On Saturday, Lera carefully tidied up the already clean apartment. Then she planned the menu and prepared the tastiest dishes, wanting to show Vyacheslav’s mother that she was a good homemaker. But when she went out to take out the trash, she ran into her neighbor on the landing. As usual, he was unshaven, but Lera didn’t smell alcohol or stale booze on him. Not that she cared—she wanted to walk past—but he called out to her and rather rudely asked:
“Hey, neighbor, what kind of goose have you got nesting at your place? Tell him that if he wants to smoke in the common stairwell—fine. But he shouldn’t be tossing his cigarette butts around. I called him out on it, and he sent me on a long journey. That won’t fly! You tell him, or I will.”
Valeria’s eyes widened and she even paled with anger.
“Excuse me, but you’ve mistaken him for someone else. Slava is a decent man; he doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t use that kind of language. And anyway, I asked you not to come near me.”
“He’s a real slob, that ‘decent man’ of yours,” the neighbor smirked. “Can’t even take the trash out. He’s climbed onto a woman’s back and is loving it.”
“Rude!” Lera tossed her head proudly and was already heading for the elevator when she heard a quiet:
“What a fool!”
Valeria turned around, but the neighbor had already disappeared into his apartment, and all she could do was continue on her way. Her mood soured, but soon Nadezhda Pavlovna arrived—a sweet, kind woman—and the evening went just beautifully.
The guest stayed with Valeria for a few days and then left, saying a warm goodbye to her son and his hospitable fiancée and promising to visit more than once again. Valeria didn’t object—after all, Nadezhda Pavlovna was Vyacheslav’s mother and had every right to see her son whenever she wished.
The old woman really did start coming to the city often, and each time stayed with them for a couple of days. But sometimes she would only visit for a few hours—usually when Valeria was at work. And Lera’s initial joy gradually turned into puzzlement and even hurt:
“Slava, please bring me a yogurt,” Lera asked politely after coming home from work. “There were four bottles in the fridge. My stomach hurts so much today… I want something cool.”
And she would hear in response:
“Baby, there’s no yogurt left. Mom came by and we sat for a bit. I offered tea, but she wanted something else. So we drank the yogurt. She liked the cherry more than the strawberry, by the way. Next time, buy cherry, okay?”
Or Valeria would ask:
“Slava, defrost the chicken before I get home. I’ll roast it for dinner in a bag with vegetables.”
“Kitten, I’m sorry. I completely forgot to tell you: I gave the chicken to Mom. She needs to stick to a diet—her ulcer’s acting up again. She’s going to make herself some broth to drink. And chicken meat is good for her. It’s light and easy to digest.”
There were times like this, too:
“Slava, I bought dishwashing liquid—have you seen where it went?”
“Sunshine,” Vyacheslav would smile gently, “Mom’s pension doesn’t come for another two weeks. So I gave it to her. Are you against that? My dear, please don’t be mad. You know how much I love you…”
Valeria would sigh softly. She didn’t want to seem mercenary to Vyacheslav, but the endless expenses were throwing her off balance. Her salary was no longer enough to support Vyacheslav and his mother, and one day she couldn’t hold back:
“Slav, back in November you said you were looking for a new job, but it’s February already and you still haven’t found anything. And your pension disappears who knows where. Maybe we should go to a proper agency that will help you get employed? I’m sorry, but I just can’t carry all of us.”
“Baby, I’m the one who should apologize,” Vyacheslav sighed. “I should have told you right away, but I didn’t want to upset you. You see, my heart started hurting really badly. I went to the doctors, and they ordered tests that cost a tidy sum. And they prescribed expensive medications. I spent quite a bit on them. I’m so sorry. I wanted to give you at least something, but it didn’t work out. Please, bear with me…”
“I am bearing with it,” Valeria nodded. “It’s just not easy. And your mother… it’s like she lives with us.”
“Mom loves you very much and says a fiancée like you is something one can only dream of,” Vyacheslav hurried to say.
“Yes, I know. I love her too,” Valeria said. “All right, sorry—let’s not talk about this anymore. But I’d be very happy if you could at least somehow help me run the household and pay the bills.”
Vyacheslav smiled and pulled her into a gentle embrace, promising he would do anything as long as she was happy.
