like sweets?
— Yes, very much, — Natasha admitted. No matter how many diets she was on, she couldn’t refuse the old man at that moment.
— Can I offer you something else besides coffee? — she suggested.
— Would I let a lady pay? — He placed a plate of assorted pastries on the table.
— Natasha? Is that you? — in the queue to the buffet, Natasha saw Tolik’s colleague.
— Hi, Masha. — Her heart beat faster. She swallowed her pride and asked, — Do you know what happened to Anatoly? I can’t reach him. And we…
— …were supposed to go to the theater? — Masha continued. — I know, he said plans changed. He was reselling tickets.
— Really?!
— I bought them from him. Didn’t want them to go to waste. I thought you knew. — Natasha felt like she’d been doused with ice water. Everything became clear.
— I… yes, of course. I just misunderstood him, — Natasha forced a laugh. Fortunately, Fyodor Petrovich was nearby. He invited Maria to join them, but she refused and ran off to her friend.
— So the young man stood you up? — he asked quietly.
— Don’t mind it…
— I was young once too. Things happen.
— But you probably wouldn’t have left your fiancée out in the cold without a ticket.
He thought and nodded.
— I would never have made Valyusha wait… — Fyodor Petrovich grew sad again. People were crowding at the buffet queue, discussing the play, while he was lost in memories. Natasha asked him to tell her more.
Fyodor Petrovich was a former teacher. He and his wife Valentina had spent 40 happy years together. She passed away at the end of summer, and her departure was a blow to Fyodor.
— We planned to go to this play. She wanted it so much. We bought the best seats in advance… You know, I didn’t want to go until the last moment. But then I decided: Valya wouldn’t have been happy if the tickets went to waste. And look, Natasha, I met you.
— Everything happens for the best. That’s what my grandmother used to say, — Natasha comforted him. — Thank you. For the éclairs and for saving me from the cold and loneliness.
The evening’s surprises didn’t end there. Fyodor Petrovich turned out to be a neighbor. They went home together. And a few days later, they met near a pastry shop.
— Are you here for éclairs?
— Exactly. To remember Valya. — He smiled. — Come in for tea.
— I’d love to, — Natasha blushed.
— I know young people are always busy. My son is the same. Here, take this. Eat it at home, — he handed her a box of pastries, and Natasha felt sorry for the lonely old man. She looked at the clock and agreed.
— Let’s go. I can stop by for half an hour. Show me photos; I’m curious to see what a beauty your wife was, — Natasha smiled, and for a moment it seemed to her that a tear gleamed in Fyodor Petrovich’s eyes.
At home it was cozy; in the hallway, a cat named Senka greeted them.
— Valentina insisted; we found him near the house, — Fyodor Petrovich explained. — He was just a kitten, in May. In August, Valya passed. She left the pet with me. You know, without him, I probably would have laid down and died with her.
Natasha wasn’t especially sentimental, but the old man’s words touched her deeply.
— Let’s put the kettle on. I have some kind of tea — Piero, or something… I can’t remember the name.
— Pu-erh? — Natasha smiled.
— Exactly. My son brought it from somewhere. As a gift. You know, Zhenya is a good guy. Just unlucky with his wife. Eh, well.
Fyodor Petrovich poured strong tea into cups and took out an album. Natasha flipped page after page, and simple politeness gradually turned into sincere interest. The family history was very deep, going back to tsarist times. Natasha was startled when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Where have you been for two days? Should I be chasing after you?” — Tolik sent a message and then hung up on her.
—I have to go. Can I come by again sometime? — Natasha asked quietly.
— Come anytime. — Fyodor Petrovich said, closing the album. Natasha looked at the cat curled up, at the warm lamp light, and the old rug like at her grandmother’s house. In that atmosphere, she felt something she always lacked—peace of mind.
In childhood, Natasha was raised by her mother. Her father left early. Men were something external, distant. Mom handled everything herself, replacing father, grandmother, and grandfather. She was strong and strict, no hugs or secrets.
Since childhood, Natasha tried to be convenient, obedient, not to interfere with her mother taking care of their small family in her own way. Memories of her father remained only in childhood dreams. And maybe Fyodor Petrovich reminded her too vividly of her father.
After that incident, Natasha kept her distance from Anatoly. He grew increasingly irritated that she had changed. He didn’t understand he was to blame for his fiancée’s coldness.
Later, Masha told Tolik she saw Natasha at the theater with a man. Tolik called in a scandal:
— You found some old man and now you’re with him? So greedy you are. Mom was right, you only wanted me for money! Now it’s clear why you stopped coming to me! Found a better catch!
— Stop talking nonsense! — Natasha was stunned. — You were the one who left me in that cold evening at the theater. He just saved me from freezing!
— And how often does he “save” you? He’s old, don’t you feel disgusted with him?!
— He has respect and manners! Don’t judge people by yourself, Tolik. I even doubted whether to give you a chance… But now it’s clear.
— Well then, go to your grandpa!
After that conversation, she stopped communicating with Tolik.
With Fyodor Petrovich, a neighborly friendship began. Natasha visited him; they went to the theater, philharmonic concerts, once even to the cinema — to an old movie Valentina loved. Fyodor talked a lot about his son, missing his granddaughter, and his daughter-in-law who immediately said she was moving north to get an apartment. She took her son with her.
