«“The relatives on my husband’s side brought me a gift for my anniversary. The gift came as a package deal with their audacity. They had no idea how this would end…
Nadya adjusted her perfectly styled curls as she looked in the hallway mirror and took a deep breath. Forty years old. A Rubicon. From the kitchen came the aroma of roasted pork with potatoes — her signature dish, the one her husband Zhenya adored to the point of trembling with anticipation. Zhenya himself was currently nervously rearranging the wine glasses in the living room.
‘Nadyush, they’re already in the elevator,’ he called out, and his voice carried the tension of a soldier about to step into a minefield. ‘Hang in there, I’m with you.’
The doorbell rang like an air-raid siren. On the threshold stood the “holy trinity”: mother-in-law Larisa Ivanovna in a hat that looked like the nest of a frightened heron, sister-in-law Galya with an expression as if everyone owed her a million dollars, and ten-year-old Antoshka — the “golden grandson” — who kicked Nadya’s favorite suede shoes the moment he came in.
‘Well, happy aging day to you, dear!’ Galya loudly announced as she squeezed into the hallway without even thinking of taking off her shoes. ‘Oh, why is it so cramped in here? Zhenya, you still haven’t expanded the entryway? What a nightmare.’
‘Hello, Galya. Wishing you good health too,’ Nadya replied with the kind of smile usually reserved for tax inspectors. ‘Come in. The slippers are on the right.’
‘Antoshka doesn’t need slippers, he has flat feet, it’s bad for him!’ Larisa Ivanovna immediately snapped, shoving her grandson away from the shoe rack. ‘And anyway, your floors are cold. Anya probably walks around in wool socks, doesn’t she? Where is my granddaughter, by the way? Hiding again?’
Twelve-year-old Anya came out of her room, quietly clutching a folder of drawings to her chest.
‘Hello, Grandma.’
Larisa Ivanovna swept the girl with an indifferent glance.
‘Ah, hello. Have you lost weight or something? Skin and bones. Now Antosha, on the other hand, is a real strongman! Galya, show them the certificate he got for speed-eating burgers!’
‘Later, Mom,’ Galya waved her off, flopping onto the couch and looking over the festive table. ‘Nadya, what, no caviar? We’ve been on the road, we’re hungry as wolves. Antosha, don’t touch the vase! Although actually, go ahead, touch it — it’s cheap glass.’
Nadya exchanged a look with her husband. Zhenya said nothing — a deal was a deal. Don’t ruin the holiday.
‘Help yourselves, dear guests, to what little we have,’ Nadya said as she set down a salad bowl. ‘The caviar is in the tartlets, Galya. If you look with your eyes instead of your greed, you might notice it.’
Galya choked on air, but quickly recovered.
‘Oh, look how touchy we’ve become at forty! Speaking of age, Mom and I brought you a gift. Exclusive!’
Larisa Ivanovna ceremoniously plopped a huge, battered supermarket bag onto the table.
‘Here!’ the mother-in-law declared proudly. ‘This is a family heirloom. I saved it for a special occasion.’
Nadya looked inside. There was an old electric samovar inside, yellowed with age, with peeling wiring and obvious traces of century-old limescale. The “gift” smelled of dampness and storage closet.
‘Is this… vintage?’ Nadya asked, trying not to laugh.
‘It’s a keepsake!’ Larisa Ivanovna said, lifting a finger in admonishment. ‘And anyway, you don’t inspect a gift horse’s teeth. And you, Nadya, could at least say thank you. We even spent money on a taxi to bring this heavy thing here. Zhenya, will you pay Galya back for the ride? She’s going through a difficult time right now, her husband is behind on alimony.’
‘Mom, Galya’s husband lives in the same apartment with her — what alimony?’ Zhenya finally snapped.
‘Psychological alimony!’ Galya barked, helping herself to a double portion of pork. ‘You, brother, should be helping your sister anyway. Actually, we came on business. Antosha needs a new laptop for school. A gaming one. The one you bought Anya last year would suit him just fine. She only draws anyway, she doesn’t need a powerful one. Give it to your nephew, huh?’