But February ended, then came March and April, and Vyacheslav still hadn’t earned a single penny. He had no intention of helping Valeria at all, and when the warm days arrived, he moved to the dacha that Lera had inherited from her parents.
“My God,” he spread his shoulders, inhaling deeply. “It’s so beautiful here. Lera, can I stay here for at least a week? I’m so tired of the city noise… I’ve got nothing left in me.”
“But I can’t live here with you,” Valeria was surprised by his request. “I have work…”
“You’ll come to me on the weekend. Let’s just stock up on groceries ahead of time, just in case. Lera, it’s so wonderful here. And the weather is just whispering. I’m craving some shashlik, and greens of all kinds… Mmm, I just love it.”
“Shashlik?” Valeria smirked.
“You!” Vyacheslav laughed and kissed her on the cheek.
Lera returned to the city, but her mood was anything but springlike, and Vyacheslav’s kisses no longer made her happy. How had it happened that she’d let this practically unfamiliar man settle on her shoulders, and now she was putting up with his whims? What did she know about him? Essentially nothing. She’d seen his passport, sure, and the rural registration too—but that meant nothing. What were they to each other? A family? But family is something else—at least Valeria had always pictured it differently. Engaged? But Vyacheslav hadn’t proposed, and Lera hadn’t asked him about it. Just acquaintances? Then why were they sleeping in the same bed?
Valeria felt absolutely awful, and when she approached the building, she didn’t notice the neighbor and nearly knocked him over, bumping into him in the doorway.
“Careful, lady!” he exclaimed. “Or did you leave your eyes at home?”
Valeria shot him such a helpless, upset look that the man grew uncomfortable and fell silent. Tears burst from Valeria’s eyes. To hide them from the pushy, rude neighbor, she dashed into the entryway and, barely managing to get the key into the lock, slipped into her apartment.
“God, how foolish I am!” She tapped her forehead, sobbed loudly, and went to the bathroom to wash her face with cold water, but as soon as she turned the faucet handle, it snapped off in her hand. Water gushed from the open pipe.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!!” Valeria cried, remembering how many times she’d asked Vyacheslav to replace the mixer tap, and now she could ruin her apartment and flood the neighbors.
The poor woman grabbed a towel and tried to plug the spouting stream, but it didn’t work. In despair, Valeria burst into tears—and then someone’s hand moved her away from the broken tap, and a second later the water stopped.
“You?!” Valeria didn’t understand how the neighbor got into her apartment, but she immediately felt grateful for his help. He seemed to sense her bewildered exclamation and said:
“Why are you so formal with me? I’m Viktor, your neighbor—which means I’m not a stranger to you. Sorry I came in uninvited, but you scared me with the way you looked; I thought something had happened. I wanted to ring the bell, but the door was open and your keys were even left in the lock—you didn’t take them out. So I came in, and then—this…”
“Thank you,” Valeria sighed, then suddenly smiled. “And you’re not drunk today for some reason. But as always—unshaven.”
“Oh, that,” Viktor rubbed his chin with a broad palm. “That’s nothing. And I haven’t been drinking for a long time now. Enough—I’ve had my fill. All right, let me help you clean up here and then I’ll go.”
He grabbed a rag and began scooping water into a basin.
“And sorry again for barging in like that. But it’s kind of professional for me.”
“In what sense?” Valeria was surprised.
“I’m a former Ministry of Emergency Situations officer, an internal service major, if that means anything to you. So saving people is sort of my profession. Was,” Viktor added after a short pause.
“Why ‘was’?” Valeria couldn’t help asking.
“I’ll tell you another time,” Viktor smirked. “Right now I have to go, especially since everything’s fine here now. Well—except for the little streams of mascara on your cheeks…”
He nodded goodbye and left, and Valeria sat on the edge of the tub for a long time, looking at her reflection in the mirror and thinking how easy it is to be wrong about people.
That same evening she herself rang Viktor’s doorbell, and when he opened, she smiled:
“I baked a pie just for you. A chicken pie. Will you take it?”
He inhaled the pleasant aroma with obvious pleasure.
“Mmm, it must be delicious! But I can’t just take it from you. That wouldn’t be very proper of me. But if you’ll keep me company and have some tea with me, I’ll gladly sample your masterpiece.”
“All right,” Valeria nodded and stepped into his apartment.
