Kira stood in the doorway, holding grocery bags. Her face showed a mix of astonishment and indignation. Valery was pacing the living room, glancing at his watch from time to time.
“Valera, you said the guests were coming on Saturday,” she said, carefully setting the bags on the floor.
“Which Saturday? Today is Friday! In two hours Spartak and Evdokia will be here, my parents, and your friend Vlada! What, did you completely lose your memory?”
Kira took out her phone and checked the date. Friday. But there were no notes about guests in her calendar.
“Valery, you didn’t tell me about this. I’ve just got home from work, I had an important presentation…”
“Didn’t tell you?” her husband’s voice rose to a shout. “I told you a week ago! As always, your head’s in the clouds! You only think about your stupid job!”
“First of all, my job isn’t stupid. Second, you really didn’t tell me. I would have remembered.”
Valery clutched his head in a display of despair.
“God, Kira! Why are you so IRRESPONSIBLE? Mom canceled a trip to her sister just for this, Spartak and Evdokia are coming from another district! And we don’t even have a salad!”
“Okay, let’s not panic. I’ll throw something together quickly. There’s meat and vegetables in the bags…”
“‘Something’?” Valery stepped right up to her. “My mother is expecting a full dinner! A hot course, appetizers, dessert! And you suggest ‘something’!”
At that moment the doorbell rang. Valery turned pale.
“They’re already here! This is YOUR fault! You open the door yourself and explain why nothing is ready!”
Kira took a deep breath and went to the door. On the threshold stood Milolika—Valery’s mother, a woman in her sixties with a perfectly coiffed hairstyle and a haughty expression. Next to her was Valery’s father, Svyatogor, a man with gray mustaches and a kindly look.
“Kirochka,” drawled Milolika, giving her daughter-in-law a assessing once-over. “We thought you’d have everything ready by now. Valera said dinner was at seven.”
“Good evening, Milolika, Svyatogor. Please come in. There’s been a slight mix-up, but I’ll get everything organized right away.”
“A mix-up?” Milolika walked into the apartment, ostentatiously sniffing the air. “There isn’t even a smell of food. Valery, son, what’s going on?”
Valery rushed out of the living room like a martyr.
“Mom, I’m sorry. Kira FORGOT about the dinner. I reminded her, but apparently she thinks her job is more important than family.”
“I see,” Milolika shook her head. “Svyatogor, didn’t I tell you this girl isn’t right for our son? She can’t even manage a simple dinner.”
Kira clenched her teeth but kept silent. Svyatogor coughed awkwardly.
“Milolika, don’t start. Kira’s a good girl, a hard worker.”
“A hard worker? At work she may be, but at home what then? Valery works all day, comes home, and he doesn’t even get fed!”
“I feed your son every day,” Kira replied calmly. “And I work no less than he does.”
“Oh, what is your job anyway,” waved off Milolika. “You sit at a computer drawing pictures. Is that a job? Now Valery—he does real work!”
The doorbell rang again. Spartak and Evdokia—Valery’s friends—had arrived. Spartak, a big man with a receding hairline, boomed a greeting right away:
“Valera, buddy! We brought wine, just like you asked. Expensive, French!”
Evdokia, a petite blonde in a bright dress, pecked Kira on the cheek:
“Kirochka, it smells delicious! What are you cooking?”
Kira was embarrassed. Valery jumped in immediately:
“Well, Kira’s running a little behind with dinner. Have a seat for now, let’s have some wine.”
“No problem!” Spartak flopped onto the couch. “We’re in no rush. Right, Dusya?”
Evdokia nodded, but Milolika promptly cut in:
“Actually, when you invite guests, it’s customary to have everything prepared in advance. But apparently some people don’t know that.”
Kira headed for the kitchen, but Valery grabbed her hand.
“Where are you going? The guests are here, you need to entertain them!”
“Valery, you wanted me to make dinner. I’m going to cook.”
“At least greet them properly first, offer some appetizers! What will people think?”
“What appetizers? You just said there’s NOTHING!”
The doorbell rang again. Vlada, Kira’s best friend—a girl with a short haircut and bold makeup—had arrived.
“Kira, hi! I brought a cake—your favorite, passion fruit!”
“Vlada, thank you so much!” Kira hugged her.
