Oh, it’s so true what they say: if you want to measure just how bold someone can be, try helping a relative pick something out and then just stand there nearby.
“You’ll pay for my kitchen—you’re my sister!” Ludmila announced loudly, her voice echoing through the furniture showroom. She struck a proud pose at the cash register, stretching one foot forward in her expensive sneakers, hands on her hips, radiating superiority. Her lips, plumped up to the size of a ripe, tight plum, curved into a condescending smirk. My forty-three-year-old sister was absolutely convinced that her job as an administrator at an elite fitness center, plus her striking looks, gave her an exclusive right to manage other people’s finances.
Denis, the manager, a skinny young guy in a branded green vest, hovered his fingers over the keyboard, uncertain of what to do next.
“Type it in, young man,” my sister ordered without taking her proprietorial eyes off me. She leaned over the counter, tapping her manicured nails on the glass. “Put it in Alla’s name. Alla, give him your last name and phone number. And your passport too, there’s supposed to be a discount on purchases over three hundred thousand.”
Fifteen years working as a dispatcher in a transport company taught me a lot. When three trucks are stuck at the border, two drivers are off on a binge, and the customer is yelling into the phone so loudly your left ear goes numb, you develop a total immunity to outside pressure.
“Denis,” I said calmly as I stepped slightly away from my sister, making my boundaries clear. “Please remove my name from the preliminary order. You won’t need my passport information either. I’m not buying anything.”
The manager’s fingers recoiled nervously from the mouse.
Ludmila threw up her hands in outrage. Her perfect fitness posture faltered for a moment. “What do you mean you’re not buying?” she hissed in a loud whisper, tugging anxiously at the hem of her dress. “Why did we come here, then? I spent two hours picking out cabinets! I chose Italian solid ash! I matched the countertop to white marble!”
“You did a great job,” I agreed, shrugging to show that her taste wasn’t my concern. “You picked with style. Now take out your card and pay for it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ludmila’s voice got louder. She opened her eyes so wide that wrinkles appeared on her forehead, the same ones she usually hid so carefully under her bangs. “My salary is fifty thousand! And this kitchen costs three hundred and forty! Plus delivery! Plus assembly! Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?”
“Good question. I would have asked myself that before stepping into a premium showroom.”
“But you came with me!” Ludmila smacked her palm loudly against the glass display. Denis behind the counter swallowed hard, visibly nervous. “You walked around with me, nodded your head, said the soft-close drawers were nice!”
“I came because you called and said, ‘Alla, help me out with some advice. You just did some renovations, you know which drawers are best.’ I helped. The soft-close feature really is great. That’s as far as my role goes.”
My sister narrowed her eyes, clearly ready to play her trump card. She snatched her phone from her purse, tapped at the screen quickly, and shoved it right under my nose. “Look at this!”
On the screen was a photo of a completely empty kitchen—bare walls and pipes sticking out of the floor.
“Yesterday I sold my old furniture on a classifieds site! Practically gave it away, just to make some space!” my sister exclaimed dramatically, making sure everyone could hear. A couple of pensioners browsing a nearby shoe rack moved closer, openly eavesdropping on our squabble. A man with a tape measure, who’d been sizing up a corner sofa, stopped and stared at us with interest. A woman with a cup of coffee even halted right in the middle of the aisle, forgetting all about her drink. “I have my coworkers coming over tomorrow! I’m throwing a housewarming, celebrating the renovation! I already promised them a look at my new Italian furniture! What am I supposed to show them? The sink pipe?!”
“Show them the receipt from the old kitchen you sold,” I suggested, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Tell them you’ve embraced minimalism.”
“Alla! You just don’t get it! You and Pasha have two cars! You go to Turkey every year! Are you really saying you can’t help your own sister freshen up her place? I’m not a stranger, I’m family! Denis, put it under her name! I give permission!”
Manager Denis shook his head, nervously glancing back and forth between me and my sister. Store policy didn’t allow him to put a purchase on credit or installment plan under someone else’s name without their consent and documentation.
“Cancel the order,” I instructed the manager, who’d clearly forgotten his job and was now fully engrossed in our family drama. “The buyer can’t pay.”
