For years, my work schedule had been stuck on Mom’s fridge. She’d circle my free days in pencil so she could book Dad’s doctor appointments, plan grocery trips or wait for the repairman. Not a single note about my brother’s schedule ever made it on that list.
After one family lunch, I started seeing that piece of paper in a completely different way. And a week later, Mom called again as if everything was perfectly normal.
Who gets to take time off, and who doesn’t?
I’m 46, I work in a school cafeteria, and live with my sixteen-year-old daughter Dasha. After my divorce, I spent five years paying my ex-husband his share of our two-bedroom apartment. So Mom’s line, “You have your own place,” has always sounded strange—it definitely didn’t come easily.
Sergey is four years younger than me. He has a wife, Irina, two sons, a minivan, and plenty of construction contracts. He truly works a lot. But for some reason, my job was always the one seen as something you could just set aside.
That winter, Dad had a doctor’s appointment at 9:30, but my shift started at 7. I made arrangements with my coworker to swap days—she’d cover my shift and I’d work her Saturday.
The day before, I came down with a fever. I called Sergey to ask if he could help out just this once. His voice came through with the hum of an engine in the background.
— Natasha, I’m taking the tiles to the site first thing in the morning. You’ve already made arrangements, right? Why do I need to change everything? Just order them a car.
— I’ll arrange the car. But is Dad supposed to handle everything at registration on his own? He put the referral somewhere yesterday and we barely found it.
— He’s not a child. And Mom will go with him. You’re making a big deal out of a routine trip.
I booked the taxi. Like always, my parents went out to the neighboring entrance, so the driver spent ages trying to find them. They made it to the appointment, but in the evening Mom said, “Next time, you need to come with us. Things are always calmer when you’re there.”
But when I suggested that Sergey could help out, Mom frowned.
— Sergey has people working for him, Natasha. He can’t just drop a job to help out.
— And what about our kids? They’ll go without breakfast if I’m not out the door by seven?
Instead of answering, Mom asked if I remembered to give Dasha the jar of jam. After a shift like that, continuing the conversation felt pointless.
In spring, the pipe under my parents’ sink started leaking. Dad shut off the water and put a basin under the connection. I found a repairman and scheduled him for midday. Mom didn’t want to stay alone with a stranger, so I had to take more time off work.
The next day, I stayed late at work to make up hours for my coworker. Sergey promised to drop by to check on the repair, but he showed up only after the repairman had left. He brought a bag of tangerines. Mom baked him pies and told the neighbor Sergey had been busy all week ‘helping with the repairs.’
— Mom, it was the plumber who fixed the pipe. I was there and paid him, and then Dad paid me back.
— Why do you always pick at the details? Sergey was worried too.
A decision was made without me
My parents owned twelve hundred square meters on the edge of town. Dad bought the land years ago. There was a shed and two apple trees, and in recent years, they finally got electricity and the road was improved. The land was now worth much more.
Sergey loved talking about the house he’d build there: the driveway here, two kids’ rooms over there. I’d listen at the dinner table and not argue. For the longest time, this was all just talk.
A month before the family lunch, my brother asked me to drive Dad out to the plot so he could show the boundaries to the builder. Sergey was supposed to come straight from his site, but Dad and I ended up waiting by the gate for nearly an hour.
— What are you so upset about? It’s not like you had plans today anyway.
Dasha and I actually had tickets to a day movie. By the time we made it back with Dad, stuck in traffic, the film had already started. My daughter said it was no big deal, but after that, I stopped telling Mom about all my weekend plans.
On Saturday, we were invited for lunch. Mom announced, ‘There’s a family matter.’ Sergey, Irina, and the kids arrived, and I brought Dad’s favorite salad.
After the main course, Dad announced that he and Mom had gifted the land plot to Sergey. They’d already visited the notary, signed the papers, and waited for the registration to go through. He put the registry statement down on the table to show the land now officially belonged to my brother.
