“Olga, you’d better take off your heels right away. In a couple of hours, your feet will be killing you. And here, take this too. I brought a nice clean apron especially for you so you wouldn’t stain your outfit.”
Tamara Nikolayevna smiled as sweetly as if she were presenting me with an expensive gift rather than a white cotton apron embroidered with a pattern.
We were standing in the spacious foyer of a country cottage rented especially for Aunt Lyuda’s sixtieth birthday celebration. Aunt Lyuda was my mother-in-law’s younger sister, and a large family banquet was due to begin in about an hour.
I automatically accepted the apron from Tamara Nikolayevna. The coarse cotton fabric caught unpleasantly on the decorative details of my new dress.
I had spent several weeks choosing that dress.
It was dark emerald, flowing, and made of soft silk. It had cost me almost half my advance payment. That morning, I had also gone to a salon to have my hair styled and light evening makeup applied.
I would never have dressed up like that for an ordinary family gathering. But the invitation Tamara Nikolayevna had sent to all the relatives in advance had promised something close to a high-society reception. It specifically mentioned a formal dress code and proudly announced a “luxurious anniversary evening.”
That was why the apron in my hands looked especially ridiculous.
“Thank you,” I said, looking first at the apron and then at my mother-in-law. “But I don’t quite understand why I need it. Do you want me to help cut something in the kitchen?”
Tamara Nikolayevna threw up her hands. Heavy gold bracelets jingled on her wrists.
She looked as though she were preparing to attend an awards ceremony at the very least. She wore a burgundy velvet dress, an elaborate high hairstyle, heavy makeup, massive earrings, and perfume that could be smelled from several yards away.
“There’s nothing left to cut! Everything has already been prepared, and the containers are in the kitchen. Lyudochka simply decided not to waste money on waiters. The cottage itself is respectable, and we ordered all the food, but do you know how much service costs these days? It’s madness! She and I discussed it and decided there was no point in paying strangers when we have plenty of our own people.”
I stared at her in silence, but Tamara Nikolayevna was already getting carried away.
“You’re young, quick, and you look presentable too. So you’ll help serve everything. Straighten the salads when necessary, collect the empty plates, and bring out the hot dishes. While the guests are arriving, you can greet them, take their coats, and show them where the restroom is. Nothing difficult.”
She listed my future duties with complete composure, as though we had discussed everything a month earlier and I was now inexplicably pretending to hear about it for the first time.
“Tamara Nikolayevna,” I said deliberately slowly so I wouldn’t lose my temper, “Denis and I came here as guests. We were planning to relax and celebrate too.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Olga! What kind of relaxing can there be when a close relative is celebrating her birthday?” my mother-in-law dismissed me. “Everyone here is family! You’re not helping strangers. Put on the apron, stop arguing, and go to the kitchen. Marina is already rinsing the pitchers for the fruit drink.”
At that moment, the front door opened.
Denis entered the foyer.
My husband was carrying a large box containing a coffee machine. It was an expensive gift that we had purchased together with several other relatives. In addition, we had prepared a fairly generous envelope of money from the two of us.
Denis was breathing heavily and stepping carefully so he wouldn’t drop the box.
“Denis,” I called.
He stopped.
“What?”
I held up the apron.
“Your mother has just informed me that I’ll be working as a waitress today.”
Denis placed the heavy box on an ottoman, straightened up, and wiped his forehead with his palm. First, he looked at me.
Then at the apron.
Then he turned toward his mother.
“Mom, are you serious? What do you mean, a waitress? Olga is wearing an evening dress and heels.”
Tamara Nikolayevna’s expression changed instantly. The commanding notes vanished from her voice, replaced by a soft, almost pleading tone.
“Denis, please don’t start. I’m not asking her to move furniture! I only want her to help Aunt Lyuda. Her blood pressure has been fluctuating since yesterday, and she mustn’t exert herself. Uncle Kolya and I have to greet the guests and look after the older relatives. Who else is going to help? The young people should do it. We’re one family.”
She turned toward me.
“Come on, dear Olga. Why are you just standing there? People will start arriving in about twenty minutes.”
Denis gave me an apologetic smile.
I immediately understood how this conversation would end.
“Olga, just help them for a little while, all right?” he asked. “Only at the beginning, until everyone arrives and sits down. Then I’ll take over. Let’s just avoid any trouble today. Aunt Lyuda really does have high blood pressure.”
