“Alisa, stop dawdling and put the kettle on!” Victoria Mikhailovna ordered, shaking the wet November snow off her beret right onto my mirror. “And get those cream-filled pastries out of the fridge, the ones Vadik bought yesterday. This isn’t just any guest—we have someone truly important visiting today!”
I looked over at our ‘special guest.’ A woman around forty-two years old, dressed in a bright magenta puffer jacket, was busy unzipping her suede boots. She surveyed our entryway so thoroughly, it seemed like she was already sizing up how much she could rent it for per night. In her hands, she clutched a plump plastic container wrapped in three layers of cling film.
“Zinaida,” the guest introduced herself, offering me just two fingers for a handshake. “But you can just call me Zina. As for me and Vadik… well, you know how it is. First loves are like birthmarks—impossible to get rid of.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Alisa,” I replied, hanging her damp puffer on the hook. It smelled of vanilla, wet sheepskin, and a dash of enterprising spirit. “Come in, please. Vadim isn’t home right now, he and Uncle Pasha went to the garage to change the winter tires. He’ll be back in about forty minutes.”
“That’s just perfect!” my mother-in-law exclaimed, making her way to the kitchen. “Now us ladies can have a sit-down and talk things over. Zinochka, take the seat by the window, don’t be shy. Of course, the landlady here has a strictly practical touch—no coziness at all, just shelves of books and bare windowsills, feels like a reading room, but at least it’s a nice, warm apartment.”
Zina settled onto a stool, put her container on the edge of the kitchen counter, cast a sharp gaze over the cabinets and sighed:
“Well, Victoria Mikhailovna, it’s clear as day—a man needs more warmth at home. Gray curtains, not a single geranium, not even lace doilies… Vadik was so dreamy back in school! In tenth grade, he’d sit behind me in geography, sighing away the whole lesson. Let me be upfront with you, Alisa, I’m an open person: Victoria Mikhailovna and I just ran into each other by the pharmacy today, chatted for two hours, and she really opened my eyes about your life.”
“Really?” I set cups and saucers before them, arranged the eclairs on a plate, and took a seat across from them. “And what did you discover outside the pharmacy?”
“That my son suffers with you, Alisa!” my mother-in-law declared, picking the biggest pastry from the plate. “I’m his mother—I have no reason to lie. Be honest: are you really a good match for him? You’re like a dried-up cracker! Always with your manuscripts and dictionaries, dragging him around to exhibitions and theaters on the weekends like he’s being punished. But a man at forty-two needs a homemaking muse! Someone gentle, caring, agreeable!”
“Like me,” Zina clarified, taking half a bite of an eclair. “By the way, I brought Vadik some homemade aspic. With garlic, pork knuckles, and fat as thick as your finger! Victoria Mikhailovna complained you’re starving him with nothing but greens and bland fish. A man needs hearty, rich food—he wants to see his spoon stand upright!”
I glanced at the cloudy gray chunk sitting in the plastic container. Human confidence is a mysterious thing—it lets people walk into someone else’s home, eat their pastries, and genuinely explain to the hostess why she isn’t needed here.
“So, Viktoria Mikhailovna, you bump into an old school friend of Vadim’s on the street—someone he hasn’t seen in twenty-five years—and instantly decide he’s still pining for her?” I asked as I poured the tea.
“Not just a friend, his first love!” my mother-in-law lifted her index finger for emphasis. “In the spring of ’99, he moped around for two weeks because of her, couldn’t eat a thing, and would read Yesenin’s poems out loud! And you—well, he married you out of sheer exhaustion. And let’s not kid ourselves, you had your reasons too: to snag a decent, hardworking man with a good salary.”
“So how exactly do you plan to rescue your son from my captivity?” I inquired.
“Oh, we’ve figured out everything!” Zina explained enthusiastically, popping the second half of her pastry into her mouth. “Alisa, let’s be real—we’re both grown women, no need for any extra drama. Viktoria Mikhailovna told me everything: about that spacious three-bedroom, and about the free one-bedroom on Profsoyuznaya, which just became vacant two days ago.”
“And what is it about the apartment on Profsoyuznaya that interests you so much?” I clarified.
“Well, I just moved out of my rented place in Podolsk this morning!” Zina announced cheerfully. “The landlady there was petty, always nitpicking, counting every single penny for electricity and water, and then she jacked up the rent for next month. Then I happened to meet Viktoria Mikhailovna, we had a real heart-to-heart… It was just fate!”
“What fate? This is just a regular housing issue,” I pointed out. “And what does this have to do with my one-bedroom?”
