“Hi, Liza!” Anton—Liza’s brother—barreled into the hallway with his whole family. “We were just passing by and thought we’d drop in. You won’t turn us away, will you?”
“Hello, Anton! Of course, come in!” Liza was a warm, welcoming hostess. She was always glad to have guests: her salary let her feed, water, and shower gifts on her numerous relatives.
Her children had long since grown up, started their own families and had children of their own; her husband had run off with a young secretary, unable to cope with his insecurities. He urgently needed to boost his self-esteem—driven down to zero—after his wife was appointed to an important position. Her salary had become several times higher than his. A low blow.
At first, Liza felt lonely in the big house and happily received guests on every holiday—and on weekdays too.
“Mom, can I swing by for lunch?” her daughter, who worked not far from Liza’s home, would call. “You’ve got something in the fridge, right?”
“Of course, come!” Liza rejoiced. She still cooked out of habit for a whole family, but there was no one to eat it. “I won’t be home, but you have the keys.”
Or her son might drop in for dinner.
“Marinka made pasta again. I’m sick of it. I’d like a proper meal at your place,” he’d complain. “We should come over together so she can learn to cook from you.”
Then the kids began showing up without warning—both when she was out and when she was home. Often with their spouses and children in tow.
“It’s impossible to deny ourselves the pleasure of eating your delicacies and preserves,” they didn’t even hide their reason for visiting their mother. The grandkids knew Grandma always had gifts for them. And every time they got new toys, trendy sneakers, or T-shirts. Their first question was, “Grandma, what did you buy us?”
Liza loved to spoil not only the grandkids but her children as well. She gave her son watches and the latest headphones. Her daughter—precious-metal earrings or handbags from famous brands. Everyone got so used to it that they took it as a matter of course.
They especially looked forward to holidays.
“So, are we going to Mom’s?” the sister would call her brother.
“Of course, to Mom’s!” he’d rub his hands.
“What are we giving her?” she would ask out of habit, perfectly aware of the answer.
“What could you give her? She has everything!” her brother would snort.
Even on her birthday, the relatives usually arrived without presents, bringing sparkling wine and boxes of candy—which she set out on the table for them to eat themselves.
Her brother’s family didn’t put much effort into gift-giving. Once they gave her an awkward pig-shaped coin bank.
“You can save ten-ruble coins in there and then give it to the kids,” they handed her the pig with those words, pleased with their cleverness.
Another gift was a wall calendar featuring handsome firefighters.
“At least you can gaze at some men since you couldn’t keep your own,” her brother joked, thinking he was being funny.
Liza was put off by that present—and even more by the accompanying speech—but she didn’t show it, laughing along with the rest.
“Family—spread out to your rooms!” Anton gave the order without even asking Liza. After all, she was happy to see them.
“So, shall we eat? It took us half an hour to get here; we worked up an appetite,” her brother rubbed his hands.
“I thought you were just passing by?!” Liza said in surprise.
“Oh—right,” Anton realized his slip. “Passing by. We went to the big central store. Near you. Spent the whole day there. And the kids need feeding already, so we popped in. Otherwise they’ll eat us alive before we even get home. We thought about a café, but it’s so expensive! My whole paycheck would disappear feeding these little gluttons.”
“What did you buy at the store, then?” Liza didn’t see a single shopping bag with the family.
“Didn’t really find anything,” Anton’s wife, Vera, answered for him. “Is that store for rich people or what? The prices are insane!”
“Seems like prices are like that everywhere now,” Liza shrugged, setting the table.
“We can’t understand rich folks,” Vera sniffed, but Anton gave her a discreet nudge to make her talk less.
“Aunt Liza, what did you buy us?” two nephews ran in and jumped around Liza. “Mom said we’re going to your place—there’s always food and gifts ‘for free.’ Only we don’t know any ‘Miss Free.’ We don’t need to give presents to her—we need presents for us!”
Vera flushed crimson, and their father hissed at the boys and, as if apologizing, shrugged—kids will be kids.
Liza just shook her head. She hadn’t expected that. But she didn’t want to upset the children. She always had some interesting little things in reserve. This time she pulled a children’s badminton set out of the closet.
“Hooray!” the boys cheered. “We’re going outside to play!”
“But you said you were hungry,” Liza tried to stop them, remembering the family’s failed café visit.
“Nah, we ate at home!” the younger one blurted out the parental secret, and the two of them dashed out into the yard.
“What little liars,” Anton laughed nervously, glancing at his wife for support.
“Ah, yes, I fed them—I just forgot to tell Anton,” Vera wriggled out of it. Judging by everything, she and her husband had wanted to eat on the house, saving a tidy sum.
Liza didn’t begrudge the food, but it bothered her that her hospitality was being brazenly exploited.
Lunch—luxurious and refined as always—passed in oppressive silence.
“Well, thanks,” Anton rose from the table, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Magnificent lunch! You sure know how to impress people! We’ll be off now, won’t distract you from your business.”
“At least feed the children,” Liza sighed. They were still outside, whacking the shuttlecock with their rackets.
“It’s fine, they’ll eat at home,” Vera waved it off, hastily getting dressed.
“Great seeing you!” her brother waved to Liza.
“Me too, me too…” Liza closed the door behind the uninvited guests and fell into thought. She was doing something wrong. When had the joy of hosting turned into a routine for her—and her relatives into freeloaders?
Her pondering was cut short by the doorbell.