Sergey immediately started talking about tearing down the shed. Irina asked about bringing in a truck. I was stunned by how everyone discussed their plans so calmly, as if I’d known about it all along.
“Dad, you could have given me a heads up,” I said. “This is the first time I’m hearing that you’ve already made all the decisions.”
My father grimaced—he never liked arguments. Mom left the room and came back carrying a heavy cardboard box.
“We set aside grandma’s tea set for you. Remember the one with the pink flowers? Most of it’s still in perfect condition, just missing one saucer.”
Inside the box were white teacups with golden rims, each wrapped in paper. For years, the set stood behind glass. Now the box rested on my lap, while my brother was scrolling through building block photos on his phone.
“So Sergey gets twelve acres, and I get dishes?” I asked.
“See, Dad? I told you she’d start counting! You’re getting a gift from grandma, a keepsake for life, and you’re turning it into a money thing.”
“I never asked you to give me land. But you could have at least told me ahead of time. You only called me after it was all decided.”
“Natasha, you have your own apartment and Dasha’s grown up now. I have two boys, we need a house. You never even come to that land.”
I reminded them how just a month ago I drove Dad to the property. My brother laughed and said, so I lost an hour—now I’m going to bring it up until retirement? Mom smirked, and Dad started stacking used napkins even though the plates were still on the table.
“So just say it,” I couldn’t keep it in anymore, “my help matters only until it’s time to divide something?”
“Don’t you dare guilt-trip us!” Mom got up from the table. “We raised you, sent you to school. Everything we have belongs to us. We give it to whoever we want!”
I wasn’t disputing their right to do what they wanted with the land. But they always seemed just as confident dividing up my time too.
On the way home, I placed the box on the back seat with my jacket underneath for padding. Dasha helped me carry it to the kitchen and began carefully unwrapping the teacups. But as soon as she heard about the property, she placed one cup back in the box.
“Mom, are you still going to visit them every week now?”
A single word during a phone conversation
Mom stayed silent the whole week. I went to work, helped Dasha prepare for her big test, and did the shopping. For the first time in ages, no one sent me a shopping list.
Exactly one week after that lunch, on Saturday, I was unpacking groceries when Mom called. She asked about Dasha first, then got right to the point:
“We got our tickets for Wednesday. Dad’s appointment is at 10:40 and mine is a bit later. You’ll drive us to the doctor, right?”
I opened up my work schedule. On Wednesday, we were supposed to have an inventory check after lunch, and the manager had specifically asked no one to change their shifts. There was no way I could leave in the middle of the day.
“Mom, I’ll be at work on Wednesday. Let’s call Sergey, he’s got a car.”
“Why bother Sergey? He’s driving around on orders. You just ask your girls, like you always do.”
My coworker is fifty-eight and has family obligations of her own. If she swaps shifts, she doesn’t actually get time off for me—she just works on a different day.
“No, Mom. I’m not going to ask her this time. I can call you a taxi if Sergey can’t do it.”
Someone was hammering on the other side of the wall. I covered my free ear with my hand and heard the change in Mom’s voice:
“Oh, so that’s what it is. Because of the land, now you won’t even help us? I knew it, that tea set is going to stick in your throat.”
I leaned against the table. I wanted to bring up the cost of the plot, but I ended up saying something else:
“Mom, I’m not refusing to help you. I just can’t do it on Wednesday. And I don’t want anyone deciding for me which shift I should give up anymore.”
“We’re not forcing you!” Mom protested. “We asked you, as family.”
“Well, as family, you could at least hear me say ‘I can’t’.”
Mom said that Dad would be upset and hung up. Ten minutes later, I got a text: “No need for a taxi. Since we’re such a burden now, we’ll get there ourselves.”
They decided we should talk as a trio
On Sunday, Sergey called while I was chopping veggies for soup. He started on the offensive:
“Mom cried for half the evening yesterday. What was that all about? Did you want the plot after all? You should’ve said so right away.”