“A cake?” snorted Milolika. “And is there going to be real food?”
Vlada looked at Kira in surprise.
“What’s going on? Kir, you look a bit rattled.”
“Everything’s fine,” Valery answered quickly. “Kira just miscalculated the time a little. Sit down, Vlada, have some wine.”
Kira managed to break free to the kitchen. She took the meat from the bag—there wasn’t enough time for a full hot dish. She could make quick appetizers, platters… She began slicing vegetables feverishly.
Valery poked his head into the kitchen.
“Well? How’s it going? Mom is already giving you the side-eye. Says in her day hostesses cooked from the morning.”
“Valery, ENOUGH! I’m doing what I can. If you really told me a week ago, then I’m sorry, I forgot. But something tells me you decided this morning and didn’t tell anyone.”
“How can you! Accusing me in front of guests! UNGRATEFUL!”
From the living room came Milolika’s voice:
“Valery, son, maybe we should order food from a restaurant? Otherwise we’ll sit here hungry till midnight.”
“Great idea, Mom!” Valery left the kitchen.
Kira kept slicing vegetables when Vlada came over to her.
“Girlfriend, what is happening? Why is Valera acting like this?”
“He claims he warned me about the guests. But I clearly don’t remember that. I put everything in my phone, and there’s nothing there.”
“Weird. And his mommy—same old routine?”
“Don’t start, Vlada. It’s hard enough for me as it is.”
Vlada rolled her eyes but kept quiet. She grabbed a knife and started helping with the chopping.
Half an hour later, improvised appetizers appeared on the table—vegetable platter, cheese board, quick canapés. Kira carried the dishes into the living room.
“Well, finally!” exclaimed Valery. “Although I’ve already ordered sushi and pizza. They’ll be here in an hour.”
“Sushi?” Milolika grimaced. “Raw fish? Ugh, disgusting. In our day we made proper Russian food.”
“Mom, sushi is tasty and healthy,” Valery tried to object.
“For Japanese people, maybe. A Russian person needs proper food. My friend Zinaida always makes cutlets, soups, salads. And her daughter-in-law—gold, not a woman. Gets up at five to make her husband breakfast.”
Kira sat down silently in an empty seat. Spartak poured wine:
“Let’s drink to the get-together! We rarely all meet up.”
“To the get-together!” everyone echoed.
They all clinked glasses, except Kira—she took juice.
“What, you won’t even have a drink with us?” noted Milolika.
“I have an important meeting early tomorrow. I need a clear head.”
“An important meeting,” the mother-in-law mimicked. “Again your pictures are more important than family?”
“Kira is an interior designer. That’s a serious profession,” Svyatogor unexpectedly spoke up.
“Serious? Coloring walls? A doctor—that’s serious. Or an engineer. This is just fooling around.”
Evdokia tried to change the subject:
“By the way, Kira, Spartak and I are thinking of renovating. Maybe you could help with the design?”
“Of course, with pleasure,” Kira brightened.
“Just don’t give us those trendy gimmicks,” Spartak cut in. “You know, all that minimalism, lofts. We want something classic.”
“I’ll draw up a few options and you can choose what you like.”
“And not too expensive, I hope?” added Evdokia. “You designers always charge cosmic prices.”
Kira sighed.
“We’ll discuss it individually.”
“You see?” inserted Milolika, “she’s already counting the money. You could help friends for free.”
“Kira’s a professional. Her time costs money,” Svyatogor tried to defend her again.
“Oh, Svyatogor, stop it! What time? An hour or two of drawing? I help Zinaida pick out curtains for free and it’s fine.”
Valery poured himself more wine.
“Mom’s right. Kira sometimes gets too hung up on money. She even refused to help my colleague with his office design recently.”
“Because your colleague wanted the project in three days for peanuts!” Kira protested.
“There you go again! Couldn’t you avoid arguing in front of guests?”
Vlada couldn’t take it anymore.
“Valery, it’s you and your mother who’ve been riding Kira all evening. What’s she got to do with it?”
“Vlada, don’t interfere in family matters,” Valery snapped.
“These aren’t family matters, this is RUDENESS!”
“Vladochka is right,” Svyatogor unexpectedly supported her. “Milolika, stop NITPICKING at Kira.”