“See, Zinochka? That’s what I was telling you,” my mother-in-law shook her head reproachfully. “‘My’! Every word out of her mouth is ‘mine’! Seven years married to my son and she’s still dividing up the property. Never mind, as soon as Vadik comes back and sees his Zina, he’ll remember his youth, and then we’ll see what you say. While you two work out the divorce and splitting up, Zinochka will stay in the one-bedroom on Profsoyuznaya. She can’t exactly freeze on the street in November, can she?”
“Of course,” Zina nodded, grabbing another éclair from the table. “I don’t need a palace—just somewhere to stay for a couple of weeks while you, Alisa, pack up your things, then I’ll move in here under Vadik’s wing. By the way, you put the fridge in the wrong corner. I’ll have it moved next to the sink, and over here we need a nice sofa bed. Vadik can relax in the evenings, watch TV, and enjoy watching me fry up some belyashi for him.”
She made these plans without a hint of embarrassment—with the same unwavering efficiency as the head of the apartment block divvying up chores among neighbors. In her eyes, the matter of my divorce was already settled by the pharmacy down the street. All that was left for me was to vacate the apartment, and leave a note with the washing machine instructions on the table.
“I’m afraid you rushed a bit with rearranging the furniture,” I replied. “First of all, both this three-room apartment and the one-bedroom place on Profsoyuznaya are personally mine from before the marriage—one from my parents, the other from my grandmother. And second, yesterday evening I made arrangements with new tenants. We’re meeting tonight at seven in the apartment to sign the contract and check the meter readings.”
My mother-in-law waved her hand dismissively:
“Oh, don’t make things up, Alisa! Who exactly did you rent out that place to without telling me? You transfer the money from that apartment to my account every month because Vadik said so—to help out his own mother!”
“Not because Vadik said so, but because two years ago I offered to send you those forty thousand myself, when you told me you couldn’t afford your sanatorium trips,” I reminded her. “But since you bring up the one-bedroom, Viktoria Mikhailovna, could you return my proof of ownership and the water meter passports? You took them on Thursday when you met the utility worker to seal the meters, but never gave them back.”
“I don’t have your papers with me!” my mother-in-law declared, folding her arms across her chest. “They’re at my place, on the vanity table! Anyway, don’t try to lay down the law here—when Vadim arrives, he’ll tell us himself who should live where and who he hasn’t been able to forget in twenty-five years!”
“By the way, love is more important than some property papers!” Zina chimed in with emphasis. “When a man’s feelings are reignited, he doesn’t care about the cost. If needed, he’ll rent me a place better than this three-room!”
“Well, let’s ask him now,” I said, hearing the front door open.
Into the hallway came my husband and his uncle Pasha—the mother-in-law’s younger brother, a sixty-year-old retired mechanic, a keen observer with a wicked sense of humor.
“Alisonka, my joy, greet the workers!” called Vadim, putting down two shopping bags beside the cabinet. “Swapped the tires in the garage, put the summer set on the shelf. I brought you persimmons from the market—the honey-sweet, seedless kind—and fresh trout! I’ll wash my hands and roast it in foil myself, so you can stay away from the stove tonight!”
I came out to the hallway, kissed my husband on the cheek, and took the bags to put the fish and fruit straight in the fridge. Zina followed me from the kitchen. She straightened her shoulders, adjusted the neckline of her purple top, stopped next to the coat rack, and said:
“Hello, Vadik… It sure took us a long time to get to this meeting.”
Vadim froze with his scarf undone in his hands. He looked at Zina, then at his mother who peered out from the kitchen, then at me, and politely asked:
“Hello. Are you the building’s head from the third entrance? If this is about the meeting on the barrier gate, my wife and I have already signed the petition.”
Uncle Pasha, who was taking off his coat, coughed quietly into his fist and started inspecting the shoehorn with exaggerated interest.
“Vadik, seriously, you don’t recognize your own family?!” Victoria Mikhailovna exclaimed as she walked up to her son. “This is Zinochka! Sinitsyna from 10th grade, class ‘B’! Your very first school crush—the girl who had you reciting Yesenin by heart and refusing to eat for two whole weeks!”
Vadim blinked, looked closer at the guest, and was genuinely surprised:
“Sinitsyna? The one who, in tenth grade, chewed an eraser on a dare and snatched my drafting compass from my pencil case without asking? Mom, what first love are you talking about? The only reason I couldn’t chew for two weeks in the spring of ’99 was because I had a wisdom tooth pulled, and we had Yesenin for our graduation literature exam!”