“The plot’s already yours, Sergey. I never called you or asked for anything. All I asked was for someone to drive our parents on Wednesday.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re not responsible for a crew. Where am I supposed to put my guys? Am I supposed to drop work for two hours?”
I put the knife down and turned off speaker so Dasha in the other room wouldn’t hear us argue. I reminded Sergey how many times I’d switched shifts for our parents. He called it ‘the family love ledger.’
“Alright,” I said. “No more keeping score then. You drive this time, I’ll do it next. If neither of us is free, we book a car. Our parents are both of ours, right?”
“Just don’t start making demands. You always got along better with them, so deal with it yourself.”
That evening, Dad called. I explained I couldn’t go with them on Wednesday but would order a taxi both ways. Dad said he and Mom could still manage to walk into the clinic and find the right office on their own.
Turns out, Mom is afraid she’ll get into the wrong car and doesn’t know how to order a taxi with the app. I offered to order a ride from my phone and send Dad the car’s details by message.
On Monday, Sergey posted in the family chat: he’ll drive them there, but Natalia can pick them up. Mom replied, “Thank you, son.” I messaged that I’d be working till three, but could arrange a taxi to bring our parents home.
Sergey sent a voice message saying he had to arrange everything again. That’s when Dad, for the first time, wrote in the family chat himself:
“Sergey, we’re just asking you to go once. If you can’t, just say so. I’ll book a car and take Mom myself.”
On Tuesday night, Dad called me again: Sergey promised to pick them up at nine and take them back after their appointment. Of course, he grumbled that ‘the day would be lost,’ but they settled it.
“Dad, why’d you have to talk him into it? I could’ve just booked a taxi.”
“I didn’t talk him into anything,” Dad replied. “I just asked why he could rearrange things for construction work but not find two hours for us. He got annoyed, but then called back on his own.”
Wednesday, the shift I didn’t give up
I started my shift at seven on Wednesday. Breakfast, then lunch, dishes, and inventory. My phone stayed in my locker—I only checked it after my shift was over.
Three messages were waiting. Dad wrote: “We got there, all’s good.” My brother sent a photo of the parking lot: “Drove in circles for twenty minutes.” Mom messaged: “We’re waiting, Sergey’s grumpy.”
In the evening, Mom shared that Sergey first dropped them off at the wrong entrance, but then he came back, helped them find the right building, waited until their appointments were over, and drove them home. In between, he was answering calls for work and even asked his coworker to take care of some materials at the site.
“Can you imagine, he even took us to the pharmacy after the clinic,” Mom said.
Mom started talking about the waiting line, and then I heard Dad’s voice nearby:
“Natasha, we have a grocery list for Saturday. I’ll ask Sergey. He drives by the store anyway.”
Mom quietly said to him, “Do we really need to bother him again?” Dad replied loud enough for me to hear:
“Why bother Natasha, then? Let Sergey do the shopping just once and see how many bags there really are.”
On Saturday, Sergey brought the groceries. He forgot the paper towels and bought the wrong kind of cereal. Mom called to complain, but I suggested she just text him about what was missing.
An hour later, my brother sent a photo of the forgotten items left on the passenger seat in our group chat: “I’ll drop them off in ten minutes. Next time, write the list bigger.”
On Sunday, Dad invited Dasha and me over for tea, if we were free. I told him we were going to the movies—tickets were already bought. This time, I was not going to cancel our plans.
Mom sent a heart emoji, then asked, “Maybe you could stop by after work on Thursday? Just to sit and chat.”
Dasha took two cups with pink flowers from the cupboard. She set one in front of me, and the other in her place. We couldn’t find a saucer for one, but we still used the set anyway. I poured the tea and told Mom I’d stop by for a little while on Thursday.
A minute later, my brother wrote in our group chat: “Mom, Dad, I can take you for a big grocery run on Friday. Just let me know what time you’d like to go in advance.”