On the fourth day of his mom’s visit, Andriy realized something important: an omelet can stick even to the frying pan that Oksana treated like a family heirloom and washed with a special soft sponge.
It was seven in the morning. Outside the window hung a gray October darkness, drizzle traced down the glass, and the radiators barely warmed the room because the building’s heating had only been turned on two days ago. Andriy stood by the stove in Oksana’s sunflower apron—since there wasn’t one of his own in this house—scraping the yellow-brown pancake from the pan.
«Andriyko,» came a voice from the table, «is there going to be coffee today, or should I wait until lunchtime?»
Larysa Petryvna sat upright, just like at a teachers’ conference, glasses on, working on a crossword with a pen in hand. She had worked as a Ukrainian language teacher for thirty-eight years, and now even her casual «good morning» sounded like «open your notebooks.»
«There will be, Mom. Right now.»
«And one and a half spoons of sugar. Not two, not one. One and a half.»
Andriy gripped the spatula tighter and thought how just a week ago, his life had been completely different. Difficult, he had thought at the time. Unfair. Now he remembered that week fondly—the way people recall vacations by the sea.
* * *
To be honest, Andriy had long believed he was unlucky with his wife. Not that Oksana was a bad person. She was lovely, cheerful, cooked delicious meals, and would even watch football with him when the national team played. But she had one flaw: she was always asking him for something.
Do the dishes. Take out the trash. Run out for bread. Pick up five-year-old Solomiya from daycare because Oksana’s shift lasted until nine. But he worked too! Andriy was a manager at a company that sold metal-plastic windows. All day he’d talk with clients about frames and glazing, and by evening, even his tongue felt tired. He felt it was his right to come home, lie on the couch, and not have anyone bother him.
Oksana worked too. She was an administrator at the supermarket near the market, on her feet for ten hours. But for some reason, that never crossed Andriy’s mind. He had his own comfortable view of the world, and in it, his wife never got tired after work.
Andriy would regularly share this view with his mom. He’d call her in the evenings, step out onto the balcony so he wouldn’t bother anyone, and complain:
«Mom, can you believe it, Oksana’s asking me to cook dinner again. Me! Dinner! You never let Dad near the stove.»
«Uh-huh,» said Larysa Petryvna.
«And yesterday she said: ‘Dry Solomiya’s sneakers.’ Am I supposed to be her dryer?»
«Uh-huh.»
Andriy took this «uh-huh» as motherly support. What he didn’t know was that in pedagogy, «uh-huh» means «I’m taking notes on everything.»
* * *
Larysa Petryvna arrived in the middle of October, on a Saturday, with two bags. One held jars of adjika and pickled tomatoes; the other, knitted socks for her granddaughter. She planned to stay until Sunday.
On Saturday, Oksana had to work. She came home at half past nine in the evening, freezing, with a damp umbrella and two bags of groceries. She took off her jacket, put the kettle on, started the washing machine—because Solomiika needed clean tights for Monday—then sat down to sew leaves onto a costume. There was a fall event coming up at the kindergarten, Solomiika was playing the Maple Leaf, and she needed forty leaves. Meanwhile, the casserole was finishing up in the oven.
Larysa Petryvna sat in the kitchen, watching all of this with the same look she once gave a student caught copying—a silent, very attentive stare.
Voices drifted in from the living room:
“Oksan! The tea’s barely warm. Can you make it hotter?”
Oksana put down her needle, got up, and went to pour in more boiling water. Larysa Petryvna took off her glasses, cleaned them with the hem of her sweater, and placed them on the table. If her former students saw this, they’d already be packing their bags.
When Andrii fell asleep in front of the TV during a home renovation show, the mother-in-law quietly called her daughter-in-law into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, dear. Put those leaves aside, I’ll finish sewing them myself.”
“Larysa Petryvna, I’m used to it…”
“That’s just it, you’re used to it.” The mother-in-law paused. “Darling, what if we try to re-educate my Andrii a bit? I suppose I didn’t do enough. Thirty-four years old and he still thinks borscht just magically appears in the pot. Like a moth in the closet.”