She expected to see the mess of a typical bachelor’s den—especially one belonging to a man who likes to drink—but everything, though modest, was clean, and it smelled fresh.
“I don’t live very well, as you can see,” Viktor gestured. “But I’ve got everything I need. Come into the kitchen, I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Viktor, you surprise me,” Valeria couldn’t help saying. “Honestly! I’m sorry I thought poorly of you.”
“Don’t apologize,” Viktor waved it off, cutting the pie. “It’s my own fault. And losing my job is my fault, too. You see, not long ago I had a family: a wife and a daughter. To say I loved them would be an understatement. Then, one fine day, it turned out that Olga had been cheating on me for years with a… character—my colleague, whom I considered a friend. And Nastya—she had by him, not me. I couldn’t forgive Olga or that… guy. I started a fight right at the office, in front of the brass. I got fifteen days, and when I got out, I found out Olga had taken our daughter and left. They left together, the three of them. And I fell apart.”
He took a few sips of hot tea. Then he smiled wryly.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I guess it’s been bottled up.”
“I understand you,” Valeria said. “And I’m very sorry for you. But things will work out.”
“We’ll live and see,” Viktor smiled and handed her a piece of pie, only then taking one for himself. “Mmm, it really is delicious!”
A week flew by, and Valeria went to the dacha, where Vyacheslav was waiting for her.
“So you didn’t bring any groceries?” he asked in disappointment when he saw her walking up the path with a small bag in her hand.
“Slava,” Valeria smirked, “isn’t it something that last time I barely dragged the bags here, they were so stuffed with all sorts of things? You mean you’ve already eaten everything? The sausage, the canned goods, the grains, the sweets?”
“So what,” he shrugged. “Out here in nature, you know what an appetite you get! And Mom came to see me, too—you left me all alone, I was bored. And we’re not used to feeding on fresh air, sorry.”
“Oh, right! Of course!” Valeria threw up her hands. “How could I forget! You have a mother!”
She walked into the house and froze on the threshold: dirt everywhere, trash, empty chip bags, and mountains of dirty dishes on the table and in the sink.
“Get out!” Valeria turned to Vyacheslav. “Pack your things right now, and I don’t want to see you here ever again!”
“Baby—” he reached out his hands to her, but she pushed him away and shouted:
“I said get out!!”
Vyacheslav clutched at his heart, but he failed to faint and couldn’t even turn pale. And Valeria had no intention of waiting for the performance he was about to stage—she packed his things into a bag herself and threw it out the door, shoving her former lover out after it. Then she cleaned the dacha house until late in the evening, glad that the story with Vyacheslav had finally come to an end.
Valeria returned home on Sunday evening, and in the morning she went to work as usual. At least Vyacheslav saw with his own eyes that she headed toward the park.
“Let’s go,” he waved to his mother, who shifted a bulky checkered bag into a more comfortable grip and handed it to him.
“Are you sure she won’t come back?” Nadezhda Pavlovna asked her son anxiously.
“No, she’ll only show up in the evening,” he reassured her. “Idiot! She left me the keys!”
They entered the apartment and quickly set about emptying it, stuffing everything of value into the bag.
“Ahem, ahem,” came a loud cough.
Vyacheslav turned and saw Viktor, who was looking at him calmly with his arms folded across his chest.
“Need a hand?” Viktor smirked. “Because the fool will be back soon, and you haven’t stolen everything yet.”
“She’s already back!” Valeria said from the doorway. “Thank you, Vitya—and to think I didn’t believe he’d stoop so low.”
“I’ll call the police now and let them deal with these swindlers,” Viktor reached for the phone.
“No,” Valeria asked him, “don’t.”
“What, you feel sorry for these crooks?” Viktor was surprised, glancing at the frightened Vyacheslav and his mother.
“No, I just never want to see them again,” she replied. “Get out of here!”
Two years passed. Valeria woke to the sound of her little son crying, but Viktor was quicker: he touched his wife’s shoulder gently.
“Sleep, sleep, my dear. I’ve got him…”
“Vitya, you have duty in the morning,” she propped herself up. “Let me…”
“It’s nothing, Lera, it’s nothing,” he soothed the baby, came back to his wife, and embraced her. “God, if only you knew how much I love you both.”
“I know, Vitya, I know,” Valeria said softly to her husband. “Because I love you both more than anything in the world, too…
