After getting married for the third time, Serafima Grigoryevna got into the habit of visiting her son and daughter-in-law. Her new husband, Igor, was nine years younger, and she was very proud of that.
“If a younger man looked my way, then I must be a beauty,” she would think, glancing at herself in the mirror.
As for the “younger man,” he had simply grown tired of living with his own mother: with age her temper had turned sour, like over-fermented wort. Then a very convenient option turned up—an upstanding woman, full of life experience after two marriages, and with a pleasant appearance to boot. So what if she was a little older—she’d kept herself well for her years. Besides, she already had children, and the question of a child he didn’t want anyway disappeared on its own. Igor was quite satisfied with this marriage—one could even say happy.
Serafima was a woman of firm character and a sharp temper. She could bring her previous two husbands to heel with a snap of her fingers, and they felt like tightrope walkers balancing on a wire. A step to the left, a step to the right—tantamount to a death-defying act. Their delicate souls couldn’t bear such pressure, and both men evaporated like mist over a morning lake, leaving gifts behind: one left a son, the other an apartment, which he sacrificed in exchange for his freedom.
And as soon as her only son got married, Serafima found consolation in Igoryosha, her third husband. Trying to suppress her commander’s habits so as not to scare off the solace of her heart, she grew melancholy. But a solution presented itself: Serafima realized where she could cut loose. She started dropping in on her son.
“There I won’t have to hide my dictatorial ways,” she thought.
It all began with harmless instructions for her daughter-in-law:
“Nastasya, is this how you greet guests and your husband home from work?” the mother-in-law demanded, bursting into her son’s house for the first time. “Anyone with eyes can see you haven’t even touched a broom! Come on, grab the mop and clean up! Vityusha will be home any minute, and this place looks like a pigsty!”
She wouldn’t hear a word from the girl about how she herself had just returned from work and planned to tidy up after a short rest.
“What kind of housewife are you if I have to rub your nose in everything?” the mother-in-law wouldn’t let up.
Nastya had no choice but to take a rag and, without even changing clothes, wash the floors under the vigilant eye of her mother-in-law. Of course, she could have put the brazen woman in her place, but souring relations with her husband’s mother right off the bat wasn’t part of her plan. So Nastya decided to see how far the mother-in-law would go with her nitpicking.
Another time Serafima showed up first thing on a day off.
“And why are we sleeping?” she asked, surprised, as the bleary-eyed Nastya opened the door to the uninvited guest. “Go make yourself presentable—I want to see how you cook breakfast for my son.”
Viktor tried to assure his mother that his wife cooked just fine, wasn’t starving him, and that on weekends they didn’t get up so early.
“And where’s your husband?” he yawned, addressing his mother. “Don’t you have a home to sit in?”
“Igoryosha went to visit his mother, like a normal loving son—unlike some people,” Serafima declared, offended. “So I have to check for myself how my child is doing—my own flesh and blood.”
“He’s doing just fine, your flesh and blood,” Nastya said, freshly washed and combed as she came out of the bathroom, hoping to calm her mother-in-law. “Fed, watered, clothed, shod, laundered, loved.”
“Oh, I somehow don’t believe that!” Serafima waved her off. “He’s gotten thinner—his T-shirt is hanging on him like a hanger.”
“He goes to the gym, works out,” Nastya ventured—and immediately regretted it.
“What? The gym? Who put that idea in his head? You, I suppose? Vityusha had a perfect figure! All the fashion houses could only dream of such a model,” the mother-in-law flared, hands on hips. “Go to the kitchen right now and feed my son properly. We don’t need him developing anorexia! If anyone needs the gym, it’s you—you could stand to drop a couple of kilos.”
And then it snowballed. Serafima Grigoryevna stopped letting any slip-ups pass: dishes not washed immediately after eating, sand in the entryway, a speck of dust on the carpet—everything became a reason for criticism and hectoring.
Her son tried to talk to his mother, but she would stage a demonstrative fit of offense, and Viktor threw up his hands.
“Nastya, it’s not my fault she’s like that. You don’t get to choose your parents. If you have a way to reduce her visits here, I won’t object,” was the best he could offer his wife.
“Then promise you won’t be mad at me if your mother rarely comes over,” Nastya decided to take drastic measures.
“I won’t,” Viktor nodded.
A week later…
“Nastasya, what are you doing here?” Serafima was taken aback to see her daughter-in-law on her doorstep with a bag.
