“Mother is moving in with us on Saturday, so we’re giving her the big room,” Seryoga announced without looking up from his plate of pasta.
Nina froze, still holding an oven mitt. She had just taken the kettle off the stove.
“What do you mean, the big room?” she asked.
“Exactly what I said.”
Seryoga finally looked up from his dinner and reached for a piece of bread.
“She’s not going into Danya’s old room. The kid lives in the dorm anyway and only comes home on weekends. Mother needs more space. You know about her blood pressure. She needs air.”
Nina carefully hung the oven mitt on the hook beside the stove. She ran her palm across the countertop, sweeping up invisible crumbs.
“We renovated our bedroom for ourselves,” she said evenly.
“So what?”
“So we waited two months for that custom-made bed. And we paid a fortune for the mattress because my back is killing me after my shifts at the clinic.”
Seryoga irritably pushed away his empty plate.
“We’ll sleep on the sofa in the small room. We won’t fall apart!”
“I’m not sleeping on a sofa.”
“Oh, don’t start this, all right?” Seryoga raised his voice.
He leaned back in his kitchen chair and folded his arms across his chest. The classic posture of the man of the house preparing to force his decision through.
“A mother is a mother. I’ve already decided everything. It’s hard for her to live alone in the village. She’s getting old. Winter is coming, and there’s no one to tend the stove. I’m going to get her things this evening, so get the bedroom ready. Put on fresh sheets. And clear out some shelves in the wardrobe because she has a lot of bags.”
Nina looked at her husband as though she didn’t recognize him.
Or rather, as though she recognized him all too well.
His habit of presenting her with a fait accompli after everything had already been decided in his favor was becoming more frequent.
“Zinaida Petrovna has managed perfectly well with the stove for the past ten years,” Nina pointed out.
“She’s getting old!” Seryoga barked. “That’s it. End of discussion. I’m going to get her things.”
Nina said nothing.
She silently left the kitchen, walked through the hallway, and entered their bedroom. She opened the wardrobe door. Behind her dresses was a small metal safe where they kept the apartment documents, passports, and some cash.
Nina took the key fob for their brand-new crossover from the shelf beside the mirror.
The very same car they had bought six months earlier. The down payment had come from the money Nina received after selling her aunt’s country house.
She placed the keys on the metal shelf inside the safe.
The door slammed shut.
Nina spun the combination dial, scrambling the code. The mechanism clicked dully.
An hour later, Seryoga began getting ready to leave. His jacket rustled in the hallway, and the shoehorn clattered against the floor.
“Nina, where are the car keys?” came his voice from the entryway.
She walked out of the room and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.
“In the safe.”
Seryoga straightened up, still wearing only one shoe.
“What do you mean, in the safe? Get them out. I have to go. Mother has a mountain of boxes. She’s prepared jars of preserves, and there are some old seedlings that need throwing away.”
“I’m not getting them out,” Nina replied coldly.
Seryoga frowned.
“What are you playing at? Stop putting on a show. I’m running out of time. It gets dark early, and I still have forty kilometers of highway ahead of me.”
“There’s no show,” Nina said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Then open your little metal box.”
“You decide all by yourself who gets to live in our bedroom,” Nina said, looking him directly in the eyes.
“So?”
“So I get to decide all by myself who gets to drive my car.”
Red blotches appeared on Seryoga’s face.
“Our car!” he shouted so loudly that his voice filled the entire apartment. “We bought it while we were married!”
“I paid eighty percent of its cost with the money from my aunt’s inheritance,” Nina shot back. “And the loan payments come out of my salary. You haven’t paid a single kopeck toward it in six months.”
Seryoga threw the shoehorn onto the mat by the door.
“You’re throwing my mother out onto the street over a piece of metal?”
“Zinaida Petrovna is not on the street. She’s in her own warm house. And if living in the city is such a matter of life and death for her, then Danya’s room is available.”
“It’s cramped! The sofa is narrow! And the window faces the road, so it’ll be noisy!”
