My Husband Forbade Me from Becoming a Director. I Confirmed the Appointment, Packed My Bag, and Left Him a Surprise
— You’re not going anywhere, and you’re not becoming any director. I’ve already decided everything. Tomorrow you’ll go there and tell them you changed your mind.
Igor stood in the middle of our kitchen like a bronze monument to patriarchy. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his chin held proudly high, and his expression radiated the unshakable confidence of a man who had just saved the world from an incoming meteorite.
All he needed was a pigeon sitting on his shoulder to complete the resemblance to a statue, but there were no pigeons in our kitchen.
There was, however, a husband who, at forty-eight years old, had suddenly decided to play master of other people’s destinies.
I carefully placed the knife on the cutting board. The half-cut tomato sat there sadly leaking juice.
— Interesting announcement for a Tuesday evening, — I said calmly, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel. — Especially considering that the order appointing me director of the supermarket has already been signed, and the tickets for my management seminar in St. Petersburg are already in my purse. So, may I ask what caused this radical change in my career? Has the Central Bank abolished money? Or is our retail chain switching to barter?
— Lyuda doesn’t have a car anymore, — Igor declared heavily.
He said it in such a tone that, on behalf of his sister, I was apparently supposed to fall to my knees, cover my head with ashes, and repent for the terrible sin of having career ambitions.
Lyuda was Igor’s younger sister. A forty-four-year-old woman with an iron grip, a job as deputy chief accountant at a logistics company, and a sacred belief that the entire world existed as one giant service center dedicated to satisfying her needs.
— I’m sorry to hear that, — I replied sincerely, leaning against the counter. — But fortunately, public transportation still works in our city. Buses run on schedule, and the metro is warm and dry.
— What metro, Anya?! — Igor threw up his hands, ruining his monument pose. — Are you out of your mind? She has light-colored suede boots! She has her hair done! Her office is on the other side of town, and she needs two transfers to get there. Her engine died, and the car will be in the repair shop for at least a month. She wanted to rent a replacement car, but I told her that was pure wastefulness. I promised her that you would drive her to work and pick her up in the evening. You drive anyway!
I froze.
Inside me, that wonderful feeling began slowly boiling—the one that appears whenever you encounter pure, crystal-clear, completely unfiltered human audacity.
— Let’s clarify the logistics, Igor dear, — I said, tilting my head slightly as I examined my husband like some curious biological species. — My store is ten minutes from our house. Your sister’s office is on the other side of the city, across the bridge that turns into one enormous traffic jam every morning. To get Lyuda there by nine, I’d have to leave at seven, make a forty-kilometer detour through traffic, and then crawl the same distance back to my own workplace. And repeat the whole thing in the evening.
— So what? Get up earlier. You’re a woman. Getting up early is good for women anyway. Helps the complexion, — my husband dismissed the problem as casually as though he weren’t asking me to throw away three hours of my life every day, but merely suggesting I change the TV channel. — And you’ll turn down the director position. With that schedule, you won’t be able to drive Lyudmila. Family is more important than your ambitions! I’m a man, and I gave my sister my word.
— Igor, before you go handing out your “man’s word” left and right, have you ever considered applying at least some basic knowledge of economics? — I asked with genuine curiosity.
— What? What economics? — he frowned, sensing a trap without understanding where it would come from.
— Ordinary household economics, — I said, beginning to count on my fingers. — There’s a wonderful concept called “opportunity cost.” It means the benefit you lose by choosing one option over another. My salary increase as director will be forty thousand rubles net. Plus a quarterly bonus. Now let’s calculate the cost of your promise: gasoline for eighty kilometers every day in traffic, plus wear and tear on the car—brakes, oil, tires. That’s another fifteen thousand a month at least. So your generous family assistance will cost our household a minimum of fifty-five thousand rubles every month. And that doesn’t include my lost time. Tell me, Mr. Generous, are you ready to compensate for that amount from your earnings as a window installer?
Igor turned crimson.
