“Dad? What are you doing here at this hour?”
Elya opened the door and saw her father standing there with a suitcase. Stepan Mikhailovich looked bewildered and disheveled, his shirt badly wrinkled. It was already dark outside, and the clock showed half past ten.
“Could I stay with you for a little while?” he asked without looking his daughter in the eye.
“Of course. Come in. What happened? Where’s Mom?”
“She’s at home. Everything’s fine. It’s just… could I stay here?”
Elya let her father into the apartment. Her husband, Igor, came out of the bedroom wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“Stepan Mikhailovich? Good evening. Has something happened?”
“Svetka and I had a fight. Could I spend the night?”
Elya and Igor exchanged glances. In the twelve years they had been together, nothing like this had ever happened. Elya’s parents had always seemed devoted to each other. Forty years together, two children, grandchildren—the model family.
“Dad, what happened?” Elya asked as she helped him take off his jacket. “You’ve never had a serious fight.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Would you like some tea?” Igor offered.
“Vodka would be better,” Stepan muttered.
Elya took a bottle from the refrigerator and sliced some cucumbers and cured pork fat. They sat down in the kitchen. Stepan downed a shot and followed it with a bite of cucumber.
“Dad, please tell me. Maybe there’s something we can do.”
“There’s nothing to do. That’s it. Forty years down the drain.”
“But what happened?”
“She cheated on me. That’s what happened.”
Elya nearly choked on her tea. Igor coughed.
“Mom? Cheated on you? Dad, have you lost your mind?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“What did you see?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Stepan poured himself another shot and drank it. Elya stared at her father, hardly recognizing him. Usually calm and sensible, he now looked like a hurt child.
“Dad, Mom loves you. She—”
“Loves me!” Stepan slammed his fist on the table. “She loves me so much she’s fooling around with Lyovka!”
“Which Lyovka?”
“My friend! We’ve been friends for forty years, and he… that bastard!”
Elya tried calling her mother, but she didn’t answer. She sent a message: Mom, Dad’s here. What happened? There was no reply.
“All right, Dad. Let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk in the morning when we’ve all had some sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“Stepan Mikhailovich,” Igor said, “let’s sit down properly tomorrow evening. Have a drink and talk it through. You’re tired right now, and the trip here—”
“What trip? I came by subway. I didn’t even take the car. I left it for her. Let her drive around with Lyovka.”
They settled Stepan in the guest room. Elya lay awake for a long time, thinking. Her parents had always been an example to her. Whenever her friends complained about problems in their marriages, she would say, “My parents have been together forty years, and they’ve never had a serious fight.” And now, suddenly, an affair? At their age?
The next morning, Stepan behaved as though nothing had happened. He ate breakfast, helped Igor fix a dripping bathroom faucet, and watched the news. When Elya asked about the previous night, he gave short answers.
She tried calling her mother again. On the fifth attempt, Svetlana picked up.
“Hello.”
“Mom, what’s going on? Dad says you cheated on him.”
“Your father is an old fool.”
“Mom!”
“What do you mean, ‘Mom’? We’ve spent forty years together, and then he goes and does this… He broke Lyovka’s nose. The poor man’s at the emergency clinic now.”
“Why?”
“Ask your father. Let him tell you what his sick imagination came up with.”
“Mom, please explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. The faucet was leaking, so I called someone to fix it. Lyovka came over—he does plumbing jobs now that he’s retired. He got soaked while he was working, so I gave him one of Styopa’s old T-shirts to change into. Then your father came home, saw him, and decided… I’m an old fool myself for marrying such an idiot.”
“Mom, it’s a misunderstanding!”
“What kind of misunderstanding? He beat up Lyovka, called me a whore, and walked out. We’ve been together forty years, and he didn’t believe me. He wouldn’t even listen.”
“Mom, he just—”
“There’s no ‘just’ about it. He can live wherever he likes. I don’t want to see him.”
The call ended. Elya put down her phone and went to her father.
“Dad, I spoke to Mom.”
“What story did she make up?”
“She said Lyovka came over to fix the faucet.”
“She’s lying.”
“Dad, what exactly did you see them doing?”
“I saw Lyovka in my T-shirt! Mine! Standing in the kitchen drinking tea in my T-shirt!”
“And that’s all?”
“What more do you need?”
“Dad, maybe he really was fixing the faucet. Maybe he got soaked and changed his shirt.”
“Into my T-shirt!”
“So what? Mom gave him something dry to wear. What’s wrong with that?”
Stepan fell silent. Then he got up and paced around the room.
“She was laughing with him. They were sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and laughing.”
“Dad, laughing isn’t a crime.”
“She doesn’t laugh like that with me.”
“What?”
“She hasn’t for a long time. But with him, she was laughing.”
Elya sat beside her father and took his hand.
“Dad, are you jealous?”
“Jealous? I’m sixty-five.”
“So? Jealousy doesn’t care how old you are.”
“Nonsense.”
“Have you told Mom you miss her attention? That you want her to laugh with you?”
“What am I, a little boy, asking for attention?”
“And getting into a fight wasn’t childish?”
Stepan lowered his head.
That evening, they gathered in the kitchen. Igor opened a good bottle of wine, and Elya made some snacks. At first Stepan resisted, but after his second glass, he began to talk.
“You see, I was on my way home. I was in a good mood—they’d given me a bonus at work. I thought I’d buy Svetka some flowers. It had been a long time since I’d done that. I walked into the apartment and heard voices in the kitchen. Laughter. I went in, and there was Lyovka, wearing my T-shirt. My favorite one. The one Svetka gave me for my birthday five years ago.”
“Dad, you said it was an old T-shirt.”
