“Quickly apologize to my mother and serve the hot dish,” Sergey said so loudly that everyone at the kitchen table immediately fell silent. “Mom didn’t come to this birthday party to listen to your whims.”
Larisa stood by the stove with a towel in her hand and looked not at Sergey, but at Nina Pavlovna’s travel bag in the hallway. The bag was large and sturdy, with slippers tucked into the side pocket. It had not been brought for one evening. It had been brought for moving in. Only Larisa had somehow been forgotten in that decision.
At the table sat Sergey’s relatives: Uncle Valery, his cousin Inga, Nina Pavlovna’s neighbor, and two more acquaintances whom Larisa had seen only once before in her life. They had all come into her apartment, eaten her salads, used her dishes, and were now waiting for her to apologize for not wanting to give up the small room for the folding cot of the future mistress of the house.
“Sergey,” Larisa said calmly, “I did not insult your mother. I said she is not staying overnight at my place.”
Nina Pavlovna placed her fork on her plate and looked at her son as if Larisa were not even in the kitchen.
“Seryozhenka, explain it to her. I can’t live in my Khrushchev-era apartment right now; I’m having renovations done. You yourself said I could calmly stay with you for a couple of weeks.”
Larisa heard those words, “a couple of weeks,” out loud for the first time. Before this, Sergey had spoken vaguely: Mom is just stopping by for the evening, Mom is tired, Mom will stay the night after the guests leave, it’s no big deal. But that morning he had already carried her work desk out of the small room and put a folding cot there. He had tossed his jacket onto the desk, as if Larisa’s things had long since become unnecessary.
“With you?” Larisa asked, looking at Sergey. “You managed to decide that without me?”
Sergey jerked his shoulder irritably.
“Don’t start in front of people. Mom is in an uncomfortable situation, and you’re blowing it up. We’re family. We have to help each other.”
That phrase sounded almost casual. That was exactly how Sergey always explained his decisions. When he brought guests over without warning, gave his mother food from Larisa’s refrigerator, filled the hallway with his boxes, and left old tools lying around for weeks. “We’re family” meant one thing: Larisa gives in, and afterward Sergey says she ruined everything herself.
“Family asks before bringing in a folding cot,” she said.
Inga quickly lowered her eyes to her phone, but Larisa noticed her smile. Valery pushed his plate aside and began looking from Sergey to Nina Pavlovna’s bag. He was clearly uncomfortable, but he was not in a hurry to leave.
“You’re putting an elderly woman out on the stairs?” Nina Pavlovna was now speaking for everyone to hear. “I came to my son, not to strangers. Or do you think my son is nobody here?”
“I think your son lives in my apartment,” Larisa replied.
Sergey stepped closer to her. That same smirk appeared on his face, the one that had made Larisa fall silent more and more often in recent months.
“Here we go again. ‘My place,’ ‘mine,’ ‘I’m the mistress here.’ Do you ever stop counting corners? I’ve lived here for two years.”
“You lived here for two years because I let you in.”
“Let me in?” he scoffed louder. “Did you hear that? She let me in. And what about the fact that I bought groceries? Put up a shelf in the bathroom? Fixed the faucet?”
“Sometimes you bought groceries. You put up a shelf. You tightened the faucet once. That does not make you the owner of the apartment.”
Nina Pavlovna stood up sharply. Her heavy bracelet struck the edge of the table.
“Seryozha, I don’t understand why you tolerate this. A woman should be happy there’s a man in the house. And she calls you a tenant.”
Larisa looked at Sergey. He was forty-four, but next to his mother he immediately turned into a little boy waiting for permission to be angry. It used to sting her, then it amused her, and now it simply exhausted her.
“Larisa,” he said more quietly, but more firmly, “you are going to apologize to Mom now. Then you’ll serve the hot dish. Then we will all calmly eat and talk without this circus.”
“Talk after your mother has already settled into my room?”
The table fell silent again. Nina Pavlovna looked away too quickly, and Larisa understood: the issue really had been decided without her. Not “suddenly,” not “it just happened,” not “Mom is tired.” Sergey had promised his mother a place in advance, and left Larisa the role of the woman who sets plates and does not argue in front of guests.
“I was going to explain later,” Sergey muttered.
“After dinner? Or after she unpacked her things?”
“Don’t nitpick.”
“I’m not nitpicking. I’m listening to people put me before a fact in my own apartment.”
Sergey exhaled sharply and took a step toward the stove.
“That’s enough. Take out the fish.”
Larisa looked at his hand, which was already reaching for the oven door. At that moment, her exhaustion moved into the background. All that remained was a simple understanding: they had already begun dividing up her home, and she herself had been left with the pots and salad bowls.
She took off her apron and hung it on the hook.
“No one is getting the hot dish.”
“What?” Sergey turned around.
“Dinner is over. The guests are leaving. Your mother is taking her bag. You are taking your suitcase.”
Nina Pavlovna laughed, but the laugh came out short.
