Dasha was not merely a smart young woman. She possessed that rare, crystal-clear kind of character that allowed her to come out victorious even in the most hopeless everyday battles.
She read a great deal, had a phenomenal memory, and firmly believed that a smile was a perfectly legal form of self-defense. She never allowed anyone to mistreat her, but she defended herself with such grace that the person she had put in their place usually realized it only the next day.
The only natural disaster in her otherwise orderly life was her mother-in-law, Larisa Maksimovna. The woman lived in the building across the street, which Dasha considered nothing less than an architectural joke played on her by fate.
Larisa Maksimovna had a special talent for unloading her problems onto other people’s shoulders while disguising it as motherly concern.
Her visits usually began with the words, “Dashenka, my blood pressure is acting up so badly, I simply can’t cook! Let’s have dinner at your place. I’ll bring a cake.”
The cake was always tiny, bought on sale, while Larisa Maksimovna would devour Dasha’s delicacies as if feeding an entire regiment.
But that Tuesday, something miraculous happened. Larisa Maksimovna dropped by “just for a minute,” glowing like a newly polished copper coin.
“Dashenka, what wonderful news!” she announced, dramatically pressing her hands to her generous chest. “My relatives are coming from the village! My second cousin Zinaida and her husband Kolya, their sons, and Aunt Lyuba too. I haven’t seen them for a whole year!”
“I’m so happy. I want to see them all so badly and give them a real celebration!”
Dasha smiled sincerely. Finally! Her mother-in-law was going to host guests herself, on her own territory.
“That’s wonderful news, Larisa Maksimovna,” Dasha replied warmly. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted.”
“Oh, yes…” Her mother-in-law suddenly pulled a suffering expression. “Only, Dashunya, you know what my oven is like. It barely deserves to be called an oven. And Zina loves pies so much.”
“Would it be too much trouble for you to bake your signature meat pies? A couple of big trays. You’re our little magician in the kitchen!”
Dasha, relieved that the invasion of relatives would bypass her apartment, generously agreed.
On Wednesday evening, Dasha’s kitchen looked like a branch of a bakery. After work, she spent four hours kneading dough, grinding meat, frying onions. By eight o’clock, a mountain of perfect golden pies stood on the table, fragrant enough to make anyone forget their principles.
Dasha cleaned the kitchen until it shone, wiped flour from her forehead, and happily imagined how she would now pack the pies neatly into boxes, carry them across the street, and then sink into a bath with a book. Her husband Anton was away on a business trip, so the evening promised to be beautifully quiet.
The doorbell rang.
“Larisa Maksimovna probably couldn’t wait and came to pick up the pies herself,” Dasha thought as she unlocked the door.
But when she opened it, she froze.
Standing on the landing was not just her mother-in-law.
It was an entire traveling circus.
A large man in a checked shirt — obviously Uncle Kolya — was holding an enormous bag. Beside him stood a stout woman with a permanent wave — Zinaida — shifting from one foot to the other. Three teenage boys were noisily sharing a packet of chips, and a dry little old lady — Aunt Lyuba — was already leaning on Dasha’s doorframe.
At the center of this composition stood Larisa Maksimovna.
“Here we are!” her mother-in-law boomed happily, unceremoniously moving Dasha aside and letting the crowd into the hallway. “Surprise! Dashenka, we decided your apartment is more spacious, and the atmosphere here is brighter too. Come in, my dears, take off your shoes! Our Dasha is a golden hostess. She’ll feed everyone!”
Dasha felt her left eye twitch.
As Larisa Maksimovna passed by her daughter-in-law, she hissed quickly and quietly into her ear:
“Don’t look at me like that. My white carpet came back from the cleaners only yesterday, and I’ve just bought a new light-colored sofa. Where was I supposed to let this mob in?”
“They’d stain everything. You’ll serve them. You won’t break.”
Keeping a mask of polite numbness on her face, Dasha stepped back.
The relatives were already unpacking their bags. Uncle Kolya loudly asked where the bathroom was and whether there was anything stronger to drink. The teenagers charged into the living room, knocking over the cat’s scratching post along the way.
“I’ll just step into the bathroom for a second,” Dasha said, smiling radiantly at the guests. “I need to wash my hands before serving dinner.”
Once locked in the bathroom, she frantically dialed Anton’s number.
“The subscriber is temporarily unavailable.”
Excellent. A business trip in the wilderness. No help would be coming from that direction.
Dasha looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had no intention of swallowing this humiliation and working as an unpaid waitress at her mother-in-law’s festival of cunning.
Especially since the guests themselves were not to blame. They really had come from the road, and they really were hungry. Punishing them would be petty. But Larisa Maksimovna…
A dangerous, icy spark lit up in Dasha’s eyes.
She took out her phone and opened the app of her favorite — and very expensive — Georgian restaurant. Her fingers flew across the screen: five portions of veal shashlik, lula kebabs, three huge Adjarian khachapuris, eggplant rolls, baked trout, and since they were going all out, three bottles of excellent French champagne.
In the address field, she carefully entered Larisa Maksimovna’s apartment.
In the payment field, she confidently selected: “Card or cash to courier upon delivery.”