“Then she can sleep on the narrow sofa with the window closed,” Nina replied without taking her eyes off him. “My car isn’t going anywhere.”
Seryoga took a heavy step toward her.
“Open the safe.”
“No.”
“Nina, don’t make me angry.”
“Or what?” She raised her chin.
They stood facing one another.
Through the wall came the low murmur of the neighbors’ television.
Seryoga was used to his wife always giving in. She might grumble and protest for appearance’s sake, but eventually she would make dinner, put fresh sheets on the bed, and do exactly what he said.
“You do understand I’m bringing her here anyway, don’t you?” he asked threateningly.
“Bring her,” Nina said with a shrug.
She took one step backward.
“Buses run on schedule. From the bus station to our stop takes about forty minutes. But I’m not giving up our bed.”
Seryoga stared at her from under lowered brows for a long time.
He waited for her to surrender, look away, and go spin the dial on the safe.
Nina stood perfectly still.
Then he silently put on his shoes, yanked on his jacket, and left the apartment.
The threshold creaked beneath his weight.
The door closed without a dramatic slam.
Nina returned to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.
Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat, but outwardly she remained completely composed.
No panic.
Twenty minutes later, the phone on the table came to life.
Her mother-in-law’s name appeared on the screen.
Nina watched the vibrating phone for a while.
She didn’t want to answer.
But Zinaida Petrovna was one of those women who would keep calling until the other person surrendered.
“Yes, Zinaida Petrovna,” Nina said evenly as she answered.
“Ninochka, hello!” her mother-in-law sang cheerfully.
Her tone was so sugary that Nina felt like drinking another glass of water just to wash it down.
“Good evening.”
“Ninochka, darling, what happened between you and Seryozha? He just called me from the bus station. He’s shouting into the phone and swearing. He says you won’t give him the car to move his own mother.”
“The car is broken,” Nina replied briefly.
“Broken? But it’s new!” her mother-in-law gasped.
“That’s how it is. The electronics failed. It doesn’t recognize the key. Didn’t Seryozha tell you?”
Zinaida Petrovna fell silent.
In the background, somewhere in the village, a dog could be heard barking.
“Nina, you’re an intelligent woman,” her mother-in-law’s tone changed.
The flattery was over.
Now came the pressure.
“You understand that at my age, I can’t jump on and off buses carrying all those bags. I have back problems. My blood pressure goes up and down.”
“Seryozha will help you,” Nina countered calmly. “He’s strong. You raised a real hero.”
“How exactly is he supposed to help me? I have five boxes of preserves alone! And warm clothes, and seedlings… How is he supposed to carry all that on his back?”
“Then he can hire a cargo taxi.”
“That costs a fortune!” her mother-in-law protested. “They charge three thousand rubles for a Gazelle van these days! And it’s not even that far!”
“Zinaida Petrovna, there’s nothing I can do to help,” Nina cut her off.
“Nina, have you made up my bed already? Seryozha told me you were giving me your room. It’s brighter, and the wardrobe is bigger.”
Nina closed her eyes.
“Seryozha spoke too soon. We’re sleeping in our bedroom. Your room will be Danya’s. I’ll unfold the sofa for you.”
“The sofa? For me? With my bad back?”
“Our bed has a mattress that was specially selected for spinal problems,” Nina explained coldly. “I can’t give it up. If it’s really that critical for you, Seryozha can buy you a new mattress for the sofa.”
Silence hung on the other end of the line.
Zinaida Petrovna clearly had not expected such resistance.
Usually, Nina silently swallowed every initiative her mother-in-law came up with just to avoid escalating tensions.
“I see you’ve completely lost your conscience,” her mother-in-law finally hissed. “You’re throwing your husband’s mother out onto the street.”
“I’m not throwing you anywhere. Come. The room is available. We’re waiting for you.”
Nina ended the call.
The rest of the evening passed peacefully.
Nina dusted the living room, keeping her hands busy.
Seryoga returned late that night.
Alone.
Nina was sitting in the kitchen.
The only light came from above the stove.