“Don’t cancel anything!” Lyudmila screeched. “I’ll call Pasha right now! He’s a sensible man, he’ll understand you can’t leave a woman helpless in this situation!” She started furiously poking at her phone screen.
At that moment, a familiar, vibrant voice with a slight rasp chimed in from the side: “What’s all this commotion, clucking around like a hen on an empty nest?”
I turned around. Marching toward our register, tapping her heels and leaning on a cane-umbrella, was Valentina Stepanovna—my mother-in-law. An amazing woman, a former Soviet-era goods expert who could judge the quality of mortadella through vacuum packaging with a single glance. “Valentina Stepanovna?” I said in surprise. “What brings you here?”
“Just shopping for a pouf for our hallway,” my mother-in-law replied, coming right up and giving Lyudmila a thorough once-over before peering at Denis’s monitor. She pushed her glasses to the tip of her nose. “Three hundred forty thousand? Goodness. Lyudochka, did you marry an oligarch and not invite us to the wedding?”
Lyudmila, who never could stand my mother-in-law, pursed her prominent lips in irritation. “Hello, Valentina Stepanovna. This isn’t your business. My sister and I will handle it ourselves.”
“Seems to me like you’re handling it pretty well,” my mother-in-law smirked, leaning both hands on her umbrella. “One of you is rooting around in someone else’s pocket, while the other politely shakes her out of it. Lyuda, stop puffing up—you’ll pop. Tell me: why on earth should my daughter-in-law buy you a set of furniture? Did you get adopted by her or something?”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. The man with the tape measure gave an approving grunt. ‘That’s family support in action!’ Lyudmila declared proudly, tilting her chin while pressing the phone to her ear. ‘Hello? Pasha?!’ She turned on the speakerphone so everyone could fully appreciate my looming defeat.
‘Hi, Lyud, hey,’ came my husband’s calm baritone from the speaker. In the background, there was a loud metallic clang—Pasha was in the garage.
‘Pashen’ka!’ my sister instantly switched up her tone, whining in a sweet, little orphan voice. ‘Here’s the thing… Alla and I just picked out a kitchen for me. It’s so beautiful, Pasha! Italian! But at the checkout, she suddenly took a stand. Says she’s not paying. I have guests tomorrow! Pasha, please tell your wife not to be stingy. You both promised to help me!’
The clanging in the background stopped. ‘Lyuda,’ my husband said, and there was not a hint of sympathy in his voice. ‘First of all, we promised to help you move the old stove to the country house. And I did that last weekend, using my own gas. Second, Alla is a dispatcher, not a charity. And I am a mechanic, not the sponsor of your fitness club.’
‘Pasha, how can you say that?’ Lyudmila began to lose her confidence, dropping the orphan act immediately as real panic took over. ‘We’re family! Can’t you sympathize? I’ve already told everyone I’ll have a new kitchen!’
‘Tell them the plan changed. Anyway, Lyuda, I’ve got to get this oil pan off. Say hi to Alla.’ The call ended with a short series of beeps.
The crowd visibly perked up. The retirees began discussing the ways of modern youth in earnest.
‘Well, did you get the message?’ my mother-in-law asked gently. She adjusted the collar of her coat. ‘Italian solid wood, is it? Sweetie, maybe learn to boil potatoes first before you start demanding marble countertops. Family duty is when a relative is sick—you bring them chicken soup. Demanding luxuries at someone else’s expense? That’s racketeering.’
Lyudmila huffed in outrage. Her plan of public pressure had completely flopped. But giving up easily was never her style. If brute force didn’t work, maybe wearing us down would. She switched off her phone, took a deep breath, as if forgiving us our financial backwardness, and shifted tactics. ‘Alright,’ she said as though making a major concession. She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. ‘I see you’re having a temporary cash crunch. It happens. I’m willing to be reasonable here.’
Denis at the register made a strange sound, something like a muffled snort
and quickly turned away toward the printer.
‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ my sister continued, looking at me with the most sincere eyes. ‘You pay this bill right now with your credit card. And I’ll pay you back every month. Five thousand rubles or so. No interest, obviously, we’re family. It’ll be like an interest-free loan till things get better.’
I quickly did the math and announced the result for everyone: ‘Three hundred forty thousand divided by five thousand a month. That’s sixty-eight months. Almost six years.’
