Lena woke up because the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. She reached for the nightstand and picked up the receiver. On the screen—her mother-in-law.
“Good morning,” Lena’s voice was sleepy, hoarse.
“Lenochka, are you still not asleep?” the mother-in-law was brisk and cheerful. Far too cheerful for nine in the morning after last night.
“I was asleep.”
“Oh, sorry, I woke you. Listen, we talked it over. The guests had such a good time yesterday that we decided to continue today. Do a second day. But where to celebrate is the problem. A restaurant is expensive, our place is cramped, and the groom’s parents don’t have room either.”
Lena kept silent, listening. Inside, something was already starting to boil.
“But you’ve got an apartment after a fresh renovation!” the mother-in-law went on. “Beautiful, spacious. Nothing to be ashamed of in front of people. Let’s celebrate at your place?”
“At our place?”
“Well, yes! We’ll come by lunchtime. About twenty people. Only the closest ones—don’t worry. Just pop over to the store for some ready-made food, salads, appetizers, that sort of thing. So we don’t have to bring anything, since there’s very little left from yesterday anyway. We don’t need much. And you’ve got treats there—I saw Vitalik taking stuff home yesterday. He loaded two boxes of the white kind into the car. Means you’ve put some aside. So come on, set the table for twelve, we’ll be over!”
And she hung up.
Lena sat on the bed with the phone in her hand. She stared at the screen where “Call ended” glowed.
Beside her, Vitaly was snoring. He’d gotten back at four in the morning after seeing the newlyweds off. Tipsy, pleased with himself. He’d flopped onto the bed and passed out.
She’d lain awake until five, listening to his snoring and thinking about the day before.
Her sister-in-law Vika’s wedding had been yesterday. In a restaurant, about a hundred guests, music until morning.
They’d seated Lena at a separate table. By a column, in the corner. With some distant relatives she was seeing for the first time in her life.
Not at the main table. Not with her husband’s family. Separate.
Two months before the wedding, when the mother-in-law was discussing the seating, Lena had heard:
“Lenochka, you won’t be offended if we seat you at a separate little table, will you? It’s just there isn’t much room at the main one, and all the relatives want to sit close. We haven’t seen them in so long. We can’t upset them, they’ll be coming with gifts.”
What was she supposed to say? Get offended? Cause a scene?
She kept quiet.
And yesterday she sat by the column. Watching her mother-in-law dance with Vika, watching Vitaly clink glasses with relatives, watching everyone hug and laugh.
And there she was. In the corner.
By ten in the evening half the guests could barely stand. By eleven some had already slid under the table. Some uncle passed out right at the table, face in his plate. The women cackled and took pictures.
An aunt in a red dress smashed a wineglass—just dropped it, and it shattered on the floor with a ring. No one even cleaned it up; they just ground the shards underfoot.
Someone spilled red wine on the tablecloth—the crimson stain spread across the white fabric.
Lena watched and thought—thank goodness they’re not going to celebrate at home. She pictured it for a second—this horde in her apartment. After the renovation. On the new laminate, along the light-colored wallpaper.
She felt sick at the very thought.
At one in the morning she slipped out quietly. No one noticed. Vitaly was sitting with his parents, discussing something. Lena didn’t go over; she just left.
She called a taxi and went home. Undressed and lay down. Couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
And at nine in the morning—the mother-in-law’s call.
And now she’s sitting on the bed with the phone in her hand, realizing—that horde is about to come to her home.
Twenty people. After yesterday. With red eyes, crumpled faces, queasy stomachs and pounding heads.
And they’ll want to “continue.”
Lena got up. Went to the window. Outside, a gray morning, drizzling rain.
Something clicked inside her.
No. She would not allow it.
Lena started with the kitchen.
She opened the cupboards and took out all the dishes. Plates—deep, shallow, salad plates. Pots—three of different sizes. Frying pans. She stacked everything neatly in the oven. Closed the door.
Then forks, spoons, knives. She dumped them all into a big bag. She shoved the bag into the suitcase under the bed.
Glasses. Tumblers. Everything onto the top shelf of the bedroom wardrobe. Pushed it far back, shut the door.
The corkscrew. The most needed item for today’s guests. Lena took it to the bathroom. Stuffed it under the sink, behind the shampoo and shower gel bottles.
Then she found some sheets of paper and a marker. Sat at the table and began to write.