He had never liked exact numbers. They always interfered with his ability to be generous using somebody else’s resources.
— You measure everything in money! — he shouted, stepping closer and towering over me. — She’s my sister! My own blood! We’re supposed to help family!
— We’re supposed to help when someone is burning, drowning, or sick, — I replied, pronouncing every word clearly. — Financing someone else’s comfort at the expense of my career isn’t help. It’s charity. And you know what? Fine. A man’s word is sacred. Since you promised Lyuda a personal driver, then you can provide one.
— What do you mean? — Igor blinked.
— You’ll drive Lyuda yourself, — I said with a radiant smile. — In your work van.
— Have you completely lost your mind?! — my husband exploded, almost jumping in place. — I have jobs scheduled! I lose five to seven thousand rubles a day if I’m running around doing nonsense! And besides, my tools are in the back, and the cab smells like expanding foam and solvent! Lyuda wouldn’t even sit in there wearing those light-colored boots! You’re my wife! You’re supposed to support my decision!
My husband puffed himself up and started breathing heavily like a punctured SUV tire that had suddenly discovered its vulnerability to an ordinary screw.
— I’m supposed to support your decisions when they concern your time and your life, — I replied calmly. — But when you decide how to use my time, my car, and my future without even asking me, that isn’t a decision. It’s arrogance.
— If you don’t go to HR tomorrow and if you leave for that training in St. Petersburg, don’t bother coming back at all! — he shouted, producing the classic theatrical threat of someone who had apparently watched too many cheap television dramas.
Then he dramatically slammed the kitchen door and went into the living room.
I stayed alone.
The only sound in the silence was the humming refrigerator.
Contrary to what Igor probably expected, I did not throw myself onto the bed crying. I did not take valerian drops, nor did I call my girlfriends to complain that my life was ruined.
At forty-six, you react to these things differently.
Instead, I took out my phone and called my close friend Zoya, who also happened to be the head of HR for our retail chain.
Zoya was an extraordinary woman. She knew everything about everyone and had the tenacity of a Caucasian shepherd dog.
— Zoyenka, good evening. “Are you sleeping?” — I asked cheerfully.
— Sleep? With you around, Anna Nikolaevna? — Zoya snorted into the phone over the sound of a coffee grinder running in the background. — Have you packed your suitcase? The Sapsan leaves tomorrow at ten sharp.
— I’m working on it. Tell me, has the order for my appointment definitely gone through?
— Locked in the safe and entered into the system. Why the panic? Is Igor rebelling?
— He is, — I chuckled. — He demands that I refuse the position and become a personal chauffeur for his sister.
— O-o-oh, — Zoya drawled with obvious anticipation. — What a fairy-tale character. I hope you’ve already told him exactly where he can go?
— I’ll do something better. I’m going to help him keep his manly promise. Talk soon, Zoya. See you at the station.
After hanging up, I opened my laptop.
Since my husband was so concerned about his sister’s transportation logistics, I decided to make things easier for him.
I opened Excel and created a spreadsheet.
In the first column, I entered the route: “Lyuda’s Home — Lyuda’s Office — Igor’s Job Sites.”
In the second, I added the required departure time based on morning traffic according to Yandex Maps. It turned out he would need to leave at 6:40 a.m.
In the third, I calculated the average fuel consumption of his van using regular gasoline while sitting in traffic on the bridge.
The result was a clear, colorful, highly informative spreadsheet.
I printed it out, took the business card of a good comfort-class taxi company from my card holder, and attached it to the printout with a paperclip.
At the top, in large marker letters, I wrote:
“Schedule for Fulfilling Manly Promises. If You’re Running Late, Call Your Sister a Taxi. Kisses, Director Anna.”
Then I went into the bedroom, took out my travel bag, put on some pleasant music through my headphones, and methodically began packing: suits, blouses, comfortable shoes for long lectures.
Meanwhile, Igor demonstratively made up the couch for himself in the living room, turned his face toward the backrest, and sighed loudly and tragically, displaying his wounded dignity for anyone who cared to watch.