“Seryozha, do you hear this? She’s throwing us out because of a plate of fish.”
“Not because of the fish,” Larisa said. “Because you have already divided up the room, the keys, and my time.”
Sergey came one step closer, but Larisa did not step back. He noticed the guests’ looks and stopped. He liked giving orders in front of people, but he did not like looking crude.
Larisa left the kitchen and went into the hallway. Sergey’s jacket was lying on her work desk, and beside it was a folded sheet torn from Nina Pavlovna’s notebook. Larisa had noticed it that morning, but had not unfolded it then. Now she picked it up and read it aloud in front of everyone without raising her voice:
“Small room. Remove desk. Get key from Seryozha. Medicine on top shelf. Robe in closet.”
Inga quietly said, “Aunt Nina, really?”
Nina Pavlovna spun toward her.
“You keep quiet. I’m his mother. I have the right to know where I’ll be living at my son’s place.”
“Your son does not have an apartment,” Larisa said.
Sergey clenched his jaw but said nothing. Larisa no longer expected him to admit the obvious. She went into the bedroom, took Sergey’s old gray suitcase from the wardrobe, and placed it on the bed. That suitcase had appeared in her apartment two years ago. Back then, Sergey had arrived with flowers, stood at the doorway almost guiltily, and said that it felt peaceful at Larisa’s home. Now she had to restore that peace by hand.
She packed two shirts, a sweater, his razor from the bathroom, chargers, documents from the top drawer of the dresser, and a watch case into the suitcase. Sergey followed her in and stopped in the doorway.
“You’ve decided to put on a public performance?”
“No. I’m packing your things so you don’t wander around the apartment looking for reasons to stay.”
“Larisa, don’t embarrass yourself. There are people out there.”
“You invited them yourself. Let them see how the evening you called ‘family’ ended.”
He tried switching to a softer tone. He had mastered that too: first the command, then the mockery, then “Lar, come on, what are you doing?”
“Mom’s apartment really is under renovation. She’s uncomfortable right now. Valery lives far away, Inga has her own family, and the neighbor has nothing to do with this at all. Just let Mom stay for a couple of nights. You’re normal when you’re not being stubborn.”
Larisa zipped the suitcase shut and looked at him.
“A normal woman is not required to be convenient for all of your relatives.”
“You’re twisting everything.”
“No. I’m calling things by their proper names. Your mother did not come as a guest. You promised her my room in advance. In front of people, you ordered me to apologize and serve dinner. Now you are leaving.”
Sergey was silent for several seconds. Then he said, without softness now:
“With that character of yours, you’ll end up alone.”
“I’m already alone, Sergey. You just used to take up space in the hallway.”
She took the suitcase by the handle and rolled it to the door. The wheels thudded dully over the threshold. No one was eating in the kitchen. Valery stood up first, as though he understood that it was indecent to remain seated any longer. Inga hid her phone in her bag.
Larisa placed the suitcase by the open door and turned to Sergey.
“The keys.”
He smirked.
“Now that’s too much.”
“The main key and the spare. Both.”
“I live here.”
“You lived here. Until the moment you decided to move your mother in without my consent.”
Nina Pavlovna came out into the hallway with her bag and stood beside her son.
“Seryozha, don’t give them to her. Today she throws you out; tomorrow she’ll be calling you herself. Proud women like that crack quickly.”
Larisa did not answer her. She looked only at Sergey. This conversation was with him. With his keys, his suitcase, his habit of hiding behind his mother.
“Sergey, the keys.”
He reached into his pocket and tossed the key ring onto the cabinet. Larisa took it, immediately removed the apartment key from the ring, and placed the rest back down.
“The second one.”
“I don’t have a second one.”
“I saw you this morning when you put it into the inside pocket of your jacket after talking to Nina Pavlovna.”
Valery looked away. Inga stopped pretending to be busy with her phone. Sergey froze. This time there was no point arguing.
He slowly took out the spare key and placed it on the cabinet.
“Happy now?”
“No. But calmer.”
Nina Pavlovna flared up.
“What are you saying? We’re not thieves!”
“Then you don’t need my keys.”
That phrase struck the hallway better than a shout. Nina Pavlovna grabbed her bag so tightly it was as if Larisa were about to take that from her too. Sergey picked up the suitcase but did not leave. He was still waiting for Larisa to get scared at the last minute — of other people’s eyes, of her own decision.
Larisa went into the kitchen, turned off the oven, and placed the baking tray on the stove. The fish was ready, but dinner was no longer dinner.
“Valery, Inga, take your things. I’m not keeping anyone here, but the celebration is over.”
Valery was the first to nod.
“Understood. Nina, let’s go. This has become awkward.”
“Awkward?” Nina Pavlovna turned to him. “I’m the one who’s in an awkward position. A real mother is standing here with a bag, and some…”
“Nina Pavlovna,” Larisa interrupted her without shouting, “in my apartment you either call me by my name or leave in silence.”