He quickly kissed me on the cheek, picked up the box again, and headed toward the banquet hall.
The voices of the first relatives could already be heard from inside.
I remained standing in the middle of the foyer with the apron in my hands.
My irritation slowly began to rise.
I wanted to catch up with Denis and ask him why my unwillingness to work for free at a party was automatically considered “trouble.”
But the doors were already opening one after another.
Relatives entered the cottage carrying flowers, boxes, and gift bags.
I didn’t want to create a scene in front of everyone.
After all, greeting a few people really wasn’t difficult.
I opened a cabinet, stuffed the apron inside, fixed my hair in front of the mirror, and went into the hall.
The first hour turned into an endless rush.
I showed some people where to leave their gifts.
I directed others toward the coatroom.
I showed still others where the restroom was.
I helped some guests take off their coats.
For others, I searched for spare hangers.
Aunt Lyuda really did look tired and pale. She sat at the head of the festive table, smiling at the guests and accepting their congratulations.
Meanwhile, Tamara Nikolayevna practically fluttered among the relatives with a glass of sparkling wine in her hand.
“You can’t imagine how much effort organizing this took!” she told one group after another. “Finding a cottage like this was an entire ordeal! And the food! And the decorations! I was beginning to think this day would never come!”
Listening to her, anyone might have assumed she had organized the entire celebration alone, carrying tables through the night and personally growing all the food.
Meanwhile, Denis was standing on the veranda with his cousins.
They were talking animatedly, laughing, and clearly having a wonderful time.
At last, the guests took their seats.
I was relieved to see my place beside my husband.
The first toast was made.
I approached my chair and was about to sit down.
But I didn’t get the chance.
“Olga, dear!”
Tamara Nikolayevna’s voice easily rose above the general noise.
She was sitting opposite the birthday woman in one of the seats of honor.
“Sweetheart, Uncle Misha has run out of fruit drink. And there’s hardly any bread left at the far end of the table. Could you refill the basket?”
I froze beside my chair.
Denis looked at me and then at the nearest pitcher.
“Mom, we can just pass this one down the table,” he said, reaching for the drink.
“No, Denis!” my mother-in-law replied, still smiling. “This one is already warm. There’s a cold pitcher in the refrigerator. Olga knows where to find it.”
Several people sitting near her continued their conversations peacefully.
No one even turned their head.
I turned around and went to the kitchen.
Marina, the birthday woman’s daughter, was standing by the sink.
She was wearing jeans and a loose sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup.
Marina was lazily rinsing a plate.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Have they put you to work too?”
“Looks like it.”
“Mom appointed me head dishwasher. She said that since I’m the birthday woman’s daughter, I’m supposed to help.”
She looked at my dress.
“Why are you so dressed up?”
I took the cold fruit drink out of the refrigerator.
“Because I came here as a guest.”
Marina smirked.
“Bold assumption.”
I said nothing.
When I returned to the hall, I replaced the pitcher, refilled the bread basket, and headed back to my seat.
This time, I managed to sit down.
Denis thoughtfully served me some salad.
I managed to eat three or four forkfuls.
The second toast was made.
Afterward, I raised my eyes and immediately met my mother-in-law’s gaze.
My premonition had been correct.
“Olga, dear, please collect the appetizer plates. It’s time to serve the julienne. There are two baking trays in the oven. Be careful—the dishes are hot.”
I didn’t move.
“Tamara Nikolayevna,” I said loudly enough for the relatives sitting nearby to hear, “will anyone else be helping today? There are about thirty people here.”
My mother-in-law instantly assumed a martyr-like expression.
“Who else can I ask, Olga? Everyone came here to relax. They’re tired after the working week.”
I looked at her slowly.
So everyone had come to relax.
Everyone except me.
“Please go,” she continued. “The julienne will get cold.”
I looked at Denis.
My husband frowned and began poking at his salad with intense concentration, as though he had discovered an extraordinarily difficult puzzle on his plate.
“I’ll help,” he finally said, beginning to rise from his chair.
But his mother immediately stopped him.
“Denis, sit down! You haven’t even had a proper conversation with Uncle Valera yet. You men have your own things to discuss. Olga can carry everything out herself. It’s only five minutes of work.”
Denis froze.
He looked at his mother.
Then at me.
And sat back down.
At that moment, something unpleasant clicked inside me.