“Vadik, why are you being so secretive in front of strangers?” Zina stepped toward him and tried to take his arm, but he quickly backed away to the shoe rack like there was a muddy puddle right in the middle of the room. “Victoria Mikhailovna told me everything! How you’re stuck here with a wife you don’t even love, how they torture you with diets… I brought you some homemade aspic with garlic! I’m a free woman now, Vadik—I’ve been married three times but none of them worked out; I just kept thinking about you, my falcon!”
Vadim frowned and shot his mother a reproachful look:
“Mom, aren’t you ashamed to be spreading these kinds of rumors at your age and dragging them into our house? What unloving wife? There’s only one woman in my life, one love, and one goddess—Alisa. I’ve looked at her for seven years now and every single day I’m grateful she married me! There are no other women in the world for me, do you understand that? And where on earth did you get the idea I’m being starved? I’ve never been able to stand pork aspic with garlic—since childhood, it gives me heartburn for days. You should at least remember that about your own son!”
“You really went all out this time, Vika, can’t deny that,” commented Uncle Pasha as he hung his cap on the coat rack. “You brought your son a bride with guaranteed heartburn in a container. Wait a minute, Zinaida… Aren’t you the same Sinitsyna who spent two months last year working in the supply closet at our motor pool, until you got let go for that mix-up with the diesel vouchers?”
“There was no real mix-up, I just swapped two forms, it’s no big deal!” snapped Zina, immediately losing all her mysterious charm. “Honestly, it’s obvious—this guy’s been totally henpecked! Victoria Mikhailovna, just look at how well-trained he is! He’s terrified to say a word against her because he’s registered on her apartment!”
“And what do you care about our living situation?” Vadim protested, putting his arm around me. “Alisa and I are a family and everything between us is by agreement and love! But why, Mom, would you go around telling the first person you meet all sorts of nonsense about our lives and insult my wife? That’s what you need to explain to me!”
Victoria Mikhailovna pursed her lips and held her chin high. Admitting in front of her daughter-in-law and younger brother that her whole plan had backfired so badly was completely out of the question for her pride.
— And furthermore, I’m your mother and I care about your well-being! — declared my mother-in-law. — You’re only brave and so proper here, under the watchful eye of your wife! Because she keeps you on a short leash! Without her, you’d be talking very differently! And anyway, I’m here in someone else’s territory and I have no intention of justifying myself to you!
— You don’t need to justify anything, Viktoria Mikhailovna, — I said calmly as I left the kitchen after putting away the groceries. — We just need the ownership certificate for my apartment and the meter passports from you. The tenants will arrive at Profsoyuznaya at seven o’clock with their things, and they won’t sign the contract or give the deposit without the original documents.
— Then let’s go to my place on Stroiteley Street right now, it’s only a five-minute drive! — my mother-in-law responded instantly. — And while we’re there, we can have some goose with apples—I put it in the oven at lunchtime on a timer! At my own home, within my own walls, without your sarcasm, Alisa, we can all sit down calmly, and Vadik can have a real heart-to-heart with Zina! You’ll pick up your papers from the dressing table at the same time!
— You’re speaking sense, Vika, let’s head out, — uncle Pasha eagerly supported. — I need to pick up my toolbox from your balcony anyway—the one you borrowed in October for repairs. And I’m curious to finally see your goose before it turns into shoe leather in the oven.
Zina suddenly got noticeably flustered, stepped into the kitchen, grabbed her container of aspic from the counter, and quickly said:
— Viktoria Mikhailovna, why should all of us go up to your apartment together? You probably haven’t tidied up there yet… How about I sit outside on the bench in the yard with Vadik and uncle Pasha, we’ll get some fresh air, and you can run upstairs and bring out Alisa’s papers!
— There’s no way I’m going to sit on a damp bench in November clutching a container of aspic! — retorted uncle Pasha. — No, you invited us for goose—so we’re all going inside together!
— And I’m not going to any get-together without Alisa nor will I be sitting on any bench, — Vadim said firmly, handing me my coat. — Mom, we’re only going up with you for five minutes: we’ll grab the documents for the one-bedroom, uncle Pasha will pick up his tools, and then my wife and I will head home for dinner.
Zina reluctantly pulled on her bright puffer jacket, which I had taken off the hanger for her, shoved her container into a bag, and slowly headed out last.
We reached my mother-in-law’s five-story building in uncle Pasha’s station wagon in just seven minutes. The entire ride, Viktoria Mikhailovna sat in the front seat lecturing her son:
— You’ll see, Vadik, you’re too soft, too trusting, it’s easy to trick you! Do you know why I invited Zina to our place? Because she’s a simple, kind-hearted woman with no airs! She doesn’t care about theaters, she wants a family home! And besides, she’s all alone in a strange city today, without a roof over her head. I, as a compassionate person, simply couldn’t ignore another’s misfortune!