“I’m nitpicking? I’m just stating facts! The daughter-in-law wasn’t ready for guests, puts work above family, and in general…”
The doorbell rang—the sushi and pizza had arrived. Valery went to get the order.
While he was gone, Milolika leaned toward Evdokia:
“See what she’s like? Didn’t even make a proper dinner. I told Valera—marry Alevtina, my friend’s daughter. She cooks wonderfully and stays home waiting for her husband.”
“Mom, I can hear you!” Valery shouted from the hallway.
They brought the food and set it out on plates. Spartak tried to lighten the mood:
“Remember how we lived on instant noodles in college? And we were happy!”
“Yeah,” Valery smiled. “There was romance then. And now…”
He gave Kira a meaningful look.
“And now what?” she asked.
“And now you’re always busy, tired, unhappy. There’s no romance left.”
“Valery, I work no less than you. And I take care of the house. And I cook every day…”
“Oh, don’t exaggerate! What do you even cook? Pasta with hot dogs?”
“That’s NOT TRUE! I make proper lunches and dinners!”
“Kids, don’t fight,” Svyatogor intervened. “Let’s just eat in peace.”
They all started eating. Milolika prodded the sushi with a fork, theatrically:
“What’s tasty about this? Cold rice, raw fish. Homemade cutlets are another matter!”
“Mom, if you don’t like it, there’s pizza,” Valery offered.
“Pizza is fast food. Junk. That’s why young people have health problems.”
Evdokia tried again to keep the conversation going:
“Speaking of health. Kira, you’re so slim! How do you stay in shape?”
“Thank you. I try to eat right and do yoga.”
“Yoga?” snorted Milolika. “Another trendy nonsense. They sit there with their legs in the air. Better to do housework—that’s exercise.”
“Yoga is an ancient practice, very good for your health,” Vlada noted.
“Ancient? Sure, for Indians it is. We Russians don’t need it. We have our own culture.”
Spartak laughed loudly:
“Milolika, you’re just like my mom! She grumbles about all new things too.”
“And she’s right! No need to adopt nonsense. Women used to know their place—home, family, children. And now what? Careerists, feminists…”
“And what’s wrong with women building a career?” asked Kira.
“The problem is they forget the family! Take you, for example. My poor Valery sits hungry while you’re off at work.”
“Valery is NOT hungry! And anyway, he can perfectly well cook for himself!”
“Himself?” Milolika threw up her hands. “A man is supposed to cook HIMSELF? Since when?”
“It’s called equality,” Vlada put in.
“Equality! As if. A man’s the breadwinner, a woman’s the keeper of the hearth. That’s how it’s always been!”
Seeing the conversation was going nowhere, Valery tried to change the subject:
“Okay, let’s not talk politics. Better tell us about Aunt Lyuba, Mom.”
“Oh, don’t remind me! Can you imagine, her daughter-in-law kicked her mother-in-law out! Said she wanted to live separately! That’s what your equality leads to!”
An awkward silence fell. Kira stood up.
“I’ll bring tea and cake.”
In the kitchen she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She was so tired of the constant nagging and reproaches. Vlada came up to her.
“Hang in there, girlfriend. Don’t pay attention to that harpy.”
“Easy for you to say. She’s Valery’s mother. And he supports her in everything.”
“Maybe you should have a serious talk with him?”
“I tried. He says I’m exaggerating.”
They went back to the living room with tea and cake. Milolika immediately criticized the cake too:
“Passion fruit? What kind of exotic nonsense is that? A proper Napoleon or Medovik—those are cakes!”
“At least try it,” Svyatogor coaxed.
“I WILL NOT! I don’t like these foreign frills.”
Evdokia took a piece.
“Mmm, delicious! Vlada, where did you buy it?”
“At the Sweet Paradise patisserie. Their desserts are amazing.”
“And expensive, I bet,” noted Spartak.
“Well, not cheap. But worth it.”
“There! They squander money on nonsense, and then complain they’re broke!” exclaimed Milolika.
“We’re not complaining,” Kira answered calmly.
“Not yet. But when kids come? What will you live on?”
“Mom, we’re not planning children yet,” said Valery.
