The appointment had already been given to another client, and the salon had kept my five-thousand-ruble deposit. At home, my husband called his mother’s actions “saving money.” I decided I would no longer discuss the cost of my hair with either of them.
I arrived at the studio ten minutes before my appointment. The confirmation was on my phone: 11:30, stylist Anna, service cost twelve thousand rubles, deposit five thousand.
I had waited almost seven weeks for this appointment. It wasn’t as though life would stop without a new hair color. I had simply wanted to have my hair done by a good stylist for a long time, and I had saved the money myself.
Behind the reception desk, Veronika found my name and suddenly frowned.
“Your appointment was canceled yesterday evening, Irina Viktorovna.”
I thought she had confused me with another client.
“Could you show me, please?”
Veronika turned the monitor slightly toward me. Beside my name it said: “Canceled by phone, 6:37 p.m.”
“I didn’t call.”
“Could someone have canceled it for you?” she asked. “We received a call. After the cancellation, Anna took someone from the waiting list.”
Behind a frosted partition, a woman about my age was already sitting in Anna’s chair. She had a black salon cape over her shoulders, and Anna was dividing her hair into sections. My appointment was no longer mine.
“All right. What about the deposit?”
Veronika pressed her lips together.
“Under the booking terms, a deposit isn’t refunded if the appointment is canceled less than twenty-four hours in advance. Yours was five thousand.”
I opened the studio’s message. The condition was there on a separate line. I had seen it before.
“So the five thousand is gone, my slot has been given away, and someone else canceled my appointment?”
“Yes. Let me check the number that called.”
She opened the work phone’s call history. After scrolling for a few seconds, she read out the last digits.
That was enough.
I had known Galina Petrovna’s number for twelve years.
My mother-in-law could call Sergei six times in one morning if she thought he had a cold. She could send him a photo of a price tag on butter with the message, “This is where you should buy it.” And over the past couple of years, she had found another subject: my spending.
New boots were “an indulgence.” A swimming pool membership meant “you could just exercise at home.” When I bought myself a good coat, Galina Petrovna asked three times whether I didn’t feel bad spending so much money “on a rag.”
I kept my replies short and did as I pleased. I thought that was enough.
Until 6:37 yesterday evening.
“Veronika, I need confirmation of the cancellation,” I said. “With the date, time, and number the call came from. And a separate note that the deposit was kept because the cancellation was late.”
She looked at me more closely.
“I can print the record of your booking. I’ll check with the manager about what we’re allowed to include from the call log.”
“Please do.”
While she made the call, I opened our family chat.
Four days earlier, Galina Petrovna had suggested we come to her place early on Sunday. Sergei had replied, “Mom, we can’t make it before lunch. Ira has an appointment,” and forwarded the screenshot I had sent him from the studio.
The screenshot showed the studio’s name, the time, the booking number, and the price.
Below it was a message from my mother-in-law:
“Twelve thousand for hair? Seryozha, have you two forgotten how to count?”
At the time, I had silenced my phone and gone about my day.
Now I saw that exchange differently.
Veronika returned with two sheets of paper.
“Here’s the booking record. It shows the booking date, deposit, cancellation time, and that the cancellation was made by phone. This is a printout of the incoming call at that time. The full number is shown.”
I checked the digits.
Galina Petrovna.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to put you on the waiting list?” Veronika asked. “We’ll call if a slot opens up.”
“Please.”
I put the papers in my bag and left.
The street was noisy. By the entrance, a courier was trying to lock his bicycle to a rack that was too short, and nearby someone was arguing on the phone about parking. An ordinary day. Except my five thousand rubles were gone because of neither my mistake nor the studio’s terms.
Someone had decided for me what I was allowed to spend my money on.
And for the first time, it hadn’t just been a comment across the dinner table.
She had acted.
Sergei was at home, sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop, watching a video about used cars. I set my bag on a chair.
“Did you forward my studio screenshot to your mother?”
He looked up.
“Well, yes. I was explaining why we couldn’t come earlier. Why?”