“It’s my favorite! The one with Beavis and Butt-Head on it. Svetka ordered it specially because we liked that cartoon when we were younger. And there he was, sitting in it. They were laughing. His trousers were under the table, and his shirt was hanging on a chair.”
“Because they were wet,” Elya said.
“How do you know?”
“Mom told me. He was fixing the faucet and got drenched.”
“She could have warned me she’d called a plumber.”
“Would you have fixed it yourself?”
“No. But she could have warned me.”
“What happened next, Dad?”
“When I saw him in my T-shirt… I rushed at him and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. Svetka was shouting. And I hit him. Can you imagine? Lyovka is sixty-eight, and I was hitting him.”
“And then?”
“Svetka pulled me away. She started shouting that I was crazy, that I’d made the whole thing up. I told her I could see what was going on and she shouldn’t try to fool me. She started crying. I packed my things and left.”
“So you didn’t even listen to her?”
“What was there to listen to? It seemed obvious.”
“What was obvious, Dad? That your friend had come over to fix the faucet?”
“He was wearing my T-shirt!”
“Dad,” Elya said, pouring him some more wine, “don’t you think you might have imagined the rest? Think about it. If something were going on between them, would they meet at your home? In the middle of the day, when you could come back at any moment?”
“Maybe they got carried away.”
“Dad, think about it.”
“Svetka’s sixty-three,” he muttered.
“Whatever their ages, use your head. You’re a sensible person.”
Stepan said nothing. He turned the wineglass in his hands.
“Dad, maybe this isn’t really about Lyovka. Maybe something’s wrong between you and Svetlana.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Then why doesn’t she laugh with you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s tired.”
“Tired of what?”
“Me.”
Igor, who had been quiet until then, spoke up.
“Stepan Mikhailovich, when was the last time the two of you went somewhere together? To the cinema or the theater?”
“I don’t remember.”
“When was the last time you bought her flowers?”
“On International Women’s Day.”
“What about for no reason at all?”
“Why would I?”
“Do you give her compliments?” Elya added.
“What compliments? We’ve been married forty years.”
“That’s exactly why you should.”
Stepan finished his wine and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Elya said.
“Thank you, daughter. That’s comforting.”
“Dad, you beat up a man over something you imagined. You insulted Mom and left without listening to her explanation. What else should I call it?”
“What do I do now?”
“Apologize. To Mom and to Lyovka.”
“Svetka won’t forgive me.”
“She might. You’ve been together forty years. But you’ll have to work for it.”
The next morning, Elya took her father to a flower shop.
“Which ones should I get?” Stepan asked, bewildered by the rows of bouquets.
“Which flowers does Mom like?”
“Roses, I think.”
“What color?”
“I don’t know. Red?”
“Dad, you’ve lived with her for forty years and you don’t know what flowers she likes?”
“She likes all of them.”
Elya sighed. They chose a large bouquet of pink roses—Svetlana had always said pink was her favorite color. Then they stopped at a bakery for a cake. Stepan picked a Napoleon pastry cake, something he and Svetlana had often bought when they were young.
“What should I get Lyovka?” Stepan asked.
“A good bottle of cognac. And you’re paying his medical bills.”
Outside her parents’ building, Stepan froze.
“I can’t do it.”
“You can. Go.”
“What if she won’t open the door?”
“She will. Now go.”
Elya waited in the car. About ten minutes later, her father sent a message: She let me in. We’re talking.
Elya drove home. Igor asked, “Do you think they’ll make up?”
“Of course. They love each other. They’d just forgotten how to show it.”
That evening, her mother called.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“For what?”
“For talking some sense into that old fool. He’s sitting here watching television and still apologizing.”
“As he should.”
“We’re going to see Lyovka tomorrow. Your father broke his nose.”
“Mom, do you love him?”
“Who? Lyovka?”
“Dad, Mom.”
“Well, where would I go after forty years with him? I’m used to him by now.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Of course I love him. That’s why I forgave him. But I’ll let him squirm a little longer, just to make sure he’s learned his lesson.”
A week later, Elya visited her parents. She walked in on a picture of domestic harmony: Stepan and Lyovka were playing cards in the kitchen while Svetlana baked pies.
“Oh, my daughter’s here!” her father said happily. “Lyovka, look, it’s my Elya.”
“Hello,” Elya said shyly.
Lyovka had a huge bruise under one eye, and a strip of medical tape across his nose.
“Hello, beautiful. I heard you talked some sense into your father. Well done.”
“I’m driving Lyovka to his appointments now,” Stepan said. “At a private clinic. We’re getting his nose taken care of.”
“As you should,” Svetlana said, setting the pies on the table. “Maybe you’ll think twice before attacking a friend again.”
“Oh, leave him alone, Svet,” Lyovka said with a wave of his hand. “These things happen. Besides, Styopa owes me for life now.”
“That I do,” Stepan agreed.
After tea, Elya got ready to leave. Her father walked her to the door.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For stopping this old fool from making an even bigger mess of things. Imagine if I’d gone on believing it.”
“Dad, next time, think before you act.”
“Next time? God forbid there’s a next time.”
“And one more thing, Dad. Buy Mom flowers. On ordinary days, too.”
“I will.”
“And tell her you love her.”
“That’s harder.”
“Learn. You haven’t said it in forty years. It’s time to start.”
Stepan hugged his daughter, and Elya felt how much older he seemed after these few days. His gray hair was more noticeable, the lines on his face deeper. But there was something new in his eyes. Perhaps understanding. Perhaps gratitude.
“Go on now,” he said. “Before Svetka gets jealous.”
“Of your own daughter?”
“After what I pulled, she expects anything from me.”
They laughed. And Elya thought that even the strongest families sometimes needed a shake-up. What mattered was stopping in time and remembering why they had come together in the first place.