“I just thought I’d drop by,” Nastya walked into the apartment. “I was passing by. Hello, Igor!”
She peeked into the room where the new husband sat on the couch in front of the TV.
“Oh, we have a guest?! Sima, why aren’t you inviting the girl in?” the man brightened.
“Come in,” the mother-in-law ground out between her teeth.
“I brought Serafima Grigoryevna some salad greens—three kinds. Last time you stopped by our place, I noticed your wife had put on a little weight. And at her age it’s hard to slim down. Heaven forbid she lose her figure,” the daughter-in-law chirped, ignoring the tight line of her mother-in-law’s lips.
“Oh, Serafima Grigoryevna, did you buy the same chandelier we have?! And you were accusing us of having no taste! Igor, be careful! I think your wife is having memory lapses. Although that’s not surprising—taking it upon herself to control two families is a lot at that age. Anyway, I’ll run. I bought chicken for Vitya, just like you ordered—going to fatten him up—and I’m hungry myself,” Nastya smiled at the annoyed woman. “But it doesn’t smell like anything tasty here. Don’t you feed your husband? Igor, if anything, come over to ours. The chicken’s big—there’ll be enough for everyone! I’ll be happy to feed you.”
“Absolutely! Been a while since I was a guest anywhere,” Igor replied, rubbing his hands, while Serafima shot her daughter-in-law a venomous look.
“We’ll do just fine without your chicken! Igoryosha, why didn’t you ever tell me you wanted chicken? I’ll roast you a whole turkey!” the mother-in-law cooed, turning to her husband.
Taking advantage of the moment, Nastya left the bag on the table and quickly slipped out of the apartment.
But she didn’t stop there. Two days later she came by her mother-in-law’s again, popping in after work. Igor was home, too.
“Hello, I’m just for a minute!” Nastya beamed. “Last time I dropped by, I didn’t like the look of you, Serafima Grigoryevna.” The daughter-in-law stopped smiling and looked at her mother-in-law with concern.
“In what sense?” the latter frowned.
“Well, you’ve got more wrinkles. Your complexion’s gotten kind of ashy. I’m worried. It’s because you take our not-so-perfect housekeeping too much to heart. You frown so hard when you scold me for dirty dishes that soon you’ll have a furrow on your forehead like a potato field. I brought you some facial exercises for wrinkles.” Nastya winked and handed her a folder of printouts. “Here. Do them twice a day. Once won’t cut it anymore. I’ll run! By the way, that dress you wore to our place ages you. The print is too loud. You look like a granny at Maslenitsa in it.”
Blowing her mother-in-law a kiss, Nastya flitted out of the apartment, leaving Serafima Grigoryevna nonplussed and mortified, and Igor Leonidovich pensive.
“Funny, Mom hasn’t dropped by in a while,” Viktor realized a month later, eyeing his wife suspiciously. “She only calls to ask how I am, that’s it. What did you pull? I hope she hasn’t changed her address and moved to another city?”
“Vityusha,” Nastya drawled in Serafima’s intonation, “what do you take me for? If you want, invite her and her husband over. I hope she won’t refuse.”
Refusing was beyond Serafima’s strength—she hadn’t seen Vityusha in a long time. And she always had to have the last word, not some young slip of a girl, even if that girl was her beloved son’s wife! Entering the young couple’s place, Serafima automatically swept the apartment with her gaze. Igor immediately went off to watch TV with Viktor in the other room, and the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were left alone in the kitchen.
“Nastasya, I don’t want to end up alone anymore. It’s very sad and lonely. Your stunt nearly cost me my marriage. But in a way I understand you and don’t condemn you. I’m even glad my son married a girl with backbone. Defending your boundaries is the right thing to do. I used to do the same myself, but apparently I forgot—just as I forgot how to drop the commanding tone. You taught me a good lesson,” Serafima said dryly. Nastya smiled, happy that things had worked out so well and the two women had understood each other.
“Only, shoes should be cleaned as soon as you come in from outside,” the mother-in-law couldn’t resist adding.
“Serafima Grigoryevna, I think I’ll go give your husband the address of a good cosmetologist and a shapewear shop so he can take you there. Otherwise your worldly wisdom is practically sticking out all over you,” Nastya sighed, shaking her head.
“All right, all right! I’ll hush! You little viper!” the older woman muttered, unable to hold back.
There was peace in their family now. A bad peace is better than a good quarrel.
