On Thursday evening, Inna cleared the guest list off the table, even though before she had been showing everyone who would sit where. When I asked to take another look, she quickly changed the subject to the cake: could I swing by the bakery to pick it up on the day of the christening?
Just a few days earlier, we had picked out a café together for her daughter’s christening. I knew how many guests would be there, which dishes were ordered, and how much money we needed to put down. But there was one thing I didn’t know—and Inna carefully avoided talking about it.
In this family, I was always the go-to person.
Sergey and I have been married for fourteen years. His younger sister Inna has always been energetic and demanding, but she could make up just as quickly. For a long time, I tried to get along with her and with my mother-in-law, Lyudmila Stepanovna, who loved gathering the family around the table.
Inna usually called me when she needed help. Once, I took time off work to accept a furniture delivery for her. I waited nearly an hour for the movers, checked all the boxes, but when Inna came back, she asked why I hadn’t told them to carry out her old dresser. She had never mentioned the dresser before.
Last spring, my sister-in-law borrowed nine thousand rubles from us to buy a fridge. She paid part of it back on time, but I had to remind her about the rest. She acted surprised: “Why are you getting worked up over four thousand?” After that, I at least asked her to tell me in advance when she’d return money.
Sergey saw all of this, but he was used to brushing it off:
“Inna’s been like this since childhood. Try not to take her so seriously, and you won’t have to argue.”
Eighteen seats and one unexpected question
This summer, Inna and Nikolay welcomed their daughter Masha. We bought a crib for our niece, Sergey helped assemble it, and my mother-in-law often visited the young parents. Everyone was excited when the topic of the christening came up.
On a Monday at the beginning of fall, my sister-in-law called: the christening was set for a Sunday in a week and a half, and after church, everyone wanted to relax at a café. With the baby, it was tough for Inna to get around the city, so she asked me to choose a suitable place.
I called around to four venues. One had a wedding booked, another didn’t have a private room. The third offered a small hall for eighteen people and warned that the reservation would only be confirmed after a deposit was paid.
Inna visited this café with Nikolay, picked out the dishes, and placed the order under her name. She sent me the numbers: eighteen thousand rubles as a down payment, with the rest to be paid closer to the event. The manager agreed to hold the room until Friday without payment.
An hour later, my phone rang.
“Katya, help us out. We have a car payment this week, and Kolya doesn’t get his advance until Monday. Could you cover the eighteen thousand for now? We’ll pay you back on Monday.”
I checked with Sergey. We’d planned to replace our old washing machine, but it wasn’t urgent. My husband said if Nikolay would return the money on Monday, we could help out. I agreed—as long as Inna double-checked the order and the guest list first.
She promised. The next day, she asked me to find out what time the bakery would have the cake ready: Nikolay would be greeting guests, and since I’d be passing by anyway, Inna said I could pick it up.
On Wednesday, my mother-in-law called to ask what skirt I’d be wearing to the café. Inna hurriedly said something in the background, and suddenly Lyudmila Stepanovna began talking about Masha. I figured I probably just misheard something.
The list Inna was in a rush to hide
On Thursday, we had dinner at my mother-in-law’s place. Sergey was fixing the door on the kitchen cupboard, Nikolay was rocking Masha to sleep, and Inna brought out a printed seating chart for the guests.
After dinner, the table still had teacups, a plate of cookies, and that paper with the sketched tables. Inna was explaining to her mom where she’d seat family and friends, who got along best with whom.
I overheard the name of Sveta, one of Inna’s friends. Even her husband had a seat, though Inna had recently argued with him over some undone repairs.
“So where will Sergey and I be sitting?” I asked, leaning over the sheet.
Inna quickly covered the printout with her hand.
“Serёzha will be by Mom. But tell me, can you definitely pick up the cake in the morning? If I give you the order number, will you be able to handle it?”
“The cake’s taken care of. But where am I sitting?”
Inna glanced at her mother, who adjusted the napkin near the sugar bowl but didn’t say a word.