I chose not to interfere with his solo performance and went to sleep peacefully in our bed.
I got up at six in the morning.
I made coffee, got dressed, grabbed my bag, and left the printed schedule on the kitchen table right beside his favorite mug.
Then I quietly closed the apartment door behind me and called a taxi to the railway station.
My new position was waiting for me.
And I had no intention of giving it up because of somebody’s light-colored suede boots.
The first phone call came when our train was already rattling through the Tver region and Zoya and I were drinking tea from the railway’s traditional glasses in metal holders.
The screen displayed:
“Lyuda, sister-in-law.”
I happily bit off a piece of chocolate and answered.
— Anya! Where are you?! — Lyudmila’s voice rang with so much outrage that I thought the speaker might start sparking in my hand. — It’s quarter to eight! I’m standing outside my building dressed and ready, freezing in the wind, and you’re not here!
— Good morning, Lyudochka, — I purred sweetly. — And why exactly are you waiting for me?
— Because Igor clearly said yesterday that you would drive me! — my sister-in-law yelled into the phone. — Because of you people, I canceled my rental car reservation! I have a meeting with the CEO at nine! It’s damp outside and my hairstyle is already collapsing!
— What a terrible tragedy, — I sympathized sincerely. — Apparently, we’ve experienced a classic communication failure. Igor really did say that. That’s true. But he forgot one tiny yet rather important detail: I never agreed to it. At the moment, I’m traveling on a business trip to assume my new position as director.
— What business trip?! — Lyudmila gasped. — Are you people mocking me? What about me?! How am I supposed to get there?!
— Call Igor, Lyudochka. He’s a serious man. He gave you his word, so naturally he’ll keep it. I’m sure he’s already racing toward you at full speed. Have a wonderful day, and good luck at the meeting!
I disconnected the call and switched my phone to Do Not Disturb mode.
Sitting across from me, Zoya was choking with laughter into a napkin.
— Anya, you are one cruel woman, — she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
— I simply believe in delegating authority, — I replied philosophically, looking out the window at the passing landscape.
The training in St. Petersburg turned out to be incredibly interesting.
There were lectures on personnel management, workshops on optimizing retail space, and intelligent, motivated colleagues from all over the country.
In the evenings we walked along Nevsky Prospekt, drank coffee in small cafés, and discussed work cases.
I felt renewed, alive, and completely where I belonged.
News from the “home front” reached me in installments.
Zoya, who seemed to have informants even in outer space, regularly supplied me with updates.
On Wednesday evening, while we were sitting in the hotel restaurant, she laughingly read aloud a message from her longtime acquaintance Zinaida, who worked as a security desk attendant in the very office building where my sister-in-law worked.
— Listen and enjoy, — Zoya said, adjusting her glasses. — Zina writes: “Your Lyuda arrived at work today completely beside herself. She fell out of a battered construction van and slammed the door so hard the mirror nearly came off. And the driver was shouting curses after her all the way down the street.”
— So Igor actually drove her himself? — I asked, enjoying a sip of wine.
— He did! — Zoya announced triumphantly. — Zina says Lyuda stormed into the lobby with a bright-red face. Apparently, Igor was afraid of being late for his job site, so he drove along the tram tracks. Lyuda was bouncing around so badly she nearly hit her head on the ceiling. But the funniest part is that a can of primer opened in the back. She may have saved her hairstyle, but the smell of solvent and construction dust soaked permanently into her cashmere coat. They say the entire accounting department avoided her all day!
I pictured the scene.
I almost felt sorry for Igor.
Almost.
On the third day, the main character of the drama finally broke his silence.
My husband called late Thursday evening.
Judging by his dull voice, the monument to patriarchy had developed a serious crack across its entire façade.
— Anya, this isn’t funny anymore, — he began, breathing heavily without even bothering with a greeting.
— I agree, Igor dear, — I replied, looking through my hotel window at the lights of St. Isaac’s Cathedral. — Being a director is a very serious matter. A lot of responsibility.