Without saying a word, I picked up a large tray from the edge of the table and walked among the guests, collecting their used dishes.
Sticky sauce from one plate got on my finger.
I wiped my hand with a napkin and carried everything into the kitchen.
The julienne was in heavy ceramic cocottes.
The trays were so heavy that it was impossible to carry everything out at once.
I had to make three trips.
I carried the hot cocottes and placed them in front of the relatives, squeezing between chairs and trying not to catch the silk hem of my dress on the furniture.
While I was serving the food, someone made the third toast.
Then the fourth.
After that, the music started.
By the time I finally returned to my chair, my own julienne had already gone cold.
Denis guiltily pushed a glass toward me.
“Olga, I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think Mom would give you this much work. Let’s eat the main course now, and that’ll be it. I’ll collect the plates myself after that.”
I looked at the center of the table.
“The main course hasn’t been served yet.”
Denis had only just opened his mouth when a familiar voice sounded directly over my shoulder.
“Then go bring it!”
I slowly turned my head.
Tamara Nikolayevna was standing behind me.
She placed both hands on my shoulders. She smelled of expensive perfume and alcohol.
“The meat and potatoes are in the kitchen. Everything has already been arranged on large platters. You only need to carry them in here. Come on, dear Olga. Everyone has been waiting for ages.”
I didn’t answer.
I simply looked at my hands.
A small red burn mark had appeared on my right wrist. I had touched the hot edge of a baking tray while taking out the julienne.
Then I looked down at my dress.
A small greasy stain had already appeared near the hem of the emerald silk. Someone’s fork must have brushed against the fabric while I was collecting the plates.
The dress for which I had visited several stores.
The dress that had cost me almost half my advance payment.
I instinctively checked the time.
It was almost nine in the evening.
The last time I had eaten a proper meal was at around two in the afternoon.
Approximately thirty people were seated at the table.
They were eating.
Drinking.
Laughing.
Making toasts.
Discussing the latest news.
Taking photographs.
Dancing to the music.
Every one of them had come here to relax.
Meanwhile, I had contributed to the expensive gift with my husband, placed money in an envelope, bought a dress especially for the occasion, and had my hair and makeup done that morning—only to spend the entire evening carrying dirty dishes, serving drinks, and delivering scalding-hot cocottes.
And I wasn’t doing it as a relative who occasionally lent a hand.
I was doing it as unpaid service staff.
Yet that wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was that nobody at the table saw anything strange about the situation anymore.
“No,” I said quietly but so distinctly that everyone sitting nearby heard me.
Tamara Nikolayevna immediately removed her hands from my shoulders and stared at me in confusion.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she asked, as though she thought she had misheard me.
I slowly pushed back my chair, stood up, and turned to face my mother-in-law. Our conversation was taking place almost in the center of the banquet hall, so the surrounding voices gradually fell silent. Someone stopped laughing. Someone else froze with a fork in their hand. Even the music seemed to grow quieter at that moment.
“It means I’m not going to the kitchen to bring out the main course, Tamara Nikolayevna.”
My mother-in-law gave a nervous little laugh and quickly looked around at the relatives, clearly hoping to find support in their faces.
“Olga, have you had too much to drink? What has gotten into you? Go and bring out the food like you were asked. People are waiting! You’re going to ruin the entire celebration.”
I was surprised by my own composure.
Half an hour earlier, I had felt as though a single word would make me start shouting. Now my anger seemed to have burned itself out. Only cold clarity remained.
“I’m not the one who began ruining this celebration—you are,” I replied. “You did it when you decided not to hire service staff but forgot to inform your guests about it. I came here as a guest. Denis and I put a substantial amount of money in the envelope, and we also contributed to the coffee machine together with the other relatives. In return, I expected to have a peaceful dinner, congratulate Aunt Lyuda, listen to music, and spend the evening with my husband. I certainly did not expect to serve thirty people.”
Dark crimson patches instantly appeared on Tamara Nikolayevna’s cheeks.
Aunt Lyuda gave a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to her chest, although she was watching us so attentively that she clearly wasn’t on the verge of any medical episode.
“How calculating you are!” my mother-in-law hissed, completely abandoning her sweet voice. “We’re a family! We’re relatives! Is it really so difficult to carry a few plates for the sake of your loved ones? There are no strangers here!”
I slowly swept my gaze over the long festive table.
The people sitting around it were adults. They were healthy, elegantly dressed, well-fed, and cheerful.