Silence fell over the room. Anya shrank into her chair, staring at her father in horror.
‘No,’ Zhenya said firmly.
‘What do you mean, no?’ Larisa Ivanovna’s fork clattered onto her plate. ‘Zhenya, you’re selfish! Anya is a girl — she should be getting married and cooking borscht, why would she need a computer? But Antosha is a future programmer! The houses he builds in Minecraft!’
‘Grandma, it’s my computer, I’m learning graphic design on it,’ Anya said quietly but clearly.
‘Just look at how she talks back to her elders!’ Galya threw up her hands. ‘Nadya, this is your parenting! You’re raising a brat! Antosha, sweetheart, go see what interesting things Anya has in her room.’
‘Sit down!’ Nadya’s voice rang out like a gunshot. Antoshka, who had already half-risen from his chair, dropped back into it.
Nadya slowly stood, holding a glass of wine. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
‘Greed breeds poverty.’
‘What are you implying?!’ Galya screeched, flushing blotchy red. ‘That my Antosha… that we… How dare you lecture us on your own anniversary?! Mom, do you hear her? She’s insulting us!’
At that moment there was a crash. Everyone turned around.
Taking advantage of the moment while the adults were arguing, Antoshka had pulled Anya’s folder off the table. He was trying to get one of the drawings out, yanked at it — and knocked a gravy boat full of fatty lingonberry sauce onto the folder.
‘My project!’ Anya cried out, rushing to the table.
The drawings she had worked on for three months for a competition were soaked in sticky red sludge. They were ruined beyond repair.
‘Well, there you go — you frightened the child with your nonsense, his hands started shaking!’ Larisa Ivanovna immediately went on the attack. ‘So what, it’s just some doodles! She can draw new ones! But now you owe Antosha a shirt — he got stained on your tablecloth!’
Anya burst into tears and ran to her room. Zhenya stood up. He was pale, and the muscles in his jaw were twitching violently.
‘Out,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’ Galya froze with a piece of meat halfway to her mouth.
‘Out of here. All three of you. Right now.’
‘Zhenya! You’re throwing your own mother out?!’ Larisa Ivanovna clutched at her heart, rolling her eyes. ‘Oh, I feel faint! Nadya, give me some Corvalol!’
‘I don’t have any Corvalol,’ Nadya replied calmly, folding her arms across her chest. ‘But I do have some excellent news I was saving for dessert…’
»
Nadya adjusted her perfectly styled curls in the hallway mirror and took a deep breath. Forty years old. A Rubicon. From the kitchen came the aroma of roasted pork with potatoes—her signature dish, the one her husband Zhenya adored to the point of trembling. Zhenya himself was nervously rearranging wine glasses in the living room.
“Nadyush, they’re already in the elevator,” he shouted, and his voice carried the tension of a soldier about to step onto a minefield. “Hang in there, I’m with you.”
The doorbell rang like an air-raid siren. On the threshold stood the “holy trinity”: her mother-in-law Larisa Ivanovna in a hat that looked like the nest of a frightened heron, her sister-in-law Galya with the expression of someone to whom the whole world owed a million dollars, and ten-year-old Antoshka—the “golden grandson,” who kicked Nadya’s favorite suede shoes the moment he stepped inside.
“Well, happy aging day to you, dear!” Galya announced loudly, squeezing into the hallway without even thinking of taking off her shoes. “Oh, why is it so cramped in here? Zhenya, you still haven’t expanded the entryway? What a nightmare.”
“Hello, Galya. And good health to you too,” Nadya replied with the kind of smile one usually reserves for a tax inspector. “Come in. The slippers are on the right.”
“Antoshka doesn’t need slippers, he has flat feet, it’s bad for him!” Larisa Ivanovna shot back at once, pushing her grandson away from the shoe rack. “And besides, your floors are cold. I bet Anechka walks around in wool socks, doesn’t she? Where is my granddaughter, anyway? Hiding again?”
Twelve-year-old Anya came out of her room, quietly clutching a folder of drawings to her chest.
“Hello, Grandma.”
Larisa Ivanovna gave the girl an indifferent glance.