The total was large enough to make her mother-in-law’s eye twitch, but status demanded sacrifice.
“Well then, Larisa Maksimovna,” Dasha thought, fixing her hair. “What is it you always say? Let’s have dinner at your place, and I’ll bring a cake? Fine. We’ll play by your rules.”
Dasha returned to the hallway.
The guests were already crowding near the kitchen entrance, rubbing their hands as the smell of fresh baking drifted through the apartment. Larisa Maksimovna was acting like the lady of the house, opening Dasha’s cupboards and taking out her best plates.
“May I have everyone’s attention for a moment!” Dasha announced loudly, solemnly, and with incredible joy.
The guests went quiet.
Dasha approached Larisa Maksimovna and gently, but firmly, took her by the elbow.
“Dear guests!” Dasha’s voice rang with enthusiasm. “You have become the lucky victims of the most extraordinary, truly magnificent care from our Larisa Maksimovna! She was so worried that you would be tired after your journey that she planned a two-part surprise for you!”
Her mother-in-law glanced at her nervously and tried to pull her arm away, but Dasha held on like iron.
“She didn’t tell you, did she?” Dasha exclaimed, turning to Zinaida. “Oh, Larisa Maksimovna, you really shouldn’t keep the intrigue going until the very end!”
“What intrigue?” Uncle Kolya asked in his deep voice.
“Larisa Maksimovna knew that my pies were only the warm-up!” Dasha declared with inspiration. “She specifically asked me to pack them for you to take along, so you could have a snack while a luxurious restaurant banquet was being delivered to her apartment!”
“No way, Lora!” Zinaida gasped. “From a restaurant?”
“Oh, absolutely, Zinaida!” Dasha continued before anyone could interrupt. “Larisa Maksimovna told me, ‘Dasha, nothing is too good for my beloved relatives! I want to set a royal table for them right in my own living room!’”
Larisa Maksimovna turned pale and tried to squeak something, but Dasha’s ringing voice covered her completely.
“Yes, yes! Larisa Maksimovna asked me to order everything for you: shashlik, khachapuri, baked fish, and the finest French champagne! The courier will be at her entrance in literally fifteen minutes!”
A reverent silence fell over the hallway.
Uncle Kolya swallowed. The teenagers stopped making noise and exchanged delighted looks.
“D-Dasha, what are you talking about…” Larisa Maksimovna croaked, feeling her legs weaken under the weight of the approaching bill. “What courier?”
“There she goes, being modest again!” Dasha laughed brightly. “She wanted it to be a surprise right at the doorstep! But forgive me, Mother, I had to reveal everything. There is a serious reason.”
Dasha’s expression suddenly became sad and worried.
“I didn’t want to frighten you from the start, but half an hour ago, the building management called. A sewage pipe has burst in our vertical line. In ten minutes, plumbers will arrive. They’ll have to open everything along our section and urgently replace the pipes.”
“The water will be turned off until tomorrow morning. There will be dirt, noise, and… a very specific smell. How fortunate, Larisa Maksimovna, that you organized the main celebration at your place!”
Without anyone noticing, Dasha pressed the button on the smart-home remote in her pocket, and the lights in the hallway and kitchen went out at once.
“Oh, good heavens!” Aunt Lyuba squealed in the half-darkness. “It’s already started! They even cut the lights!”
“Hurry!” Dasha commanded with the tone of a general. “Grab your bags! Uncle Kolya, take the boxes of pies from the table. They’re made with premium farm meat. I baked them especially for you!”
“Run across the street before the water starts coming in and before the shashlik courier leaves! Larisa Maksimovna, lead your guests to the table you prepared!”
Driven by fear of a sewage disaster and lured by the thought of imaginary shashlik, the relatives began moving with doubled energy.
They quickly pulled on their shoes, grabbed their bags, carefully took the boxes of Dasha’s magnificent pies, and carried away with them a stunned, speechless Larisa Maksimovna.
At the threshold, Larisa Maksimovna turned around.
In her eyes was a primitive terror at the thought of paying the bill. She would not be able to refuse in front of her relatives. They would laugh at her and call her stingy throughout the entire village.
“You… you…” was all she managed to squeeze out, staring at her daughter-in-law.
“Enjoy your meal, Larisa Maksimovna!” Dasha cooed sweetly.
Then, smiling, she added:
“I’ll come by a little later and bring a cake.”
The door closed.
Dasha clicked the remote, and the lights came back on. She walked to the window and, smiling, watched as the noisy crowd crossed the street and disappeared into her mother-in-law’s building.
Exactly ten minutes later, a yellow delivery car pulled up briskly to the same entrance. A courier stepped out with three enormous thermal bags.
Dasha vividly imagined Larisa Maksimovna pressing her card to the payment terminal with trembling hands while Uncle Kolya and Zinaida sighed in admiration.
Dasha went into the kitchen. The guests had taken the wonderful, honestly made pies with them — and they deserved them. But Dasha had thoughtfully saved a small plate of the most golden ones for herself.
She brewed green tea, picked up a warm pie, opened her book, and settled comfortably into an armchair.
The silence in the apartment was simply glorious.
The payback had worked perfectly.
And karma, as everyone knows, never misses.
Especially when you help it a little through a delivery app.