“If everyone here really is family, then everyone is perfectly capable of going to the kitchen and getting their own food. The meat is in the oven, and the potatoes are in large pots on the stove. Enjoy your meal.”
I turned around and took my handbag from the back of the chair.
Denis immediately jumped up.
“Olga, wait.”
He quickly walked around the table and came to stand beside me, positioning himself between his mother and me.
His expression made it clear that my husband had finally understood that his usual “let’s not argue” approach was no longer going to fix the situation.
“Mom, Olga is right,” he said loudly. “You really went too far. She isn’t a member of the service staff. If you decided not to hire waiters, you should have told us beforehand. We would have come in ordinary clothes and divided the responsibilities in advance. Or we could have ordered prepared food for delivery.”
“Denis!” an indignant voice called from the other end of the table. “Is that any way to speak to your mother?”
Uncle Valera had joined the conversation.
He put down his fork and looked toward us disapprovingly.
“Your wife has become completely shameless! Now she’s talking back to her elders! So what if she carried a few plates? Did her crown fall off?”
Denis slowly turned toward him.
I had rarely seen my husband so irritated.
“Uncle Valera, I think your crown will remain firmly in place if you go and get your own meat. Olga has spent about five minutes sitting at the table all evening. She already has a burn on her wrist. That’s enough.”
Then he turned toward all the men.
“Men, get up. Anyone who wants the main course can come to the kitchen. There are trays in there. We’ll carry the food to the tables ourselves. Apparently, tonight’s banquet is self-service.”
The hall fell into that particular kind of uncomfortable silence that appears when everyone understands the conflict has gone too far, but no one has decided whose side to take—or whether it would be better to pretend nothing happened.
Uncle Kolya, the birthday woman’s husband, was unexpectedly the first to stand.
“Why are we sitting around, anyway?” he said. “Ladies, stay seated. We’ll handle it ourselves. Come on, Denis.”
Several other men reluctantly pushed back their chairs and followed them.
Someone joked about the new restaurant service, someone laughed, and the tension gradually began to ease.
Only Tamara Nikolayevna remained standing beside the table.
She nervously crumpled a lace napkin in her hands.
The look in her eyes said more than words ever could.
When conversations started again around us, my mother-in-law leaned toward me and hissed so quietly that only I could hear:
“You humiliated me in front of the entire family.”
I calmly sat back down.
“You did that yourself when you decided to show your sister what a wonderful organizer you were by using me instead of a hired employee.”
Tamara Nikolayevna straightened sharply.
She didn’t speak to me again.
The rest of the celebration was completely different from the first few hours.
The men brought out the main course, placed the large dishes on the table, and distributed the serving utensils. Nobody died from the effort, and no one even became particularly tired.
When Marina saw that my small rebellion had unexpectedly succeeded, she decided to take advantage of the moment too.
She came out of the kitchen, tossed the dish towel onto an empty chair, and announced to her mother:
“That’s it. I’m finished too. I’ll load the dishes into the machine tomorrow. This is supposed to be my celebration too, you know.”
Aunt Lyuda initially opened her mouth to protest, but after looking around at what was happening, she remained silent.
Tamara Nikolayevna demonstratively ignored me.
She spoke exclusively to her sister and the women seated nearby. From time to time, I heard loud sighs and fragments of conversation:
“Young people these days…”
“No respect whatsoever…”
“In the old days, a family was a family…”
“Now everyone thinks only of themselves…”
I didn’t react.
At last, I was able to eat my main course in peace.
Admittedly, my mood had already been completely ruined.
Denis and I were among the first to leave, explaining that we were tired.
Neither of us spoke for a long time in the car.
The lights of the suburban road flashed past the windows. I watched them and felt the unpleasant ache in my burned wrist.
After a few minutes, Denis glanced at my hand.
“Does it hurt badly?”
“I can tolerate it.”
He sighed heavily and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“Olga, forgive me.”
I remained silent.
“I mean it,” he continued. “I honestly didn’t understand at first what it would turn into. Mom said something like, ‘Olga will help a little.’ I thought you would bring out a couple of salad bowls, greet a few people, and that would be it. Then I went onto the veranda with the guys, and we got caught up in conversation. I didn’t even notice you were constantly running around until you started serving the julienne.”
I turned my head toward him.
“Denis, the problem isn’t that you didn’t notice immediately.”
“Then what is it?”