First note:
“Riddle No. 1: to set the table, find the dishes. Hint: they’re where people usually cook.”
She taped it to the fridge.
Second:
“Riddle No. 2: where’s the corkscrew? The answer is in the bathroom.”
On the kitchen cabinet handle.
Third:
“Riddle No. 3: the glasses are hidden high up. Very high. Look in the bedroom.”
On the hall closet door.
Fourth:
“Almost there! The corkscrew is under the sink, behind the bottles. Dig deeper.”
On the bathroom mirror.
She turned off the kitchen light. Drew the curtains. Let them search in the gloom.
She sat on the living-room couch. Checked the time—eleven. They’d be here soon.
Vitaly was still asleep. She didn’t wake him. Let him sleep. He’d see everything later.
At half past eleven the doorbell rang. Insistently, at length.
Lena stood, walked over, opened up.
A crowd was on the threshold. Mother-in-law in front, behind her the father-in-law, Vika with her husband Denis, Denis’s parents, aunts, uncles, a whole bunch of people. Faces crumpled, eyes red, but spirits combative.
“Hi, hi!” The mother-in-law squeezed into the entryway, dragging bags. “Well, are you ready to receive guests?”
“Of course,” Lena smiled. “Come in, make yourselves at home.”
The crowd poured in. They took off their shoes, hung their jackets, chattered.
“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Denis’s mother, looking around the entryway. “Fresh renovation!”
“Yes,” Lena nodded. “Took three months.”
“What a flat!” a big, red-faced uncle said, striding into the living room. “So spacious!”
The guests drifted toward the kitchen. Lena could hear them rustling bags and discussing things.
Then the mother-in-law’s voice, loud:
“Len, where are the plates?”
“In the kitchen,” Lena called from the living room.
“I don’t see them!”
“Have a look around.”
A pause. Then footsteps. The mother-in-law came into the hall, her face puzzled:
“Lena, I opened all the cupboards. Empty. Where did you put the dishes?”
“Nowhere,” Lena stood and approached. “Everything’s in place. You just have to look.”
“How are we supposed to look?! Where?!”
“That’s why I prepared an entertainment program,” Lena walked into the kitchen. The guests had crowded in there, looking around.
Lena pointed at the fridge:
“Here. Riddle number one. Read and search.”
Everyone stared at the note.
“What is this?” Denis’s father asked.
“A quest,” Lena smiled. “Family style. Find the dishes—set the table. Find the corkscrew—open the bottles. Find the glasses—pour the drinks. Fair and fun.”
“You’re joking, right?” The mother-in-law stared at her, eyes round.
“Nope. Quite serious. I prepared everything especially to entertain the guests. Second day of the wedding—it’s a holiday! We must have fun!”
The guests exchanged glances. Someone gave a hesitant laugh:
“Well, okay, let’s try looking.”
It began.
An uncle climbed into cupboards, opened doors, peered inside. An aunt checked the shelves. Someone crouched down to look under the sink.
“Where do people usually cook?” Vika asked.
“On the stove,” someone answered.
“No, the oven!” Denis’s mother guessed.
She opened the oven—there was a stack of plates and pots.
“Hooray! Found them!”
They pulled out the dishes and set them on the table. They started laying out food from the bags—sausage, cheese, salads in plastic containers. Well, so they did bring things after all; good thing she hadn’t run to the store—no way would they have paid her back, they’d have eaten everything without batting an eye.
But there were no utensils.
“Where are the forks?” the father-in-law asked.
“Keep searching,” Lena prompted. “The next riddle is on the closet in the hall.”
They ran to read it. Then—back to the kitchen to rummage in cabinets.
Twenty minutes later they found the note about the corkscrew. They ran to the bathroom. They dug around there for about ten minutes, turning everything upside down.
“Found it!” an uncle yelled, popping up from under the sink with the corkscrew in his hand.
They ran back to the kitchen, delighted. Opened a bottle.
But there were no glasses.
“Where are the tumblers?!” the mother-in-law asked, already irritated.
“Riddle number three,” Lena reminded her. “On the closet in the hall.”
By one in the afternoon the guests weren’t having fun anymore. They stomped around, yanked open every cabinet in turn, swore.
“Where are those forks?!”
“And where are the spoons?!”
“Maybe she threw them out altogether?!”