“Who’s this now?” Liza thought—and then felt ashamed of herself. Just yesterday she would never have had such a thought.
“Liza, hurry and open up—my arms are going numb!” came a friend’s voice from behind the door.
“Rita!” Liza was delighted and rushed to open.
“By the time you let me in, my arms will fall off!” her best friend, Margarita, grumbled, hauling in a bulging bag from a grocery store.
“What did you drag that for? I’ve got plenty of everything! Well—actually no,” Liza bit her tongue—she remembered her guests had polished off most of her supplies, “not plenty anymore.”
“So the locusts paid a visit again?” Margarita always called Liza’s relatives “locusts,” which used to offend Liza. But not now—this time Liza didn’t even protest. “Got it—they swarmed!”
The hostess nodded bleakly.
“Come on, let’s perk up. And I’ve got a proposal you won’t be able to refuse,” Rita said, pulling products from the bag. On the table appeared their favorite drink, lemons, chocolate. “Plates, please!”
Liza took out dishes, and a cheese platter, olives, and black olives materialized on them.
“Ruben whipped up some canapés for me,” Rita produced a container of canapés from her little restaurant, where she was the owner. “Good man! Shame he’s already married.”
They laughed.
“Rita, you’re incorrigible!” Liza shook her head, smiling. “So—what’s this proposal of yours?”
“Ah, hold on—we haven’t clinked glasses yet!” Rita poured a splash of brown liquid into the round-bellied glasses. “To us!”
They took a sip. Liza felt warmth spread through her. The irritation after her brother’s family visit vanished, replaced by calm.
“Now we can talk!” Rita giggled, seeing her friend’s blissful state. “I’ve found us New Year’s packages to Italy! Don’t thank me!”
Liza choked in surprise. Rita patted her on the back.
“Liza, picture it: Rome, Venice, mustachioed gondoliers, risotto! Romance! You’ll finally get a break from your ‘locusts’ and from cooking. Otherwise you’ll start whipping up a feast a week in advance again. Not that anyone ever comes to help,” Rita scolded her friend. “Treat yourself for once! Don’t worry about the money—you’ll pay me back when you can.”
“Will they even give us a visa?”
“I’ve got one, and for you my son will send an invitation—you know he lives there. I’ve already checked everything. It’s tricky, but doable if you know who to talk to.”
“You know what—why not!” Liza waved it off. “I’m tired of all this. And the money’s not a problem…”
“Thank the Lord!” Rita exclaimed. “We have to celebrate that!”
There were barely two months left till New Year’s, but Liza’s relatives had no doubt the warm, hospitable hostess would once again welcome everyone with open arms, a lavish table, and heaps of gifts. Liza, however, told no one that they’d be seeing out the old year and ringing in the new one without her.
A week before departure, Liza’s daughter called.
“Mom, what time should we come?”
“Come where?” Liza didn’t catch on at first. In her mind she was already in Venice, gliding in a gondola, having completely forgotten her relatives’ plans.
“What do you mean where? To your place!” the daughter said irritably, thinking her mother’s memory was beginning to fail her. At fifty-five. What would it be like later? “We always gather at your place for New Year’s,” she reminded her, syllable by syllable, as if to a small child.
“Oh, right! But not this time!” Liza smiled. At last she could say those cherished words.
“What do you mean, not this time?” the daughter was so surprised she even stopped being angry.
“I’m flying to Italy for New Year’s,” Liza replied simply. “You’ll have to manage on your own.”
“Mom, are you out of your mind? You can’t let everyone down like that! We were planning to all be together!” her daughter raised her voice.
“Then be together… at your place, for example. I’ve already decided. I want to rest,” Liza said, annoyed, and hung up.
A few minutes later, her son called.
“Ma, are you serious?”—apparently his sister had already complained to him. “You’re going to ditch everyone?”
“Watch your mouth,” Liza said, realizing she hadn’t even noticed when her children had gotten so brazen. “You’re not little anymore—you can take care of yourselves and your kids. I’m out of strength.”
“You—” her son began, but she cut him off:
“Sorry, I’ve got another call.”
It was Anton. With a heavy sigh, Liza picked up.
“Liza, what’s this Italy nonsense you’ve dreamed up? Do you even watch TV?!” her brother attacked right off the bat.
“Anton, I threw the TV out long ago. I’m going to rest and see historical places I’ve dreamed of visiting for ages,” she began dreamily, but her brother didn’t let her finish:
“Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes! What’s wrong with staying home? We already planned everything—we were going to buy a new TV! And now we’ll have to spend money on gifts and the New Year’s table!”
Liza was stunned. She understood, of course, that her relatives had been riding on her back—but that they were this brazen and cynical she only realized today. That discovery sobered her and dispelled all doubts—and the guilt over “ruining” the holiday for the family.
Silently, she ended the call and changed the locks on the house. The offended relatives began telling all their acquaintances that their mother and sister had turned her back on the family to focus on her personal life.
Liza welcomed the New Year with her best friend Rita on St. Mark’s Square in Venice, with a glass of dry wine under a fantastic fireworks display, feeling for the first time the lightness, serenity, and heady sense of freedom from her kin.
“Next year we’re going to Kamchatka,” Liza said, wiping tears of happiness. “I’ve dreamed of it my whole life, but I was always a bit scared. Now I’m ready for anything—even to conquer volcanoes.”
“I’ll hold you to that!” Rita winked at her friend and raised her glass. “To our future adventures.”