“NOT PLANNING? You’re thirty-five! When will you plan them?”
“When we’re ready.”
“Ready! New generation, honestly. We had you at twenty and didn’t wonder whether we were ready!”
“Maybe you should have,” Kira muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” the mother-in-law flared.
“Nothing. Times have changed, that’s all.”
“Changed, changed… For the worse! There used to be respect for elders, traditions were kept!”
Svyatogor stood up.
“That’s ENOUGH, Milolika. Let’s go home, it’s late.”
“How is it enough? I’m telling the truth!”
“ENOUGH, I said!” the usually calm Svyatogor suddenly barked.
Everyone stared at him in surprise.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just tired. Thank you for the evening. Kira, it was very tasty.”
“Tasty?” began Milolika, but her husband took her by the elbow and led her to the door.
After they left, the atmosphere eased a little. Spartak poured the remaining wine.
“Well then, to Svyatogor! Good man, put the mother-in-law in her place!”
“That’s a mother-in-law for the wife, not for the husband,” Evdokia corrected.
“What’s the difference! The point is he shut it down.”
Valery frowned.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that. She’s just looking out for me.”
“Looking out?” Vlada couldn’t hold back. “She’s been BADGERING Kira all evening!”
“Vlada, I’m telling you again—don’t get into our family business!”
“I’m not getting in. I’m just defending my friend from RUDENESS!”
“What rudeness? Mom is expressing her opinion!”
“An INSULTING opinion!”
Spartak tried to calm them down:
“Okay, guys, don’t fight. We’re all tired and said too much.”
“I didn’t say anything extra!” Valery protested.
Evdokia stood up.
“Spartak’s right, it’s time to go. Thanks for the evening.”
They left. Only Vlada, Kira, and Valery remained.
“Maybe I should go too?” Vlada offered.
“Yes, go,” Valery muttered.
Vlada hugged Kira.
“Call me if you need anything.”
When she left, Valery rounded on his wife:
“You RUINED everything on purpose! You didn’t make dinner, you were rude to my mother!”
“I wasn’t rude to your mother. She INSULTED me all evening!”
“Insulted? She was just giving her opinion! And you, as always, got offended!”
“Valery, your mother called my job nonsense and me a bad homemaker…”
“And isn’t it true? You DID forget about the guests!”
“I didn’t forget! You DIDN’T TELL me!”
“I DID! A hundred times!”
Kira took out her phone.
“Look, here’s our chat from the last week. WHERE is even a word about guests?”
Valery waved her off.
“I told you in person!”
“When? Name the exact day and time!”
“I don’t remember! But I definitely told you!”
“Valery, you’re LYING. You forgot to warn me and now you’re dumping the blame on me!”
“I’m LYING? How dare you!”
“And how dare you HUMILIATE me in front of our guests? Take your mother’s side in her attacks!”
“That’s my MOTHER! I have to respect her!”
“And me? I’m your WIFE! You should defend me, not attack me together with her!”
Valery grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself a full glass.
“You know what? Mom was right. I should’ve married Alevtina. She wouldn’t make scenes!”
Those words were the last straw. Kira felt something snap inside.
“You know what, Valery? Go marry her. I’m LEAVING.”
“What? Where do you think you’re going?”
“To Vlada’s. And tomorrow I’ll start looking for an apartment.”
“Don’t make me laugh! You’re not going anywhere!”
Kira silently went to the bedroom and started packing. Valery followed her.
“Kira, STOP this hysteria! You’re not serious!”
“Quite SERIOUS. I’m tired of your disrespect, of your mother’s nitpicking, of you always taking her side.”
“Why are you dramatizing! So Mom said a couple of words!”
“A couple of words? She HUMILIATES me every time we meet! And you keep quiet or egg her on!”
Kira zipped up her bag. Valery tried to stop her.
“Kira, wait! Let’s talk calmly!”
“NO. I’m tired of talking. You don’t listen anyway.”
“Where will you go? It’s the middle of the night!”
“I’ve already texted Vlada. She’s waiting.”
Kira walked past her husband to the door. Valery shouted after her:
“GO THEN! But don’t think I’ll beg you to come back! You’ll crawl back yourself!”
Kira turned around.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
She left, slamming the door.