“She canceled my appointment yesterday.”
Sergei took out one earbud.
“What do you mean, canceled it?”
“She called the studio pretending to be me. At 6:37 p.m.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a crooked smile.
“Mom really is something.”
“They didn’t refund the five-thousand-ruble deposit.”
His smile didn’t disappear immediately.
“Wait. Why didn’t they refund it?”
“Because the cancellation was less than twenty-four hours before the appointment.”
“Those are some terms they have.”
I took out my phone.
“Let’s ask what exactly she thought she was doing.”
Galina Petrovna answered almost at once.
“Seryozhenka, are you home already? I was just going to—”
“Galina Petrovna, it’s Irina. Did you call my studio yesterday?”
There was a pause at the other end.
“Oh, that. Yes, I called. I canceled your appointment. There’s no reason to waste money. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Sergei rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Mom, what were you thinking?”
“What do you mean? Twelve thousand! That would cover half the utility bills for two months. I saved you money, by the way.”
I looked at Sergei.
He turned his eyes back to the laptop.
“Did you know the five-thousand-ruble deposit wouldn’t be refunded for a late cancellation?” I asked.
“How would I know your salon rules? You’re the ones who agree to these things.”
“So five thousand has already been lost.”
“But you didn’t spend the other seven,” Galina Petrovna said quickly. “Irina, I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss. Your hair looks fine. The roots will grow out again in a month anyway.”
Sergei sighed.
“Ira, if we’re going strictly by the numbers, Mom really was trying to save money. She went about it badly, but we still have the other seven thousand.”
I turned to him.
“Who has it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who has that seven thousand?”
“We do.”
“No. It was in my personal account, and it’s still there. The five thousand that’s gone also came from my personal account. Where’s this saving for both of us?”
He closed his laptop.
“Don’t pick apart my words.”
Galina Petrovna’s voice grew louder over the phone.
“Exactly. A normal family doesn’t divide every last penny into ‘mine’ and ‘yours.’”
I looked at the two sheets sticking out of my bag.
That morning, I had only planned to get my hair colored. By evening, I was being asked to accept that another person could cancel my appointment, cost me money, and then call it an act of care.
There was no point arguing about whether a colorist was worth twelve thousand rubles. Tomorrow Galina Petrovna would decide the pool was too expensive too. Then that I had bought the wrong bag. Any purchase I made could be declared a mistake if I accepted her right to decide.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll come by tomorrow evening.”
“What for?” my mother-in-law asked warily.
“To finish this conversation.”
“Irina, no theatrics.”
“No theatrics.”
I ended the call.
Sergei leaned back in his chair.
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing complicated.”
“Ira.”
“You think your mother saved us money?”
He hesitated.
“I think she interfered where she shouldn’t have. But starting a war over five thousand is strange too.”
“I’ve heard you.”
He wanted to add something, but I had already taken out the papers.
The next day after work, I printed the bank transaction for the deposit. I placed the studio’s booking record and the incoming-call printout beside it.
On a fourth sheet, I wrote:
Amount to reimburse: 5,000 rubles.
No interest. No “emotional damages.” No charge for the taxi to the studio. Just the amount that had disappeared because of someone else’s phone call.
Sergei saw the sheet as we were getting ready to visit his mother.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to give Mom a bill?”
“I’m going to show her what her call cost me.”
“She’ll be furious.”
“That doesn’t change the amount.”
He stood in the hallway holding the car keys.
“You could just ask her not to do it again.”
“I can. After she pays back what I’ve already lost.”
Two supermarket bags stood in Galina Petrovna’s hallway. She had just returned from shopping and was putting groceries away. When she saw the folder in my hand, she narrowed her eyes.
“What’s that?”
“The reason we came.”
“For heaven’s sake, Irina. I already understand that you’re upset.”
“This isn’t about my feelings.”
We went into the living room. Sergei sat on the edge of the sofa. I stayed by the table and laid out the pages in order.