— Does he come to visit?
— He was at Valentina’s funeral.
— Does he send money?
— I don’t take it. I have a good pension, — Fyodor Petrovich looked away.
— Why don’t you go to him yourself?
— I’m too old for such trips. And his wife won’t be glad to see me, — he sighed, and Natasha understood the topic was unpleasant.
— You know what? I saw a poster… How about we go to the circus? — she suggested.
— Let’s.
That evening he called her three hours before the show.
— Sorry, Natasha, I caught a cold. Can’t make it today. I’ll rest. Give my ticket to someone.
— Fyodor Petrovich, I’ll come to you now. I’ll bring medicine, — Natasha got worried.
Senka was still lying on the sofa, and the old clock measured Fyodor Petrovich’s time. Natasha brought fruits, pastries, medicine… And he lay there telling how he met Valentina, how they renovated the apartment, how happy they were when Zhenya was born.
— But then the son got married and left, — Fyodor Petrovich said. — Career, family, worries. I didn’t resent him. Only Valya was upset. Now — I’m just an old man inconvenient to visit. But enough of this. You’ve heard my complaints a million times. Better tell me how you’re doing.
Natasha listened and realized it was easy to turn away from a living person. And then… you might not have time and regret it your whole life.
Fyodor Petrovich seemed to recover, Natasha thought. They never went to the circus, but Fyodor prepared tickets to her favorite theater for New Year’s… But he didn’t live to see it.
One day Fyodor Petrovich stopped answering. Natasha got worried, knocked on his door, but no one opened. A neighbor came with spare keys…
The ambulance didn’t arrive in time. Natasha was shaking but collected documents, called the local officer, found Zhenya’s number, Fyodor Petrovich’s son. It turned out he didn’t know his father had heart problems.
— I already bought plane tickets! Why didn’t dad wait for me? — Zhenya said with some bitterness and despair in his voice.
— He was waiting for you… — Natasha replied quietly.
At the funeral, she met Zhenya in person for the first time. He came alone, approached her, thanked her, was polite and restrained, but something in him reminded her of his father—in his manner and gaze.
— You know, Natasha, dad didn’t call often, but lately when I called him, he talked about you. You were the only person who made him truly calm after mom’s death, — Zhenya said. — I don’t know how a stranger woman could charm him like that…
— We were neighbors. I just listened to him. You know, old people need to talk sometimes. Sometimes that’s all they need.
— I’d like to thank you. That was dad’s wish.
— No need. Warmth and friendship are not goods; they can’t be bought with money.
— Then what can I do for you?
— Your father left a cat. I took him in temporarily, but my… ex has allergies.
Why Natasha remembered Tolik herself didn’t know. Maybe deep down she hoped he would return to her life. Or maybe she wanted Zhenya to take some responsibility, if not for his father, then at least for his cat.
— I can’t take him to the North. But I promise to figure something out. Please let him stay with you for a couple of months. I’ll provide food, — Zhenya looked at Natasha pleadingly.
— Okay.
On the ninth day, he invited Natasha to the memorial. Brought an envelope.
— I said I wouldn’t take it… — Natasha started.
— These are tickets. Dad bought them. He probably wanted to invite you to the theater, — Zhenya smiled sadly. — They’re rightfully yours. The New Year’s show. I think you’ll like it.
— Really? I’ll accept them. Thank you… Too bad there’s no one to go with. Except maybe Senka, — Natasha joked.
— I would go with you. If you allow me.
— And your wife?
— We’ve been divorced for a month. Dividing property and daughter, — Zhenya said. — If not for the divorce, I would have made it to dad sooner.
She didn’t know what to say. Too many doubts, but she agreed—for the memory of a man she respected.
At first, Natasha avoided Zhenya’s gaze. He seemed selfish. But then he spoke himself:
— I know you think I abandoned dad. That’s true. But I disappeared not out of indifference. I just couldn’t handle adult life and responsibility. Made mistakes. Then endless fights with my wife, trying to save the family. Daughter got hospitalized… Bad times at work, mom’s death… I hid. Now I regret wasting part of my life on the wrong things.
He spoke, and Natasha suddenly saw not a man to blame but a person who also hurt. Gradually, her distrust faded.
Two months later, Zhenya, as promised, moved back to his hometown and came for the cat.
— My daughter promised to come for the holidays. Looks like we’ve settled everything, — he said, looking at Natasha. — Thank you for your help.
— I have pastries. Your father and mother…
— Loved éclairs very much, — Zhenya smiled. The last wall between them fell.
They fell in love slowly, cautiously. Like adults who had made mistakes before but gave themselves a chance to start anew.
A year later, Natasha and Zhenya filed their marriage application. No grand celebrations, just the registry and rings. Natasha moved in with him, and her apartment was rented out.
The cat, Senka, lived with them. They called him the Red Cupid, the excuse for which Zhenya came back home. And in Natasha’s memory, that evening at the theater, when she thought she was alone, stayed forever. It turned out every ending is a beginning. And looking at the sky in the evenings, she was sure Fyodor Petrovich was smiling joyfully from the clouds, watching them.
