At exactly 11:00, all the relatives were seated at the table of the frail, 90-year-old grandmother, who could barely take care of herself. She didn’t even quite realize what day it was or why she had been seated at the table with a shot of wine poured for her. All she really wanted was to sit by the TV or step out onto her little balcony for some fresh air. But her daughter had decided otherwise.
In the spacious living room, two big old Soviet folding tables had been pushed together to make one long festive spread. All the relatives were there — aunts, uncles, cousins, their spouses, children.
“Can you imagine? I called my daughter this morning to congratulate her on the holiday, and she tells me she’s not coming to her grandmother’s celebration today?!” announced Tamara Igorevna in a tone as if Alla had betrayed the Motherland and committed some unspeakable crime.
To be honest, half of those present had no desire to take part in this yearly performance with its unchanging script.
First, Tamara Igorevna — as hostess — would congratulate the elderly grandmother, then ceremoniously lead each new arrival to her for the formal greeting, with the guest expressing respect to Avdotya Semyonovna under Tamara’s approving gaze.
After that, everyone would sit at the lavishly laid table, as if it were New Year’s Eve. And after the grandmother, the guests would turn to congratulate the real center of the event — Tamara Igorevna herself:
“Well now, Tamarochka, what a holiday — Women’s Day — and you’re on duty, putting together such a feast! What a caring daughter you are, such a treasure! To you, Tomochka!” — usually said by one of the men present.
This role often fell to Tamara’s brother or her son. But when the brother’s wife complained about having to rush every March 8 to someone else’s celebration, Tamara made sure her brother divorced her within a year.
The same fate befell her son Ruslan’s marriage. His wife Olga lasted about three years before leaving him — and taking Tamara’s grandson — to live with her own parents, unable to endure the unquestionable authority of the family’s main woman.
After the toasts came the merry chatter, which grew louder thanks to the plentiful alcohol. Soon Tamara’s brother Oleg would fetch his old accordion and lead drinking songs.
When Alla was still unmarried, she would sit through the whole evening, clearing plates, carrying food, taking away empty bottles, and helping her aunt clean the apartment afterward. By mid-evening, the old grandmother’s head would ache, and she would retreat to her balcony to avoid the sight of her drunk relatives — who mostly forgot she existed.
“Oleg, hold off on your traditional toast!” Tamara cut her brother short. “I want to discuss Alla and her husband Vadim at the family council! Vadim is stirring up trouble. He told me outright that since the wedding my daughter no longer answers to me, and that they now have their own separate family. Can you believe it?!”
“That’s outrageous! How dare she? That Vadik is bold, going against our Tomochka!” came the murmurs from around the room.
Just then, the doorbell rang insistently.
“Well, really — five minutes to midnight,” Tamara muttered irritably, going to greet the “enemies of the people” herself.
“Happy holiday, Tamara Igorevna!” She was startled to see Vadim’s cheerful face, with Alla following behind him.
“Here, Tamara Igorevna — salads as you asked, cake, vodka, wine!” Vadim practically shoved the purchases into her hands.
“Well, finally, you came to your senses!” she grumbled — but then noticed a crowd of unfamiliar people on the landing, streaming into her mother’s apartment behind Vadim.
“Come in, my dear ones! Don’t be shy!” Vadim ushered in a boisterous group of strangers, already tipsy. One burly man even hugged Tamara tightly and planted a loud kiss on her lips, smelling of booze and fried onions.
“And who’s this?!” Tamara gasped.
“These are all my relatives. They came from a far-off village — after all, you wrote for everyone to gather at eleven at your grandmother’s place today!” Vadim said, in high spirits and slightly drunk.
“Alla, is Vadim drunk?” Tamara asked in disbelief — she had never seen her usually serious son-in-law like this.
“By the way, where’s Grandma? Everyone, listen up! Mission: find Grandma and congratulate her on March 8, so she doesn’t feel lonely! And go easy on the drinks with her — she’s elderly!” Vadim declared, already searching the apartment.
The 90-year-old was stunned by the flood of strangers hugging her, kissing her cheeks, and wishing her long life. For the first time, Avdotya Semyonovna felt like the star of the celebration.
“Sweetie, who are you all?” she asked, accepting flowers and chocolates.
“These are all my relatives, Grandma — they came to wish you a happy Women’s Day!” Vadim proclaimed.
“And you, dear, who might you be?”
“Why, I’m your number-one relative — Alla’s husband, Vadik!”
“Alla, wait — who is this? Cursed memory, can’t recall for the life of me!” the old woman laughed.
“No need to remember — the main thing is, we congratulated you!” Vadim said cheerfully. “Now, enjoy your fresh air, and I’ll have someone bring you tea. Try these rum chocolates, they’re quite something!” He disappeared back into the chaos.
“Tamara Igorevna, tea for Avdotya Semyonovna!” he commanded his mother-in-law, then went off to embrace and mingle with the other guests.
“Mama, Vadim told you — they’re all his relatives. I didn’t even know he had so many, or that they’d already been drinking! I’ve never seen him like this either,” Alla admitted.
“Let’s also celebrate our wedding — we never had a proper one! Tamara Igorevna, pour your homemade liquor! Mikhailych, crank up the boombox! Let’s dance!” Vadim shouted.
Within moments, the apartment turned into a noisy, drunken free-for-all. Someone downstairs banged on the radiator; Vadim’s relatives cheerfully banged back.
“Enough! This is a madhouse! I’m calling the police!” yelled Baba Nyura, the downstairs neighbor.
“No need, we’re leaving!” Vadim replied, quickly herding his kin out.
“Tamara Igorevna, come on — we just wanted to celebrate together! You wanted our families to meet, didn’t you? And next week is your birthday — we’ll all come again! At your house, no neighbors will bother us!” Vadim hugged his mother-in-law, then dragged Alla out along with the last of his relatives.
After they left, everyone sat in silence — and, strangely, completely sober, since most of the alcohol and snacks had vanished.
“What was that?” Tamara’s brother asked. “Was that Mamai returned from the grave?”
“That,” Tamara said with a nervous laugh, “was just this crazy Vadik’s relatives.”
A long pause followed.
“Mother, maybe you were wrong to be upset that Alla and Vadim didn’t want to come today? Maybe we should never invite Vadik again — ever,” one relative suggested.
“Yes!” Tamara agreed, adjusting her hair and checking herself to see if everything was still in place after the storm. “I was just about to suggest the same. Different family, different rules, my dears.”
Meanwhile, Vadim, now quite sober, was outside paying the “hired crowd” he’d brought for the show, winking at his stunned wife.
“Well, Alla, after this, your mother will definitely never invite us again!” he laughed.
The only one truly delighted by the whole spectacle was Avdotya Semyonovna, sipping tea on the balcony and enjoying those excellent rum chocolates.
“Tamara Igorevna! Congratulations to you and Alla on your birthday! We want to come this evening with our whole big family to celebrate — from our family to yours!” Vadim called at 7 a.m.
“Thanks, Vadim, but there’s no need. I’m a bit unwell since March 8, so I won’t be celebrating. And anyway, my husband and I are away… at that… sanatorium… in the neighboring region, 500 kilometers away. So don’t try to find us,” Tamara replied.
Later, she called her daughter privately:
“Daughter, have some mercy on your mother! Please, keep your crazy Vadim and his lunatic relatives away from me! I’m begging you!”
From then on, Tamara left her daughter’s young family alone and firmly refused any of Vadim’s suggestions to celebrate holidays together.
As if by magic, peace returned — although Avdotya Semyonovna wouldn’t have minded another lively March 8 with rum chocolates.