Galina Petrovna didn’t even look at the first one.
“If this is about that hairdresser again, I haven’t changed my mind. Twelve thousand for hair at forty-six…”
“Your opinion about my hair costs nothing,” I said. “Literally. I didn’t pay for it.”
She lifted her chin.
“Very clever.”
“But your phone call cost five thousand.”
I slid the bank statement toward her.
“Here’s my deposit. Five thousand rubles.”
I put down the next page.
“Here are the studio’s terms and the cancellation time. Yesterday at 6:37 p.m., less than twenty-four hours before the appointment.”
The third page went on top.
“Here’s the incoming call. Your number.”
Galina Petrovna looked at the digits. Then at Sergei.
“So?”
I placed the last sheet in front of her.
“Amount to reimburse: five thousand rubles.”
She pushed it away with two fingers.
“You’re giving me a bill?”
“Yes.”
“To your husband’s own mother?”
“To the person who canceled a paid appointment in my name.”
“I was trying to help you!”
“Then your help cost me five thousand. Pay it back.”
“Seryozha, are you hearing this?”
Sergei ran a hand over his knee.
“Mom, you really shouldn’t have called.”
“Will you both stop going on about it? It’s not as if that was her last bit of money. You’ve complained yourself that everything’s getting more expensive.”
“I wasn’t complaining about Irina’s money.”
Galina Petrovna turned sharply toward him.
“You were saying something different yesterday.”
Sergei looked at me.
“Ira, why don’t I just transfer you five thousand and we’ll be done with it?”
“From which account?”
“Our joint one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d be paying for your mother’s decision myself, at least in part. And it would still cost her nothing.”
Galina Petrovna gave a short laugh.
“What an accounting exercise. And you call yourselves a family.”
I turned to Sergei.
“Yesterday you said she saved us seven thousand. If you still think what she did was right, transfer me five thousand from your personal account. Then you can decide whether to ask your mother for it. That will be up to you.”
Sergei froze with his phone in his hand.
“And if I don’t think she was right?”
“Then don’t pay for her decision.”
He lowered his phone.
That was it.
As long as I was the one paying, it had been easy to talk about savings. With the same five thousand about to come from his own account, the idea suddenly lost its appeal.
Galina Petrovna looked from him to me and back again.
“So my son has to choose between his wife and his mother over five thousand rubles?”
“No,” I said. “No one is asking him to choose between people. I’m asking you to pay for the consequence of your call.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll know you think it’s acceptable to make decisions about my money and leave me with the loss. We’ll conduct ourselves accordingly from now on.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s information.”
Sergei stood up.
“Mom, transfer her the money.”
“You too?”
“Yes. Because you really did cancel it. If Ira had changed her mind herself, losing that five thousand would have been her responsibility. But you made the decision for her.”
Galina Petrovna looked at him as though he had just broken a family heirloom.
“Fine. If you’re both going to be so principled.”
She picked up her phone.
“Same card number?”
“Send it to my phone number.”
“Five thousand?”
“Exactly five.”
She tapped the screen a few times. A minute later, my phone gave a brief vibration.
Transfer: 5,000 rubles.
Sender: Galina P.
I showed her the notification and put my phone away.
“Received. Thank you.”
“I hope you’re satisfied now.”
“Now, at least, your claim about saving money matches the numbers. I really didn’t spend the other seven thousand. And my five thousand has been returned.”
She turned away toward the bags of groceries.
“I won’t get involved in your affairs ever again.”
“That’s what I wanted.”
Sergei gathered the printouts from the table and handed them to me. Then he looked at his mother.
“And I won’t forward you Irina’s appointments or purchases anymore. If she wants to tell you about them, she will.”
“As if I care,” Galina Petrovna snapped.
At the door, though, she still asked:
“Are you coming on Sunday? What time should I expect you?”
Sergei put on his jacket.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow whether I’m coming. Irina can decide for herself.”
I looked at him, then zipped my bag shut.
This time, I didn’t need to add anything.