Nina Pavlovna’s neighbor was the first to walk to the door. Inga followed her. Valery took the folding cot from the small room, folded it up completely, and carried it into the hallway. Nina Pavlovna looked at this as if someone were taking away not a folding cot, but a throne.
Sergey stood on the stair landing with the suitcase. His broad shoulders no longer looked impressive. In the narrow stairwell, beside his mother’s bag and the folding cot, he looked like a man who had declared himself master too loudly and then found himself without a door behind his back far too quickly.
“Larisa,” he said dully, “are you really ending everything like this?”
“No. You ended it when you decided I would swallow an order in front of guests.”
“I didn’t want a scandal.”
“You wanted obedience.”
He found no answer. Nina Pavlovna tugged at his sleeve.
“Let’s go, Seryozha. Let her sit alone. Women with that kind of character always come running back later.”
Larisa picked up Sergey’s jacket from the cabinet and handed it to him.
“Take your jacket. You’ll also pick up the boxes from the hallway tomorrow morning. I’ll put everything else by the door.”
“You won’t even let me stay the night?”
“No. Valery is already holding the folding cot.”
Valery shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other but said nothing. Sergey took the jacket and the suitcase and finally stepped away from the threshold. Larisa closed the door without slamming it. She simply turned the handle and heard the door settle firmly into place.
For a few more minutes, voices could still be heard behind the door. Nina Pavlovna was indignant, Sergey answered sharply, and Valery asked them not to continue the scene on the stairs. Then the wheels of the suitcase clattered down the steps and faded below.
Larisa did not rush to clear the table. First she walked through the apartment and gathered everything that could become an excuse for someone else’s return: Sergey’s charger, his comb, a bag with shoes, a folder with receipts, and tools from the hallway. She moved the apartment documents from the cabinet into her bag and placed it beside the bed. She did not need a lecture about the law. A simple fact was enough for her: the apartment was registered in her name, the keys were back with her, and the other person’s belongings had been collected.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Sergey was standing behind the peephole. Alone, without his mother. Larisa opened the door with the chain on.
“I forgot my charger,” he said. His voice was no longer commanding, but tired.
She closed the door, took the charger, and passed it through the crack.
“Thank you,” he said, then paused. “Mom is at Valery’s. But not for long. She really does have renovations.”
“So Valery helped the family today.”
Sergey winced.
“Larisa, I went too far. But you didn’t have to do it in front of everyone either.”
“In front of everyone, you ordered me to apologize and serve you. In front of everyone, you left.”
“Can we talk normally?”
“This conversation is short. In the morning you’ll pick up the boxes, tools, and remaining clothes. You’ll come alone or with Valery. Nina Pavlovna does not enter the apartment.”
He looked at the chain.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“I am no longer testing how far a person can go when his mother is standing beside him.”
Sergey lowered his eyes. This time he did not argue. Apparently, he understood that his usual moves were finished: resentment did not work, his mother did not help, the guests had left, and he had no keys.
“And us?” he asked quietly.
Larisa looked at him tiredly. That same morning, that word might have kept her in a conversation. It contained everything Sergey had used for two years: shared meals, shared evenings, his sweater on the back of a chair, his boxes by the entrance. But now behind that “us” stood Nina Pavlovna’s travel bag, the list about the room, and the spare key in the inside pocket.
“There is no us anymore, Sergey. There are your things, which you will pick up in the morning.”
He did not nod right away. Then he turned around and left.
In the morning, Sergey came with Valery. Nina Pavlovna did not appear. Larisa had placed the boxes in the hallway in advance so that no one would walk through the rooms looking for something “forgotten.” Sergey silently carried his things to the elevator: tools, jackets, books, a bag with shoes, and the rest of his papers. Larisa did not take down the shelf in the bathroom. Let it stay. Not every thing deserves a separate argument.
At the last box, Sergey paused.
“Mom said you were always someone who kept everything to yourself.”
“Tell Nina Pavlovna that this time she guessed correctly.”
“You’ve become harsh.”
“No. I simply stopped being a free attachment to your family.”
He wanted to say something, but Valery was already holding the elevator and looking at him with an obvious desire to finish this move-out. Sergey took the box, stepped out, and did not look back again. Larisa closed the door, checked the keys on the cabinet, and walked into the small room.
The desk was standing by the window again. There was a scratch on its surface from Sergey’s jacket, but it did not ruin the room the way someone else’s folding cot had. Larisa wiped the desk, set down her laptop, a box of thread, and a cup of coffee. Then she picked up her phone and wrote Sergey one message: “Your things have been taken. The keys have been returned. Do not come without an invitation.”
The reply came a minute later: “Are you serious?”
Larisa read it, put the phone into the desk drawer, and for the first time in twenty-four hours heard her apartment properly: without orders, without his mother’s bracelet striking a plate, without strangers sitting in her kitchen. There was no longer a suitcase standing in the hallway. It had left together with the man who had decided that love could be replaced with commands.