Two men couldn’t take it anymore. One—bald, in a plaid shirt—waved his hand:
“Aw, to hell with it! Let’s go to the park. There’s at least a café there, and we can sit on the benches and eat in peace. Enough already!”
“Exactly,” the second agreed. “Sick of this brain-twister. We wanted to relax, and now it’s some kind of quest.”
“Where are you going?!” their wives after them.
“To the park! Fresh air! At least we won’t have to think!”
“But you…”
“No ‘buts’! We’re going!”
They left. About ten people. The men and their wives. The door slammed.
Left behind were the mother-in-law, the father-in-law, Vika and Denis, his parents, two grandmothers, and three children.
The kids were racing around the apartment, thrilled. They found notes and squealed:
“Look, it says something about glasses!”
“And I found a pot in the oven!”
“Let’s keep looking!”
The grandmothers sat on the living-room couch watching TV. They didn’t care.
The mother-in-law came up to Lena, hissing so the others wouldn’t hear:
“You set this up on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Of course not, Mom,” Lena smiled innocently. “I just wanted to entertain the guests. It’s an entertainment program.”
“Entertainment?! Half the guests left! The men lost it completely! How are they supposed to be rummaging through cupboards after last night?!”
“Well, I guess they didn’t like it. It happens. Not everyone likes quests.”
“You hid everything on purpose! You’re making fun of us!”
Lena looked at her mother-in-law. Calmly, without a smile:
“Did you ask me whether I wanted the second day of the wedding celebrated at my home?”
The mother-in-law opened her mouth, then shut it.
“You called me in the morning,” Lena continued quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear, “and presented it as a done deal. Told me—set the table, buy food, host twenty people. You didn’t even ask me if I wanted that or not. Whether it was convenient for me or not. You just decided for me.”
“Well… we thought you wouldn’t mind…”
“You thought,” Lena repeated. “As always. You sat me at the wedding at a separate table because ‘there wasn’t enough room.’ You don’t invite me to birthdays because ‘we’re only gathering the closest.’ But when you need something—that’s when I’m needed. Set the table, host, treat everyone.”
The mother-in-law was silent, looking away.
“So,” Lena said evenly but firmly, “now you know what it feels like. Living in a permanent quest called ‘relatives.’ When things are constantly imposed on you, decided for you, you’re used. And you’re supposed to smile, endure it, and be convenient.”
The mother-in-law stood there, not knowing what to say. Then she turned and went to the kitchen.
Lena took out her phone. She snapped pictures of the kids tearing around with notes. The grandmothers on the couch. The father-in-law rummaging through a cabinet.
Turned out to be an excellent entertainment program.
By three o’clock the guests started to leave. The mother-in-law was the first to go, without even saying goodbye. She just gathered her things, walked out, and slammed the door.
When the door closed behind the last guest, Lena leaned her back against the wall. Exhaled.
Vitaly came out of the bedroom. He’d slept through everything. Only now he’d woken up, standing there drowsy, rumpled:
“What happened here?”
“The second day of the wedding,” Lena said. “With an entertainment program.”
“Mom called. Said you were mocking the guests.”
“I wasn’t mocking them. I set up a quest. They looked for the dishes, the utensils, the glasses. They had fun.”
Vitaly looked at her closely.
“You did this on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lena went into the kitchen. She started clearing the table—leftovers, empty bags. Vitaly followed her.
“Because no one asks me,” she said without turning around. “I’m not invited to your celebrations. They seat me separately, in the corner, so I don’t get in the way. And when it’s convenient, they present me with a fait accompli. Set the table, host, treat everyone. So I showed them that this can’t go on.”
Vitaly was silent. Then:
“Mom is offended.”
“Let her be,” Lena gathered the trash into a bag. “I was offended too. Many times. No one cared.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“Now,” Lena tied the bag and turned to her husband, “now let them know: they can’t treat me like that. If they want a party at our place—they ask in advance. Politely. Without the ‘you don’t mind, do you?’ And better yet, they shouldn’t do it at all. Let them celebrate at their own place.”
Vitaly nodded slowly. Pretended he understood. His head was clearly pounding.
Lena took out the trash and came back. She started washing the dishes the guests had finally found.
They stood there in silence. Then Vitaly came up and hugged her from behind.
Lena didn’t pull away. She kept washing the plates.
But inside, she felt calm.
Because she’d finally said “no.” Even if in such a strange way.
But she had drawn a boundary.
And that was what mattered.