— What does your director job have to do with anything?! — my husband snapped. — Because of this damned transportation mess, I was late for a measurement appointment today! The client waited for an hour, got fed up, called me, cursed me out, and went to a competitor! It was an order for panoramic windows in a house under construction! I lost fifty thousand rubles in pure profit, Anya! Fifty thousand disappeared right out from under my nose!
— Oh, that’s unfortunate, — I said, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. — But do you know what that’s called? Opportunity cost, Igor. Remember? I explained it to you in the kitchen on Tuesday. Free help paid for with someone else’s resources becomes catastrophically expensive the moment you suddenly have to pay the bill yourself.
— You should have listened to me! — he tried automatically to push back, but the words came out weak and squeaky. — Lyuda has been eating my brain with a teaspoon! Yesterday I was fifteen minutes late picking her up, so she threw a tantrum, ordered a business-class taxi, and sent me the bill! She said that since I promised to handle the transportation problem, I should pay for it. And today she said she refuses to ride in my van at all because her coat smells like construction work and her colleagues are laughing at her! Now she demands that I pay for Comfort Plus taxis every day both ways!
I covered my mouth with my hand so I wouldn’t laugh out loud.
For all her toxicity and selfishness, Lyuda was an amazingly consistent woman.
If somebody promised her all-inclusive service, she would squeeze every last drop out of that promise even if the person happened to be her beloved brother.
— So what have you decided, head of the family? — I asked politely.
— Anya, please… — Igor’s voice cracked, slipping into a pleading tone. — Your training ends Saturday, right? Come home, okay? Take a couple of weeks off. Just drive her until they repair her car, I’m begging you. I’ll pay for your gas… I’ll definitely pay half!
— No, Igor, — I replied firmly, wiping the smile from my face. — I’ll return Saturday evening, and Monday morning I’ll go to work in my new office. You can solve the problem you created out of thin air yourself. You wanted to be a wonderful, commanding big brother at my expense? Then be one. Carry the burden all the way to the end.
I hung up.
The satisfaction I felt was similar to what an architect must experience when seeing the arches of a bridge align perfectly.
My antagonist hadn’t merely fallen into a hole.
He had brought the shovel himself, dug the pit himself, ceremoniously jumped into it, and was now trying to sell me tickets for the rescue operation.
By the end of the week, the situation reached its logical and sparkling climax.
On Friday evening, Lyudmila called me.
For the first time in years, her tone was neither demanding nor capricious.
It was suspiciously polite, almost ingratiating.
— Anya, hello. Am I interrupting you? Listen… did you really become a director?
— I did, Lyuda. I take over the store on Monday.
— Congratulations… — An awkward pause hung over the line. I could hear her tapping her fingernails against the table. — Listen, Igor threw a fit at me today. Said he absolutely refuses to drive me anymore.
— Really? How interesting. And how did he justify abandoning his brotherly duty?
— Said he’s developing a nervous twitch, his back hurts from traffic jams, and the van is burning fuel like crazy, — my sister-in-law snorted. — Can you imagine? He shouted at me right outside the office! At his own sister! Said I’d drained every last bit of life out of him with my boots!
— What a drama. Perfect material for a television series, — I drawled. — So how will you get to work now? Metro? Bus?
— Neither, — Lyuda replied smugly. — I didn’t find myself in a garbage dump. I reminded him very clearly that he promised in front of witnesses to solve my transportation problem. And because of him, I canceled my cheap rental reservation. If he can’t drive me himself and refuses to pay for taxis, then he can compensate me for the damage.
— And what happened in the end? — I asked, almost holding my breath.
— Well, he gritted his teeth and shouted for a while, but he paid for a replacement rental car for the remaining three weeks! — my sister-in-law announced triumphantly. — He used the savings he’d been putting aside for a new boat and motor. Transferred the money to my card. So now I’m driving again and I’m my own boss. Anyway, bye. I have to go to the salon for my manicure!
She disconnected.