“Katya, you’re an adult—let’s not get upset. We’ve decided to make it a small celebration, just for the closest people.”
“And what am I, then?”
“The christening is only for family,” my sister-in-law said. “Mom, my brother, the godparents, my friends. I can’t invite everyone who helped. You can come to the church if you want, but we’re not expecting you at the café.”
Sergey overheard those last words and walked out of the kitchen with the screwdriver still in his hand. Inna rushed to explain that I “take everything so personally” and that the guest list was already set.
“But why is Sveta’s husband invited then?” Sergey asked. “You haven’t even spoken to him for two months.”
“Because Sveta won’t come without him. And anyway, it’s my party, so I decide who to invite.”
Of course she had the right to choose her guests. Still, it turned out I was only good for organizing the dinner and lending money, but not for sitting next to my own husband.
“Then take my eighteen thousand out of your calculations,” I said. “Pay the deposit yourselves tomorrow. I’m no longer involved in the planning.”
“So now you’re going to ruin everything for the child over a seat? I really didn’t expect this from you.”
My mother-in-law tried to get us to stop arguing. Sergey suggested adding another seat, but Inna refused. I grabbed my bag from the hook in the hallway; my husband took his jacket and followed me out.
It was only in the car that Sergey finally said:
“You probably shouldn’t have brought up the money in front of Mom. Inna’s already on edge with the baby.”
I asked him to imagine if my relatives invited just me to a party and expected him to give money and help out. Sergey said the situation was different, turned on his blinker, and didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.
Friday’s phone call and someone else’s version of events
That morning, I was getting ready for work. The kettle was heating on the stove and the rent receipt was on the table when Inna called.
“Katya, why wasn’t the deposit paid at the café? The manager just messaged me—they’ll give the hall to someone else today. You promised to transfer it by Friday.”
“Inna, I told you yesterday I wasn’t transferring it.”
“I thought you’d cool off! You know perfectly well Kolya gets paid on Monday. What am I supposed to tell everyone now?”
I reminded everyone that the booking was made in her name. They asked me to lend money for a few days, but I didn’t transfer anything and I didn’t promise the cafe anything either.
“It’s not about the paperwork at all,” Inna cut in. “We’re family. You can’t abandon someone at a time like this.”
Sergey overheard our conversation and came closer. I turned on the speakerphone.
“Inna, why did you say yesterday that Katya isn’t anything to you?” he asked.
“I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s just cramped here, that’s all. Sergey, you know me, I always try to make sure everyone is happy.”
“You listed who counts as ‘family’ for you yourself. I heard everything. We won’t be giving any money, you’ll have to find another way.”
Inna threatened to tell my mother how we let her down before the christening, then she hung up.
Around lunchtime, my mother-in-law called. Apparently, Inna told her that because of me, the whole celebration would have to be cancelled.
“Mom, it’s not that the celebration is cancelled, we just can’t pay for the venue,” I corrected her. “No one is canceling the baptism at the church.”
Lyudmila Stepanovna asked us not to fight: transfer the money now, and we could discuss the invite after the christening.
“So, she doesn’t invite me, and I’m supposed to pretend nothing happened?”
“Well, you are older and wiser. Inna is a young mother, she has it tough.”
A client came to the workshop door with a coat that needed shortening. I said I’d call back in the evening and put my phone in the desk drawer.
In the evening, Inna posted in the family chat: “Some people promise to help, then ruin the plans.” Five minutes later, Sergey’s distant relative messaged me, asking if it was true we refused to pay because we didn’t like the menu.
Suddenly, a spot became available—but with a catch
Saturday morning, Nikolai arrived. He had already let us know he wanted to talk to Sergey. We invited him into the kitchen.
Inna had told her husband that we ourselves had offered to cover part of Masha’s party, and then started demanding I be invited in exchange. He knew I was looking for a cafe, but had never heard about a three-day loan before.