— So how exactly did you not ignore it, Vika? — uncle Pasha asked curiously, as he turned into a quiet courtyard covered in wet yellow leaves.
— Of course! — my mother-in-law replied proudly. — When Zina and I got to chatting near the pharmacy, a car from Podolsk showed up with her things. I couldn’t let that poor woman haul all that baggage down the street! I brought her over, let her into my apartment, put the goose in the oven, and dashed across the street for apples while Zina lugged her two suitcases up from the first floor. Later, at the entrance, she told me she’d left her bags in the corner and shut the door, then we headed straight to your place. We were counting on Vadik driving her to Profsoyuznaya for the night!
I exchanged glances with my husband. Vadim just sighed heavily and shook his head.
— Mom, you left someone you haven’t seen in twenty-five years alone in your open apartment so some movers could bring things in? Do you realize how reckless that is?
— Oh, don’t tell your mother how to live! — Victoria Mikhailovna waved him off as she got out of the car by her building. — What stuff could a lonely woman have—just two modest little bags with sweaters! I remember Zina since tenth grade, and she’s got honest eyes!
We climbed up to the third floor. Victoria Mikhailovna unlocked the door and flung it wide open to her two-room apartment, always kept in museum-like order, where Vadim and I were expected to put on guest slippers right at the threshold.
Getting inside wasn’t easy. The hallway, from the door all the way to the coat rack, was crowded with nine bulging plaid bags held together with blue tape. On top of the bags sat a bare ironing board, an old microwave with a yellowed door, and a bundle of bamboo fishing rods, while by the mirror stood three wooden boxes filled with three-liter jars of pickles and a huge, sprawling ficus in a cracked galvanized bucket.
— What… what’s all this stuff?! — gasped Victoria Mikhailovna, stopping in front of the ficus. — Zina, you told me—just two little travel bags?!
— Well, Victoria Mikhailovna, I couldn’t just give away everything I own to that greedy landlady in Podolsk! — Zina replied matter-of-factly, carefully stepping around the boxes of jars. — This is just what I need to get by at first! It’s no big deal if it’s taking up the entryway for now; we’ll move it to the big room soon.
At that moment, the kitchen door swung open, and out walked a lanky young man, about twenty-four, nearly two meters tall, dressed in Victoria Mikhailovna’s favorite terrycloth robe with pink peonies. The robe barely fit his broad chest, the sleeves ending just below his elbows, and he held a hot baking sheet, scraping buckwheat stuffing with apples straight from the roasted goose with a tablespoon.
“Oh, Mom, what are you doing back so soon?” the big guy asked, chewing on a bite of goose. “Weren’t you moving us to some Vadik’s three-room place? You said we’d only hang out here till the evening! By the way, I moved the old TV from the small bedroom into the storage closet and set up my two monitors and tower on the table with the mirror. I’ve got a computer tournament with the guys at six tonight, so please keep the noise down in the hallway. And who’s this grandma in the beret? Is she the owner or something?”
Victoria Mikhailovna gripped the strap of her handbag so tightly with both hands that the leather creaked.
“Who are you calling grandma?!” she exclaimed, glancing from the young man in peony pajamas to his mother. “Zina, who is this in my Sunday robe?! Didn’t you promise me outside the pharmacy that you were a complete orphan, all alone in the world?!”
“Well, according to my passport, I am a single, unmarried woman!” Zina replied, completely unfazed, spreading her arms wide. “And this is Deniska, my one and only son, my rock and hope. He’s a sensitive soul, he competes in computer tournaments, he can’t mess up his schedule! Was I supposed to leave my own child out on the street in November while I try to sort out my personal life with Vadik?”
“He… he’s eating my holiday goose right out of the pan with a spoon!” the mother-in-law breathed out, watching as Deniska expertly broke off a crispy goose leg. “And he took apart my Czech vanity table in the bedroom!”
While Victoria Mikhailovna struggled to process this suddenly chaotic domestic bliss, I carefully maneuvered around the ficus in a bucket, peeked into the small bedroom, and spotted, squeezed between the keyboard and a stack of disks on the edge of the dressing table, my clear folder containing the apartment deed and water meter passports. I took the papers, slipped them into my bag, and returned to the hallway, where Uncle Pasha was already retrieving his tool kit from the wall closet.
“I’ve got the documents, Victoria Mikhailovna, thank you,” I said. “Vadim and I should go now, we still need to meet the new tenants on Profsoyuznaya. We won’t get in the way of your warm family evening without my bookish chatter.”