“Oh, hi. Have you lost weight or something? Skin and bones. Now Antosha—he’s a real strongman! Galya, show them the certificate he got for speed-eating burgers!”
“Later, Mom,” Galya waved her off, dropping onto the sofa and looking over the праздничный table. “Nadya, what, no caviar? We’ve been on the road, we’re hungry as wolves. Antosha, don’t touch the vase! Actually, no, touch it—it’s cheap glass.”
Nadya exchanged a look with her husband. Zhenya stayed silent—a deal was a deal. Don’t ruin the holiday.
“Help yourselves, dear guests, to whatever we have,” Nadya said, setting a salad bowl on the table. “The caviar is in the tartlets, Galya. If you looked with your eyes instead of your greed, you might have noticed.”
Galya nearly choked on air, but recovered at once.
“Oh, look how sensitive we’ve become at forty! Speaking of age—we brought a gift from Mom and me. Exclusive!”
Larisa Ivanovna ceremoniously placed a huge, battered supermarket bag on the table.
“Here!” the mother-in-law declared proudly. “This is a family heirloom. I saved it for a special occasion.”
Nadya peeked inside. There was an old electric samovar, yellowed with age, with peeling wires and obvious traces of century-old limescale. The “gift” smelled of dampness and storage closet.
“Is this… vintage?” Nadya asked, trying not to laugh.
“It’s a keepsake!” Larisa Ivanovna raised a finger reprovingly. “And anyway, you don’t inspect a gift horse’s teeth. You could at least say thank you, Nadya. We even spent money on a taxi to haul this heavy thing over here. Zhenya, will you pay Galya back for the ride? She’s going through a hard time right now—her husband is late on child support.”
“Mom, Galya’s husband lives in the same apartment with her. What child support?” Zhenya finally snapped.
“Psychological support!” Galya barked, heaping a double portion of pork onto her plate. “You, brother, should be helping your sister anyway. Actually, we came for a reason. Antosha needs a new laptop for school. A gaming one. The one you bought Anya last year would suit him just fine. She only draws anyway, she doesn’t need a powerful one. Give it to your nephew, huh?”
Silence fell over the room. Anya shrank into her chair, staring at her father in horror.
“No,” Zhenya said firmly.
“What do you mean, no?” Larisa Ivanovna’s fork clattered onto her plate. “Zhenya, you’re selfish! Anya’s a girl—she’s supposed to get married and cook borscht someday, what does she need a computer for? But Antosha is a future programmer! You should see the houses he builds in Minecraft!”
“Grandma, it’s my computer. I’m learning graphic design on it,” Anya said quietly but clearly.
“Just look at how she talks to her elders!” Galya threw up her hands. “Nadya, this is your parenting! She’s growing into a brat! Antosha, sweetheart, go see what Anya has in her room.”
“Sit down!” Nadya’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot. Antoshka, who had already half-risen from his chair, dropped right back into it.
Nadya slowly stood up, holding a glass of wine. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Greed breeds poverty.”
“What are you implying?!” Galya shrieked, blotches of red spreading across her face. “That my Antosha… that we… How dare you lecture us on your own anniversary! Mom, do you hear this? She’s insulting us!”
At that moment, there was a crash. Everyone turned.
Antoshka, taking advantage of the adults arguing, had pulled Anya’s folder off the table. He tried to yank one drawing out, tugged too hard—and knocked a gravy boat full of greasy lingonberry sauce right onto the folder.
“My project!” Anya cried out, rushing to the table.
The drawings she had spent three months working on for a competition were soaked in sticky red sludge. They were hopelessly ruined.
“Well, there you go—your horror stories scared the child, his hands started shaking!” Larisa Ivanovna instantly went on the attack. “So what if it’s some scribbling? She’ll draw new ones! But now you owe Antosha a new shirt—he got dirty on your tablecloth!”
Anya burst into tears and ran to her room. Zhenya stood up. He had gone pale, and the muscles in his jaw were twitching.
“Out,” he said quietly.
“What?” Galya froze with a piece of meat halfway to her mouth.
“Out of here. All three of you. Right now.”