The man with the tape measure couldn’t hold back: «Miss, with inflation these days, your five thousand will be worth as much as a pack of pasta in six years! And who’s going to pay the interest on that bank loan?»
«No one asked you!» snapped Lyudmila. «Alla, you know I’ll pay everything back! I mean, I did pay you back that money I owed for the shoes!»
«You did,» I agreed, zipping up my purse. «But it took you two years, and the shoes were already out of style. Lyuda, do you know where the best times are found?»
«Where?» she blinked at me, completely puzzled.
«On the first floor of this mall. In the bank branch. You go in, take out a consumer loan at twenty-five percent interest, and then enjoy your ash wood and door closers with your own money. I’m heading home. Pasha and I have theater plans tonight.»
«You’re leaving me?!» my sister shouted across the room, clearly outraged. «My walls at home are completely bare!»
«Buy a nail and hang up a flip calendar,» advised Valentina Stepanovna, adjusting the strap of her purse. «That way you can count the days until your loan is paid off in full. Come on, Alla, help me get the ottoman in the trunk.» We turned and headed for the store exit.
«Cancel everything!» my sister’s furious demand echoed after us. «And show me something on sale. Made of particleboard! The cheapest option! And I want it straight from the warehouse right now!»
The evening was shaping up to be perfect. I stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting the silver clasp on my necklace. Pasha was polishing his shoes with a brush, softly whistling a tune from an old movie. We had forty minutes left before we had to leave for the theater. Then my phone started ringing from my purse. On the screen it said: “Lyuda Sister.” I picked up the call.
«Hello, Lyuda.»
«Are you guys home?» Her voice was tense, and in the background I could hear a terrible banging, scraping, and the loud ripping of cardboard.
«We’re home. Getting ready to head out.»
«Perfect!» she barked, completely ignoring my last sentence. «Okay, take Pashka, make him bring his… drill, screwdriver, and that laser level! I read online that without a laser level the cabinet doors will be all crooked. I need you both to come over now.»
I shot a questioning look at my husband. Pasha set aside the shoe brush and moved closer, listening to the phone. «Why?» I asked.
«What do you mean, why?» Lyudmila sounded genuinely offended, like I had forgotten my own name. «To assemble my kitchen!»
«What kitchen?»
«The one I bought! I had to get that cheap ‘Econom-plus’ set. The color is hideous, the finish is awful. I could only afford the cabinets themselves from the warehouse—no delivery, no assembly. I gave my last fifteen hundred rubles to the local janitors so they’d haul those heavy boxes into my apartment. Now my whole hallway is blocked! And tomorrow the girls are coming over! Everything has to be up on the walls before morning!»
«Lyuda,» I said slowly, making every word count. «We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to the theater. We bought these tickets a month ago.»
I could hear furious huffing on the other end of the line. Then it was like a volcano exploded. «What theater?!» my sister screamed so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. «My own sister is facing a disaster, and she’s dressing up to go to the theater?! Are you kidding me?! You ruined my Italian kitchen plans, and now I have to collect this firewood myself?!»
«I didn’t ruin anything for you,» I replied calmly, shifting the phone to a more comfortable position. «You sold the old furniture all by yourself, invited the guests yourself, and tried to buy new stuff at my expense.»
«Put Pasha on!» she demanded.
Silently, I handed the phone to my husband. «Hello,» Pasha answered.
«Pasha!» Lyudmila wailed. «At least you be a decent person! My ex-husband always helped me, but you two only think of yourselves! So what if you miss your play? Just return your tickets, it’s not a big deal! It’ll just take a couple of hours! Come over, put these cabinets together—I’ll make you tea! With bagels!»
«Lyuda,» Pasha’s voice was firmer than that Italian ash wood you wanted. «To assemble a budget kitchen from scratch takes about eight hours of careful work, a jigsaw for the sink, a ton of fasteners, and nerves of steel. Right now all I have is a freshly ironed shirt and tickets to Molière. Is there an instruction manual in the box?»
«What manual?! It’s just boards and a bag of bolts! I already put three boards together and they keep falling apart!»