Oksana burst out laughing, covering her mouth with a towel so she wouldn’t wake her husband.
The kitchen lights were on until two in the morning. The smell of casserole filled the air, forty maple leaves rustled, and two women—who until now had only spoken politely to each other—whispered like conspirators. And, in fact, that’s exactly what they were.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Oksana announced she was leaving for a week to help her sister move into a new apartment. Katia needed help with her things, and Oksana had just been given a few days off work.
For some reason, Andrii was convinced that Katia lived a hundred kilometers away. He had no idea that his wife’s sister had actually moved to their city a year ago, just across town, four bus stops away. In fact, there was a lot he didn’t know.
“For a week?” he repeated, and inside his head, a brass band started to play. A whole week of peace and quiet. A week without ‘dry my sneakers.’ The couch, football, delivery pizza.
“But who’s going to take Solomiika to kindergarten?” he asked, just for form’s sake.
“You will,” said Oksana. “But don’t worry, you won’t be alone.”
She kissed her daughter, grabbed her backpack and left. Her mom left early that morning too—she said she had things to do. And that evening, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Larysa Petryvna with an enormous suitcase on wheels. That’s the kind you take somewhere for the whole winter, not just a visit.
“Mom!” Andrii was almost moved to tears. “You decided to stay with me. How wonderful. At least you’ll feed me properly! I was just about to order pizza.”
“I’ll feed you, son,” his mom said kindly, rolling her suitcase into the hallway. “But first, go to the store. The shopping list is on the fridge.”
The list was held to the fridge with a magnet.
* * *
Andrii spent forty minutes at the grocery store and called his mom three times.
“Mom, which buckwheat? There are six kinds here.”
“Yadrytsia, son.”
“What fat percentage for the sour cream?”
“The kind Oksana buys.”
“But which kind does Oksana buy?!”
There was a pause on the other end of the line—a pedagogical one.
“That’s what I’m asking you too, son. Which one?”
He walked home under a cold drizzle, clutching two heavy shopping bags that dug into his fingers, and realized for the first time in his life, he had no idea what kind of sour cream his family usually bought.
And then things got even more interesting. Larysa Petrovna woke up at seven, sat down at the table, opened her crossword puzzle, and loudly asked:
«Andriy, where’s my breakfast? I’m a pensioner, I need my rest!»
Next came waking up Solomiya, dressing her in the same tights that, as it turned out, didn’t dry by themselves, and braiding her hair. The braids didn’t work out. She ended up with a single ponytail to the side, sticking up a bit like a woodpecker’s crest. The preschool teacher gave it a long look and politely said, «Oh, we have a modern hairstyle today.»
After that was work: windows, double-glazed units, clients. And in the evening, a new page on the to-do list.
«Son, can you please wash my blouses? Whites separately, colors separately. Wool on thirty degrees.»
Andriy did the laundry. He put the whites in with Solomiya’s red socks. His mom held what used to be her white blouse in her hands for a long time; now it was a gentle shade of pink, like fruit leather.
«Nice color,» she finally said. «I’ll wear it to my friend’s anniversary. But the collar hasn’t been ironed properly.»
Then came the floors. Then cooking lunch the evening before, since Andriy would be at work during the day. Then dinner. He made soup using a recipe from his phone and felt almost like a chef.
His mom tasted it.
«Too salty.»
Then she went over to the living room cabinet, ran her finger along the top shelf, and looked at it as if she’d just found a failed test grade there.
«And who’s supposed to dust the cabinet? The neighbor from the fifth floor?»
That evening, Andriy stepped out onto the balcony and called his wife. This time, he was the one complaining about his mom.
«Oksana, Mom’s acting really strange. She’s… making me do everything!»
«Oh, Andriy,» Oksana answered in a bright, rested voice. Somewhere in the background, the coffee machine was hissing and music played from a TV show. «It’s chaos here at Katya’s. Crates, boxes everywhere… Listen, I have to run. Hang in there.»