“Zhenya! You’re throwing out your own mother?!” Larisa Ivanovna clutched her heart, rolling her eyes back. “Oh, I feel faint! Nadya, get me some Corvalol!”
“I don’t have any Corvalol,” Nadya replied calmly, folding her arms. “But I do have some excellent news I wanted to save for dessert.”
She walked to the cabinet and took out a beautiful envelope.
“Galya, remember how you kept whining about your loan debt and collectors calling you?”
Her sister-in-law’s eyes lit up greedily.
“Well? What, did you decide to help?”
“Zhenya and I discussed it,” Nadya said, turning the envelope in her hands. “We were planning to give you two hundred thousand rubles. So you could pay off your debts and leave us alone for at least half a year. Zhenya even withdrew the money.”
Galya leaned forward so far she nearly overturned the salad. Larisa Ivanovna was miraculously cured and straightened her back.
“Oh, Nadyusha, now you see!” the mother-in-law cooed. “Blood is thicker than water! Hand it over, we just—”
“But,” Nadya cut her off, “looking at this wonderful samovar you dragged in from a dump… and looking at how you destroyed my daughter’s work… and most of all, hearing you demand that Anya’s computer be taken away…”
Slowly, with obvious satisfaction, Nadya put the envelope into the safe.
“What are you doing?! Idiot!” Galya screamed, jumping to her feet. “That’s our money!”
“It is not your money. It’s the price of your behavior,” Zhenya said crisply, stepping up to his wife and putting an arm around her shoulders. “Tomorrow Anya is going to the best art school in the city. A private one. With exactly that money. And Antosha can play on whatever he already has.”
“You… you’ll regret this!” Larisa Ivanovna hissed, grabbing her hat. “My foot will never cross this threshold again! You’ll be all alone! Who needs you besides your family?”
“With family like this, you don’t need enemies,” Nadya smirked. “Take your samovar with you. And yes, Galya, I’m not paying for your taxi. Walking is good for your health.”
Galya grabbed Antoshka by the hand; he started bawling, demanding dessert. Larisa Ivanovna tried to lift the heavy samovar, but the bag tore, and the rusty miracle of technology crashed down onto her foot with a clang.
“Ow! My God! Murderers!” the mother-in-law wailed, hopping on one foot toward the door.
“Close the door behind you,” Zhenya said coldly.
When the door slammed shut behind them, a ringing silence settled over the apartment. Nadya looked at her husband. Zhenya exhaled, and his shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry they ruined your anniversary,” he said dully.
“Are you kidding?” Nadya walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “This is the best gift. I’ve been waiting ten years for us to do this.”
The door to Anya’s room cracked open. The girl peeked out, wiping her tears.
“Mom, Dad… are they gone?”
“They’re gone, sweetheart. For good,” Zhenya smiled. “Bring me your rough sketches. I’ve got an idea. We’re going to the store right now and buying you the best professional tablet we can find. You’ll redraw your project digitally. We can still make the competition deadline.”
Anya squealed and threw herself around her father’s neck.
Nadya looked at them and felt warmth spreading inside her. The pork and potatoes were cooling on the table, a sauce stain was spreading across the rug, and broken pieces of the old samovar lay scattered in the hallway.
She suddenly realized it wasn’t a mess—it was the final scene of a performance in which they had tried for years to force her into the role of the “quiet and convenient” one. The samovar had cracked, the rug would survive, but her patience would not—it was already in the trash, right next to other people’s demands.
Nadya slowly wiped her hands on a towel and, for the first time in a very long while, did not rush to smooth over the awkwardness.
She sat down, calmly sipped her tea, and felt everything inside her fall into place—without shouting, without excuses, simply honestly. And it felt wonderful.
That evening Nadya’s phone was exploding with messages. Galya wrote: “Antoshka is crying, he wants cake! You’re monsters!” Nadya silently blocked her number. Then her mother-in-law’s number too.
She poured herself a glass of wine, took a bite of cake, and looked thoughtfully out the window.
A boomerang does not always come back right away. Sometimes it needs a little help reaching its target. And today, it hit without missing.