«Look for a piece of paper. Grab a screwdriver and get started. It’s great for developing spatial thinking. Just don’t drive nails all the way through, or you’ll ruin your neighbor’s painting.»
«You… You…» Lyudmila was gasping from such unshakable resolve. She was practically puffing right into the microphone. «You traitors! You’re not family! I’ll remember this! I’ll never set foot in your house again! You’ll regret this!»
«Have a good evening, Lyuda,» Pasha replied and ended the call. He glanced at me with a mischievous squint and went back to his shoes. «What do you think,» he asked, «will she manage to assemble even one cabinet?»
«I think she’ll try to find the faulty part among the bolts,» I answered, buttoning up my coat.
The next day, around lunchtime, my husband and I were enjoying a leisurely breakfast. The doorbell rang, and at the same time my phone buzzed. Katya’s name popped up on the screen—she was one of those invited to that very «housewarming bash.» I answered and put her on speakerphone.
«Alla, are you standing or sitting?» Katya asked instead of saying hello. There was barely contained laughter in her voice.
«I’m sitting at the table. Go on, tell me.»
«We went over to Lyudka’s yesterday… It was absolutely hilarious and tragic at the same time! When we came in, our jaws dropped at the sight. The hallway was full of torn cardboard, bits of Styrofoam everywhere, and empty bags. We walked into the kitchen…» Katya couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing right into the phone.
«Don’t keep me in suspense,» I urged, picturing the scene perfectly.
«There’s our Lyudmila—hair styled, evening dress on, and a kitchen apron tied over it. But there’s not a single cabinet hanging on the walls! On the floor are these crookedly nailed boxes, and on one, the bottom is nailed where a side should be! And on top, all lined up in a row, are the… cabinet doors. The facades.»
«Lined up?»
Yes! Everything was just lying there horizontally. Lyuda met us with a smug look on her face and said, «Girls, the workers let me down, the assembly crew went on a drinking binge, so there’s a delay. But you can at least appreciate the texture of the cabinets and the bold color choice!»
I burst out laughing. Pasha raised an eyebrow, tuning in to the story. «So, what color is it?» my husband asked.
«Oh, hi Pasha! The color is ‘neon orange,’ so bright it nearly burns your eyes,» Katya reported. She caught her breath and went on. «The cheapest gloss, too. But that’s not even all. We sat down at the table—well, actually, we stood around a stool, since she already sold the real table. She popped open some champagne and started complaining.»
«About us?» I guessed.
«About you, about the store, greedy movers, and the furniture factory.» Katya chuckled into the phone. «She says, ‘Can you believe it? The manufacturer includes the wrong instructions on purpose, so people struggle and end up calling their paid repairmen! I spent three hours yesterday trying to attach the hinge to the door, and the stupid thing won’t open from the right side!’ We look over and she had screwed the hinges onto the outside of the cabinet door! Right on that shiny orange board!»
Pasha nearly choked on his tea, coughing with laughter.
«So we tell her, ‘Lyuda, the hinges are supposed to go inside so you can’t see them,'» Katya continued, now fully laughing. «And she shoots back, ‘You know nothing about modern design! This is loft style—deliberately industrial and rough!'»
«Loft style with cheap particleboard and exposed screws—that’s a new frontier in world architecture,» Pasha remarked.
«So, we drank our champagne standing up, snacked on cheese right out of a cardboard box, and then left before things could get any worse,» Katya concluded. «She stayed there, all alone with her boards, still trying to put together that mess. Apparently, she also tried to glue the sink to the wall with super glue—thank goodness she stopped in time. Now she’s saying she’ll hire a pro, but she’s going to send you the bill for the ‘moral damages’ and her ruined evening.»
Continued in the comments.
«Let her send it,» I said, sipping my now-cold tea. «We have a big mailbox; all the bills will fit.»
We said goodbye to Katya. I glanced around my tidy, comfortable kitchen—the one that Pasha and I paid for with our own hard-earned money two years ago. I watched my husband peacefully finishing his drink. My money is still with me. My nerves are perfectly intact. And my sister, who always tried to live large at someone else’s expense, has—for the first time—gotten exactly what she paid for. Now she’ll have to piece together this harsh reality with her own hands. Literally, screw by screw.