“The fact that your mother planned all of this in advance.”
He said nothing.
“She brought an apron for me,” I continued. “Do you understand? She didn’t suddenly remember at the last moment that she needed help. She decided while she was still at home that I would spend the entire evening serving the table. But she didn’t tell us anything. She knew perfectly well that if she warned us beforehand, we would either refuse or come in ordinary clothes after agreeing in advance on who would do what.”
Denis listened attentively.
“She deliberately confronted me with it after we arrived, when all the relatives were already gathering. She was certain I would be too embarrassed to refuse in front of everyone. She thought I would smile and carry plates around just so no one could accuse me of being a bad daughter-in-law.”
“Yes,” Denis said quietly. “I suppose that’s exactly what happened.”
“You don’t have to suppose. That is exactly what happened.”
We drove several miles in silence.
Then my husband said:
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
I leaned back wearily against the headrest.
“Because no conversation will change anything. In your mother’s version of events, I’ll still be the guilty one. As far as she’s concerned, she meant well and was organizing a family celebration, while her ungrateful daughter-in-law created a scandal in front of all the relatives. Trying to convince her otherwise would be pointless.”
“So what should we do?”
“Change the rules.”
“What rules?”
I looked at my husband.
“From now on, we discuss every event involving your family in advance. If we’re invited to a restaurant or a catered banquet, we attend as guests. We bring a gift, sit at the table, and relax with everyone else.”
“All right.”
“If the family is organizing the celebration themselves, that’s fine too. But the responsibilities must be divided beforehand. We decide who cooks, who sets the table, who grills the meat, and who cleans up. We’re not going to have someone arrive in an evening dress only to suddenly discover that they’ve been appointed as the waitress.”
Denis nodded.
“That’s reasonable.”
“And one more thing. If they ever confront us with something like this again, we simply turn around and leave. No arguments and no explanations.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m never working as unpaid staff in a silk dress again.”
This time, Denis even smiled.
“Fair enough.”
For three weeks, Tamara Nikolayevna made a great show of holding a grudge.
She answered her son’s messages with short replies. She didn’t write or call me at all.
But on Saturday morning, Denis’s phone finally rang.
We were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee.
His mother’s name appeared on the screen.
We exchanged glances.
Denis put the call on speaker.
“Hello, Denis! How are you two?” Tamara Nikolayevna’s voice sounded unusually cheerful and sweet.
“Hi, Mom. We’re fine. Has something happened?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that your father’s birthday is in two weeks. This time, we decided not to rent anything. We’ll gather at our summer house and make shashlik. We can sit outside. I’ve already made a rough list of the food. Will you and Olga come?”
I looked at my husband.
He smiled almost imperceptibly.
“We’ll come, Mom.”
“Wonderful!”
“But I have one question first.”
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line.
“What question?”
“Let’s agree in advance on who will do what. Who will prepare the meat? Who will handle the grill? Who will set the table, and who will clean up afterward?”
Tamara Nikolayevna clearly hadn’t expected this turn.
“Well… the same as always,” she replied uncertainly. “The women will prepare the salads, and the men will handle the meat…”
“No, Mom,” Denis calmly interrupted her. “Phrases like ‘the same as always’ are no longer good enough. Let’s be specific.”
My mother-in-law sighed heavily.
“What do you suggest?”
“Olga and I will buy marinated meat and bring good-quality disposable tableware so no one has to spend hours standing at the sink after the party. Dad and I will take care of the grill. You and Aunt Lyuda will prepare the salads before the guests arrive. Does that sound all right?”
Silence followed.
Then came another expressive sigh.
It was easy to imagine the entire tragedy of vanishing family traditions in which one daughter-in-law was expected to feed and serve the whole family.
“Oh, fine,” Tamara Nikolayevna finally said. “Since you’ve become so… modern. Buy your disposable plates. Just make sure they’re good, sturdy ones. The thin plates immediately go soggy when you put hot food on them.”
Denis looked at me.
“Agreed, Mom.”
He ended the call and raised his cup as though proposing a toast.
I laughed and lightly tapped my cup against his.
By that time, I had already collected my emerald dress from the dry cleaner’s.
They had managed to remove the grease stain completely.
The burn on my wrist had almost disappeared too.
The new family rules, however, seemed likely to remain for a very long time.
And strangely enough, enduring one hopelessly ruined festive evening had been worth it for that.