I remained sitting on the hotel bed, laughing so hard tears came to my eyes.
Igor—the man who on Tuesday had tried to prevent me from receiving a forty-thousand-ruble salary increase in the name of supposedly “saving money” on his sister’s rental car—had ultimately lost a valuable fifty-thousand-ruble job, wasted a mountain of nerves, fought with the same sister, put unnecessary wear on his vehicle and…
paid for her rental car out of his own savings.
Checkmate, Mr. Bronze Monument.
I returned home Saturday evening.
The apartment was unnaturally, almost frighteningly clean.
There were no socks scattered around.
A frying pan full of freshly cooked cutlets stood on the stove beside a pot of mashed potatoes.
Igor sat at the kitchen table, staring gloomily into an empty cup.
— Hi, — I said, leaving my travel bag by the entrance and walking into the kitchen.
I looked wonderful: a fresh haircut from a good St. Petersburg salon, an elegant suit, and the perfectly calm, confident expression of a woman who knew her own worth.
Igor slowly lifted his eyes.
There wasn’t a trace of his commanding arrogance left in them.
Instead, they contained the universal sorrow of a man who had believed himself to be a brilliant strategist and suddenly discovered that mathematics is a merciless science that accepts no compromises.
— You’re back, — he muttered, avoiding my eyes.
— As you can see.
I poured myself a glass of water and sat down across from him.
— Paid for Lyuda’s car? — I asked casually, taking a sip.
He jerked as though somebody had connected a live electrical wire to his chair.
— How do you know?
— A little bird told me. Expensive these days, renting a car?
— Thirty-five thousand, — Igor forced through clenched teeth, staring at the wall. — And the fifty-thousand-ruble job went to Mikhailych. Eighty-five thousand rubles down the drain in one week. And now I definitely won’t be getting a boat this season.
He looked at me hopefully, apparently expecting feminine sympathy, reassurance, or at least the classic “I told you so.”
But I had no intention of comforting him.
Education costs money.
— But at least you saved face in front of your sister, — I said with cool, gentle irony. — A man’s word has been kept. Transportation has been provided. Well done, Igor dear. A true head of the family.
Igor ground his teeth and exhaled loudly through his nose.
— Anya, stop mocking me. I understood everything.
— What exactly did you understand? — I leaned forward and looked directly into his eyes.
My voice became quiet, but there was steel in it.
— Did you understand that you cannot promise resources that belong to someone else? Or did you understand that my career, my time, and my car are not toys you get to control just to satisfy the whims of your relatives?
He lowered his head.
His shoulders drooped.
— I was wrong, — my husband said quietly.
The phrase seemed to require such monumental effort that it was as if he were spitting out bricks.
— I won’t make decisions for you anymore. And I won’t make promises on your behalf either.
— Wonderful, — I said, straightening and smiling brightly. — I’m very happy we’ve reached a consensus. By the way, starting next week I have a new schedule. Managing a store is a responsibility. I’ll sometimes work late and occasionally work weekends, so from now on you’ll make dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Your mashed potatoes turned out very well, I see.
Igor opened his mouth, preparing out of habit to object.
Then he remembered the eighty-five thousand rubles that had vanished into thin air.
He swallowed heavily, closed his mouth, and obediently nodded.
On Monday, I entered my new bright office.
A folder containing the morning reports lay on the desk.
Bright sunlight streamed through the window.
Beyond the door, the supermarket floor buzzed with activity.
My phone chimed with a message.
It was my indispensable Zoya:
“So, Madam Director, shall we have lunch at a restaurant today? Celebrate the victory of common sense over patriarchy and suede boots?”
“Absolutely,” I quickly typed back. “And you know what? Lunch is on me. After all, my opportunity cost this week turned out to be zero. I actually came out ahead.”
I put my phone aside, switched on the office computer, and opened the first folder.
Life was beautiful.
And justice, as it turned out, arrives quietly and decisively when you simply step aside at the right moment and allow a person to pay for his own foolishness at double the rate.