Andriy stood on the balcony a bit longer. It struck him that «crates and boxes» sounded suspiciously like a TV show. But he was just too tired to think any more about it.
* * *
And now it was the fourth morning. A burnt omelet, one and a half spoonfuls of sugar.
Andriy set the plate in front of his mom, poured her coffee, and placed a spoon next to her. His mom adjusted her glasses, looked at the omelet, then at him.
«Why is it so… tanned?»
And at that moment, Andriy snapped.
«Mom!» The spatula clattered in the sink. «What am I to you, a servant?! I’ve been up since seven! I work all day! I come home and it’s laundry, soup, dust, braids… Am I supposed to do everything myself?!»
The kitchen fell completely silent. Even the fridge seemed to stop humming.
Larysa Petrovna slowly took off her glasses. Folded them. Placed them on her crossword.
«And who’s Oksana to you, son?»
Andriy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He knew exactly what his answer was, but saying it out loud turned out to be much harder than complaining on the phone.
He left the kitchen without a word, grabbed his gym bag and started tossing things in: a sweater, a charger, a toothbrush.
«I’ll stay at Nazar’s for a few days,» he called out from the doorway, not looking at his mom. «I need a break.»
«Go on, son, go,» Larisa Petrovna replied calmly as she turned back to her crossword. «I’ll pick up Solomiika myself. Now, let’s see, ‘someone who avoids responsibility,’ six letters…»
* * *
Nazar had been Andriy’s friend since school. They used to sit at the same desk, copy their Ukrainian tests together from Andriy’s own mother, and both ended up in trouble for it. Now Nazar lived on the outskirts in a new apartment building with his wife Maryana and their three-year-old twins. That evening, Andriy headed straight there after work, a gym bag slung over his shoulder.
The door swung open before Andriy even reached for the doorbell. Nazar was standing there in an apron, one twin in his arms and the other clinging to his leg.
«Oh, finally!» Nazar cheered up. «Larisa Petrovna said you’d be here at seven, but it’s almost half past seven. Come on in, quickly.»
Andriy froze in the doorway, holding his bag.
«What do you mean, ‘Mom said’?»
«Come on, I’ll explain later!» Nazar was already dragging him into the hallway. «Maryana’s out at a friend’s birthday party, it’s just me with the kids. Here, take Ostapchyk. Wait, is this Ostapchyk or Marko?… Oh, this one’s Marko. Take Marko. The porridge is on the stove, needs stirring. Also, the sliding wardrobe is still in boxes in the other room, it came yesterday. Larisa Petrovna said you like assembling furniture.»
Andriy had never assembled furniture in his life.
By nine in the evening, he was trying to feed Marko porridge (who absolutely refused) and Ostap (who happily finished both his and Marko’s portions). By ten, he’d read the story about the little horse three times in a row, since each time the twins screamed, “again!” And by 12:30 at night, he and Nazar were putting together the wardrobe according to the instructions, where piece ‘F’ looked exactly like piece ‘G’, and somehow there were two screws missing.
At half past midnight, Andriy stepped out onto the staircase landing and dialed his mom.
«Mom,» he said, sounding like a man who’s just read about the little horse for the third time, «come get me and take me home!»
He waited as silence filled the phone.
«Son, I already raised you once and solved all your problems,» Larisa Petrovna gently answered. «Now it’s your turn. And make sure the wardrobe doors are lined up or they’ll get crooked. Good night.»
He slept on an inflatable mattress which, by morning, had quietly and sneakily deflated. At six o’clock, both twins jumped on him and announced in chorus:
«Uncle, wake up! Porridge!»
* * *
The answer came at breakfast. Nazar went to the bathroom, leaving his phone on the table, which lit up with a new message. Andriy didn’t mean to read it. Honestly. The screen was just so big, and the group chat’s name was even bigger.
«Operation ‘Son’.»
Participants: Larisa Petrovna, Oksana, Maryana, Nazar.
The latest message was from his mom: «Nazarchyk, did you finish the wardrobe? Well done. You can let him go.» Underneath, Oksana had added three laughing emojis, and Maryana replied: «Larisa Petrovna, can we keep him for the weekend too?»