I showed Nikolai his wife’s message: “Can you chip in? We’ll pay it back on Monday.” He read it over and asked me to forward it to him. It turned out Nikolai had planned on paying for a small lunch after his paycheck, but Inna picked a fancier place and decided to borrow money without telling him.
Nikolai asked for the cafe’s number so he could check if it was possible to skip the private room and just take regular tables. I sent him the number. He apologized and left.
That evening, Inna unexpectedly called Sergey and spoke in a conciliatory tone.
“Fine, let Katya come. Mom says we can squeeze in a bit. Just transfer eighteen thousand today—Nikolai might still be able to arrange for the private room.”
“Inna, are you inviting me because you want me there, or because you need the money?”
“Oh my God, Katya, there’s no pleasing you! First you complain you weren’t invited, now you’re making demands. I’m making compromises for the sake of family peace. What about you?”
I replied that I wasn’t begging for an invitation. Inna once again accused me of holding grudges and hung up.
Sergey sent a message to his sister: he would come to the baptism at church, but he wouldn’t go to the café, and we wouldn’t be sending any money. I read his message before he sent it—didn’t want anyone twisting my words again.
Nikolai made arrangements with the café himself: the private room wasn’t reserved anymore, but they found some tables for us in the main hall. He reduced the guest list and picked a simpler menu. No one lost their deposit since nothing had yet been paid for the private room.
There ended up being enough space at the christening.
A week later, on Sunday, Sergey got up early, ironed his shirt, and took out the gift we’d bought for Masha—a soft blanket in a box. We had chosen it before the argument. I fixed the ribbon and asked him to give it to Nikolai.
I didn’t go to the church. Not because I wasn’t allowed—I just didn’t want an awkward run-in with Inna on the baby’s special day.
Sergey came back by lunchtime. Masha was calm at first, lying quietly with her godmother, but then she started crying and Nikolai spent a long time soothing her. My mother-in-law asked how I was doing and urged us not to wait too long before making amends.
Inna thanked Sergey for the blanket and asked if he would join them at the café after all.
“I’m sure,” Sergey replied. “I congratulated Masha and delivered the gift. Wishing you all a nice lunch.”
On his way home, Sergey picked up some bread. He put the bag on the kitchen table, took off his jacket, and we had lunch together. I wished I could see the whole family congratulating Masha, but I just couldn’t pretend I’d been truly welcomed.
That evening, my mother-in-law sent photos. Godparents, relatives, and friends were gathered around two pushed-together tables. Svetlana and her husband didn’t come—their child was ill. You could even see some empty chairs in the pictures.
The next day, Nikolai texted Sergey saying that the lunch had cost less than expected and he covered it himself. My husband showed me the message and put away his phone.
A week later, we brought groceries to my mother-in-law. There was a stroller by the entrance: Inna and Masha had stopped by, too. Inna greeted us briefly and headed into the other room.
While Sergey was putting the groceries in the fridge, Inna came back to the kitchen and said the christening went perfectly fine, even without a private room.
“I’m glad,” I replied.
“You could have told me sooner that you weren’t planning to help. It would have saved us from changing everything last minute.”
“I told you on Thursday. You loudly said you weren’t inviting me to the table, and everyone heard my answer right then and there.”
My mother-in-law, who was arranging apples in a dish nearby, suddenly spoke up:
“Inna, that’s enough. I was sitting right there. That’s exactly how it happened.”
My sister-in-law turned toward the window, then went to get Masha’s little sweater from the couch.
In the other room, Nikolai was buttoning up Masha’s snowsuit while she lay on the couch, and Sergey was holding the stroller in the hallway. Inna paused at the door and looked at me.
“Thanks for the blanket,” Inna said, avoiding my eyes. “Masha rides in the stroller wrapped up in it.”
“Hope she enjoys it,” I responded.
Nikolai finished dressing their daughter and picked her up. Inna opened the front door, Sergey rolled out the stroller. No one brought up the money again.