He trudged heavily into the entryway. His jacket was damp from the wet snow that had begun falling. His face was red and weather-beaten.
“I’m back,” Seryoga muttered as he pulled off his shoes.
He didn’t look toward the kitchen.
Nina silently placed a plate of cold dinner in front of him.
She did not reheat it.
Seryoga entered the kitchen and dropped into a chair. He rubbed his cold hands together.
“Mother is coming on Sunday,” he said, staring into an empty cup.
Nina stood beside the sink and waited for him to continue.
“She’ll stay in Danya’s room,” Seryoga added.
His voice was hoarse and lacked its former confidence.
“She doesn’t really need that much space anyway. I ordered a Gazelle van for the day after tomorrow. They charged me five thousand. Miserly crooks.”
“I see,” Nina replied briefly.
“And, well…” Seryoga finally looked up at her. “We’ll need to buy her a mattress. A thin one that goes on top of the sofa. I think it’s called a topper. Will you choose one tomorrow?”
“I’ll choose it. Transfer the money to my card.”
Seryoga clenched his jaw but remained silent.
He began eating the cold pasta.
Nina did not offer to heat it up.
She simply wiped the countertop and went to the bedroom.
Two months passed.
Winter had fully taken hold, burying the city under snow.
Zinaida Petrovna had settled into Danya’s room.
She really did have a lot of belongings. Boxes of preserves occupied half the balcony, while bags of old clothes had been tightly stuffed beneath the sofa.
Nina was returning from a shift.
She parked the crossover beside the building and climbed to the third floor.
The apartment smelled of fried onions.
“Ninochka, is that you?” came a voice from the small room.
Zinaida Petrovna stepped into the hallway, wrapped in a down shawl.
“Yes. Good evening.”
“Oh, my back, my back,” her mother-in-law began her usual song, leaning against the doorframe. “That topper of yours is useless. It’s impossible to sleep on. I tossed and turned all night.”
Nina hung her coat on the hook.
“Seryozha chose it based on the reviews. He bought the most expensive one.”
“Who cares what they write in reviews!” her mother-in-law waved dismissively. “People write all sorts of things on fences too. You have that wide bed, so your back can rest. And here I am sleeping like I’m perched on a pole.”
Seryoga looked out from the kitchen.
He was chewing a sandwich.
“Mom, we’ve already discussed this. It’s a perfectly normal sofa.”
“Normal!” Zinaida Petrovna snorted. “You try sleeping on it! Instead, you’re stretched out on your royal mattress.”
Seryoga grimaced unhappily but did not argue.
Lately, he had generally been trying to argue less.
Moving his mother had cost him a substantial amount of money: first the Gazelle van, then the movers, then the mattress topper, and then new shelves for the wardrobe because the old ones had collapsed under the weight of her bags.
Nina walked into the kitchen and poured herself some hot water.
“Nina,” Seryoga said after finishing his sandwich and brushing the crumbs into the sink. “I need to travel out to the region for work tomorrow. Will you give me the keys?”
He asked casually, but Nina noticed how tense he became.
“No, Seryozha. I have a shift tomorrow too. The buses aren’t running properly because of the snow.”
“But I need it more!” he protested. “It’ll take me three hours to get there by minibus!”
“Then leave earlier,” Nina said, taking a sip.
Her mother-in-law let out a loud, theatrical sigh from the hallway.
“There you have it, son. No respect whatsoever. Not for her own husband, not for his mother. Everything is for herself. Everything has to be her way.”
Seryoga bristled and opened his mouth, apparently preparing another speech about how “we’re a family” and “everything belongs to both of us.”
But then he looked at Nina.
At her calm, steady gaze.
At the cup in her hands.
And he remembered that evening two months earlier when he had been left standing at the bus station in the wet snow.
“Fine,” Seryoga said through clenched teeth. “I’ll take the minibus.”
He turned around and went into the bedroom.
Nina finished her water.
The car keys were in the pocket of her coat.
She had left the safe open for a long time now—there was nothing left to hide.
The rules in that household had changed, and it seemed that everyone had finally begun getting used to them.