“Wait! Where do you think you’re going?!” the mother-in-law shouted, grabbing Vadim’s jacket sleeve. “Vadik, you can’t just leave your mother in this state! Take both of them to the one-bedroom on Profsoyuznaya immediately. Can’t you see—this brute is going to smash all my furniture and eat all my winter supplies!”
“Mom, please, get a grip,” Vadim said sternly, gently removing her hand from his sleeve. “The apartment on Profsoyuznaya belongs to Alisa, and in an hour, respectable new tenants, under contract, will be living there. And why should Alisa let strangers into her home, especially people you brought and left here unattended in the first place?”
By the way, Viktoria Mikhailovna, I said as I buttoned up my coat, I listened carefully to everything you said about me in the kitchen today. And you’re absolutely right: it’s not fitting for a proud, principled woman to take forty thousand rubles every month from her daughter-in-law with ‘official hands’ and a cold heart. Starting next month, the money from renting out Grandma’s apartment will stay in Vadim’s and my family budget. I just can’t, in good conscience, insult your feelings by sending you those transfers any longer. Especially now that your house is filled with warm, down-to-earth people—they’ll fry you some beljashis and even water that ficus tree in the bucket for you.
Viktoria Mikhailovna froze by the shelves of pickles, staring at me as if she’d just watched me burn a ticket to Kislovodsk right in front of her.
What do you mean, you won’t send the money?! she threw up her hands, instantly forgetting all about Yesenin’s poetry and her first love from ‘99. Vadik, what’s going on here?! I was planning to use that money to go to a health resort in December—I’d already gotten the suitcase down from the closet! And now what am I supposed to do?!
Zina quickly sized up the changing mood in the room. Realizing that she wouldn’t be getting either Vadim or my apartments anymore, she placed the bag with the jellied meat on top of the duffel, put her hands on her hips, and gave her mother-in-law a stern look:
And why are you raising your voice, Viktoria Mikhailovna? Who was dragging me by the sleeve for two blocks by the pharmacy today? Who was complaining how lonely it is for you in two rooms, and kept saying, ‘Zinochka, you’re like a daughter to me—move in with your things, there’s room for everyone’? Because of your promises, I gave up my rented apartment in Podolsk and paid the movers four thousand of my hard-earned rubles straight from my wallet!
I didn’t know you had nine bags of stuff and a son who’s two meters tall! the mother-in-law shot back. I don’t want you here—take your ficus and go back to Podolsk!
Yeah right, not happening! Zina huffed, taking off her puffer and hanging it right over Viktoria Mikhailovna’s sable coat. I’m not leaving at night in November with my child and a bunch of pickles! You invited us, promised a place, and now you’re stuck with us until I find a new place that fits my budget—it could be a week, could be two! Make some room on the big couch in the living room, you’re not royalty!
Mom, where does the landlady keep her cherry compote? Denis yelled from the kitchen, banging the pots. And ask her for the Wi-Fi password, my phone barely gets a signal!
He wants the password now! The mother-in-law turned to Vadim, nearly in tears. Son, please, tell them to leave! Forgive your old mother—I said something stupid at the pharmacy, the devil made me do it! Alisa, I didn’t do it out of spite, I really thought it was for the best!
Vadim looked at his mother seriously and shook his head:
“No, Mom, this just won’t do. Today, you insulted my wife in our own home, promised her apartment to a stranger behind our backs, and let guests move in all by yourself. Of course, we won’t leave you in trouble—you’re my mother. But today is Thursday, and Uncle Pasha and I will only come to you Saturday morning: we’ll help you carry out these huge bags and put your guest and her son into a moving taxi to Podolsk. For the next two days, kindly live with the people you chose over Alisa. Let this be a valuable lesson so you’ll never again meddle in our family with other people’s fiancées—and so you’ll appreciate my wife.”
“Vadim is right, sister,” agreed Uncle Pasha, opening the front door. “Two days isn’t so long—you’ll have time to try some jellied meat with garlic and hear all about computer tournaments. And Saturday at ten sharp, Vadik and I will be here, ready to help move your guests out in fine style.”
We stepped out onto the landing. Behind us, we could already hear Zina, in her best hostess voice, demanding a clean tablecloth from Viktoria Mikhailovna and a second pillow for Deniska, who found the low couch uncomfortable. My mother-in-law turned out to be quite the matchmaker: she set out to separate her son from an unwanted daughter-in-law, but ended up with her own big happy family—complete with a ficus in a galvanized bucket, jellied meat, and a personal fan of roast goose in a fluffy bathrobe.