The next morning Valery woke up with a headache. After Kira left, he had finished all the wine. The apartment felt empty and cheerless.
He called his mother.
“Mom, Kira left.”
“What? Left how?”
“Packed her things and went to her friend’s. Said she’s going to look for an apartment.”
“Well, let her go! You’ll find yourself a proper wife who’ll appreciate you!”
“Mom, maybe you were too harsh yesterday?”
“Me? Harsh? Valery, I told the truth! If she can’t handle it, that’s her problem.”
A week later, Kira walked out of the courthouse holding the divorce papers. Outside, Valery and his mother were waiting for her.
“Kira!” screeched Milolika. “What are you doing? You’re destroying a family!”
“Your son destroyed the family,” Kira replied calmly.
“My family took you in, fed you! And you, like a snake…”
“Mom, don’t,” Valery tried to stop her.
“Don’t? She’s shaming us to the whole neighborhood! Telling everyone we’re awful!”
“I’m not telling anyone anything. I’m just getting divorced, that’s all.”
“‘GETTING DIVORCED!’” shrieked Milolika. “Who do you think you are? Ingrate!”
Passersby began to stare at the shouting. Kira tried to go past, but her mother-in-law blocked her way.
“Valery deserves better! And you… you rotten careerist!”
“You know what, Milolika,” Kira stopped. “Valery, the apartment belongs to me. My father gifted it to me on our wedding by deed of gift. Move out by evening. All the documents are with the lawyer.”
“What?!” Valery turned pale.
“By THIS EVENING. You can take only your personal things.”
“Kira, wait…”
“No. It’s settled.”
Milolika darted between them.
“What apartment? You bought it together!”
“No. It’s my PROPERTY.”
Kira turned and left, not looking back at her former mother-in-law’s screams.
That evening Valery stood on his parents’ doorstep with two suitcases.
“Don’t worry, son,” soothed Milolika. “We’ll find you a better wife. Alevtina is still single.”
But a month later his mother’s tone changed.
“Valery! When are you going to find a job?” she yelled one morning. “You’re living off me!”
“Mom, I’m looking…”
“Looking! You’ve been ‘looking’ for a month! And who buys the groceries?”
“I help around the house…”
“Around the house! A thirty-five-year-old man ‘helps around the house’! Shameful!”
Each day began with reproaches. Valery drank, half-heartedly looked for work, and listened to his mother’s lectures.
“Alevtina got married,” Milolika announced at breakfast. “To a good man. With money. And you…”
At that moment the door banged. In walked Svyatogor with a big bag.
“Dad, where are you going?”
“I’m moving in with my brother,” the father said curtly. “I’m tired of these performances every day.”
“Svyatogor!” protested Milolika. “What are you doing?”
“I’m filing for DIVORCE. Forty years I put up with it. Enough.”
He picked up some papers from the table and headed for the door.
“Dad, wait!”
“Valery, you’re a grown man. Sort out your life yourself. And your mother, too.”
Svyatogor left, leaving his son alone with an enraged Milolika.
“See?” she pounced on Valery. “Your wife ruined everything! Turned my husband against me!”
“Mom, what’s Kira got to do with it? Dad decided on his own…”
“On her own! Nothing ‘on his own’! She set it all up on purpose!”
From then on, the fights at home didn’t stop. Milolika blamed her son for destroying the family; he snapped back; they quarreled until they were hoarse.
And Kira was rearranging her apartment anew. She removed the dark wallpaper Valery liked and put in light furniture.
Vlada often stopped by:
“You look ten years younger!”
“I am,” Kira laughed. “I’m living for myself.”
She no longer cooked dinners by a set time, no longer listened to lectures about messes, no longer endured insults from her mother-in-law.
In the evenings she read, watched movies, met friends. Work was going great—without the domestic stress, new ideas and energy appeared.
One day on the street she ran into Evdokia.
“Kira! How are you? Valery said you divorced…”
“Yes, we did. I’m doing well.”
“And he… he’s changed a lot. Aged, let himself go. Lives with his mother; she nags him constantly.”
Kira shrugged.
“His choice.”
Walking home, she thought about how easy it is to breathe when you don’t have to justify yourself, explain, and endure someone else’s aggression. Freedom turned out to be wonderful.