Andriy scrolled up. There it was — his entire week’s biography. A photo of a pink blouse, captioned «first laundry attempt.» A picture of Solomiika with a wild ponytail, which, it turned out, had been sent by the daycare teacher. A schedule of who would call him and when. And a message from Oksana on the very first evening: «He just called me, complaining about you all. I nearly choked on my coffee.»
Nazar stepped out of the bathroom, caught a glimpse of his friend’s face, and understood everything.
«Listen,» he said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. «But it’s your mom! Back in fifth grade, she told me something about my copied dictation that got me putting commas in the right places ever since. How could I possibly say no to her?»
***
Andriy took the minibus home. The windows were foggy, and a woman sitting next to him had a basket of quince on her lap, filling the air with the scent of late autumn. He got off at his stop, climbed the stairs, and quietly unlocked the door.
He could hear laughter coming from the kitchen. Two voices.
At the table sat his mom and Oksana. Oksana was wearing a cozy sweater, sporting a new haircut, and blushing in a way Andriy hadn’t seen since their wedding. Between them was an apple pie and a phone, from which they had clearly just read something very funny.
Both women turned toward him. His mom looked calm. Oksana had the same smile she used to have when she was hiding his birthday present.
«Oh,» Oksana said. «So you know.»
«I know,» Andriy nodded. «Operation ‘Son.’ Boxes, crates, chaos at Katia’s.»
«There was a box,» Oksana admitted honestly. «Just one. With books. I read them. I also slept until ten, went to the hairdresser, went to the movies with Ulyana twice, and for the first time in five years, drank hot coffee while it was still hot.»
«And the TV series playing in the background?»
«The series happened too,» she nodded. «It was really good. I can recommend it.»
Andriy sat down on the stool and was silent for a long time, twirling his keys in his fingers. His mom cut him a piece of pie and set a cup next to him. One and a half teaspoons of sugar, naturally.
«These past few days tired me out like a whole year at work,» he finally said. «Seriously. By evening I was wiped and couldn’t even turn on the TV. And you…» he looked at Oksana, «You do this every day?»
«Every day,» she replied simply. «Except without the mom who checks the dust on top of the cabinets.»
«For the record,» Larisa Petrovna interrupted, «I was very gentle. Oksana even suggested giving him window-washing duty. I refused. Told her, he has enough windows at work.»
Andriy was the first to laugh. A minute later, all three were laughing, and this time it was laughter without any hint of conspiracy.
***
That same evening, a new list appeared on the fridge, held by a magnet. This time, it was just one sheet.
Monday, Wednesday, Friday – Andriy cooks dinner. Tuesday and Thursday – Oksana. Weekends – together or something from the freezer, and not a single complaint. Whoever finishes work first picks up Solomiika from kindergarten. Dusting the top of the cabinets – taking turns. Everyone pours their own tea.
The last line was added in Andriy’s own slightly shaky handwriting:
«Saturday morning: dad takes Solomiika to the swings, mom sleeps as long as she wants.»
Larisa Petrovna read it, picked up a pen, and changed nothing. For a former Ukrainian teacher, that was the highest praise.
The next morning she was getting ready to leave. Andriy was already waiting on the stairs with her suitcase, and Oksana was seeing her mother-in-law to the door.
«Thank you, Larisa Petrovna,» she said quietly. «For everything.»
Her mother-in-law paused at the threshold and looked at her over her glasses.
«Larisa Petrovna? We’re partners now. Partners don’t call each other by their patronymics.»
«What about the group?» Andriy called from the stairs. «Are you going to delete it?»
Mom and Oksana exchanged glances.
«No, my dear,» said Larysa Petrovna as she buttoned up her coat. «The group stays. Just in case.»
On Monday morning, the kindergarten teacher stood for a long moment, just looking at Solomiika. The little girl had two braids in her hair. They were a bit uneven, one thicker than the other—but they were real. And each one was tied with a bow.
