Dasha was not merely an intelligent girl; she possessed that rare, crystal-clear kind of character that allowed her to emerge victorious from even the most hopeless everyday battles.
She read a great deal, had a phenomenal memory, and firmly believed that a smile was a legal form of self-defense. She never let anyone push her around, but she did it with such grace that her opponent only realized he had been put in his place the next day.
The only natural disaster in her orderly life was her mother-in-law, Larisa Maksimovna. The woman lived in the building across the street, which Dasha considered an architectural mockery of fate.
Larisa Maksimovna had a talent for shifting her problems onto other people’s shoulders while hiding behind maternal concern. Her visits usually began with the words, “Dashenka, my blood pressure is all over the place, I can’t cook! Let’s have dinner at your place. I’ll bring a cake.”
The cake always turned out to be tiny and bought on sale, while Larisa Maksimovna devoured enough of Dasha’s delicacies to feed a whole platoon of soldiers.
But that Tuesday, a miracle happened. Larisa Maksimovna dropped by “for just a minute,” glowing like a shiny copper coin.
“Dashenka, what joy!” she announced, dramatically pressing her hands to her ample chest.
“My relatives from the village are coming to visit! My second cousin Zinaida and her husband Kolya, their sons, and Aunt Lyuba too. I haven’t seen them for a year!”
“I’m so happy, I want to see everyone so much, to give them a real celebration!”
Dasha smiled sincerely. Finally! Her mother-in-law was hosting guests herself, on her own territory.
“That’s wonderful news, Larisa Maksimovna,” Dasha replied warmly.
“I’m sure they’ll be delighted.”
“Oh, yes…” Her mother-in-law suddenly put on a suffering expression.
“Only, Dashunya, you know what my oven is like. It’s barely an oven at all! And Zina loves pies so much.”
“Would it be too much trouble for you to bake your signature meat pies? A couple of big trays. You’re our miracle worker!”
Dasha, encouraged by the fact that the invasion of relatives would bypass her own territory, generously agreed.
On Wednesday evening, Dasha’s kitchen looked like a branch of a bakery. She had spent four hours after work kneading dough, grinding meat, and frying onions. By eight o’clock in the evening, a mountain of perfect, golden-brown pies stood on the table, giving off a divine aroma.
Dasha scrubbed the kitchen until it shone, wiped flour from her forehead, and happily anticipated how she would now neatly pack the pies into boxes, take them to the building across the street, and then sink into a bath with a book. Her husband Anton was away on a business trip, so the evening promised to be wonderfully quiet.
The doorbell rang.
“Larisa Maksimovna probably couldn’t wait and came for the pies herself,” Dasha thought as she opened the lock.
But when she flung open the door, she froze. Her mother-in-law was not alone on the landing. There was an entire camp standing there.
A burly man in a plaid shirt, clearly Uncle Kolya, was holding an enormous bag. Beside him stood a stout woman with a perm, shifting from one foot to the other — Zinaida. Three teenage boys were noisily dividing up a packet of chips, while a thin little old lady, Aunt Lyuba, was already leaning against Dasha’s doorframe.
In the center of this composition towered Larisa Maksimovna.
“Here we are!” her mother-in-law roared cheerfully, unceremoniously pushing Dasha aside and letting the crowd into the hallway.
“Surprise! Dashenka, we decided your apartment is simply more spacious, and the aura is lighter too. Come in, my dears, take off your shoes! Our Dashka is a golden hostess — she’ll feed everyone in no time!”
Dasha felt her left eye twitch. As Larisa Maksimovna passed her daughter-in-law, she hissed quickly and quietly into her ear:
“Don’t look at me like that. My white carpet was just brought back from the cleaners yesterday, and my new sofa is light-colored. Where am I supposed to let this horde in?”
“They’ll stain everything. You’ll serve them, you won’t break.”
Keeping a mask of polite numbness on her face, Dasha stepped back. The relatives had already begun unpacking their bags. Uncle Kolya loudly asked where the toilet was and whether there was anything stronger to drink, while the teenagers rushed into the living room, knocking over the cat’s scratching post on their way.
“I’ll just step into the bathroom for a second,” Dasha smiled brightly at the guests.
“I need to wash my hands before serving the table.”
Locking herself in the bathroom, she frantically dialed Anton’s number. “The subscriber is temporarily unavailable.” Excellent. A business trip in the taiga. No help was coming.
Dasha looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had no intention of tolerating this humiliation and working as a free waitress at a celebration of her mother-in-law’s cunning.
Besides, the guests were not to blame. They had really come from the road and were hungry. It would have been nasty to punish them. But Larisa Maksimovna…
A dangerous, cold spark lit up in Dasha’s eyes.
She took out her phone and opened the app for her favorite and very expensive Georgian restaurant. Her fingers flew across the screen: five portions of veal shashlik, lula kebabs, three huge Adjarian khachapuri, eggplant rolls, baked trout, and, since they were going all out, three bottles of excellent French champagne. In the “Address” field, she thoughtfully entered Larisa Maksimovna’s apartment.
In the “Payment” field, she confidently selected: “By card or cash to the courier upon delivery.” The total came to an amount that should have made her mother-in-law’s eye twitch, but status demanded it!
“Well then, Larisa Maksimovna,” Dasha thought, fixing her hair. “What do you always like to say? Let’s have dinner at your place, and I’ll bring a cake? Fine. We’ll play by your rules.”
Dasha went back into the hallway. The guests were already crowding near the kitchen entrance, rubbing their hands at the smell of fresh baking. Her mother-in-law was opening cupboards like the mistress of the house, taking out Dasha’s best plates.
“May I have your attention for a moment!” Dasha said loudly, solemnly, and with incredible joy.
The guests fell silent.
Dasha walked up to Larisa Maksimovna and gently but firmly took her by the elbow.
“Dear guests!” Dasha’s voice rang with delight.
“You have become the victims of the incredible, simply grand care of our Larisa Maksimovna! She was so worried that you would be tired from the road that she decided to arrange a two-stage surprise for you!”
Her mother-in-law cast a wary sideways glance at her daughter-in-law and tried to pull her arm free, but Dasha held on with a dead grip.
“She didn’t tell you, did she?” Dasha exclaimed, waving her free hand as she turned to Zinaida.
“Oh, Larisa Maksimovna, you really shouldn’t keep the intrigue going until the very end!”
“What intrigue?” Uncle Kolya asked in his deep voice.
“Larisa Maksimovna knew that my pies were only the warm-up!” Dasha began, speaking with inspiration.
“She specifically asked me to pack them up for you to take along, so you could have a snack while a luxurious restaurant banquet was being delivered to her home!”
“Really, Lorka?” Zinaida gasped. “A restaurant banquet?”
“Of course, Zinaida!” Dasha interrupted.
“Larisa Maksimovna told me, ‘Dasha, nothing is too good for my beloved relatives! I want to set a royal table for them right in my own living room!’”
Larisa Maksimovna turned pale and tried to squeak something, but Dasha drowned out her voice with her ringing soprano.
“Yes, yes! Larisa Maksimovna instructed me to order delivery for you: shashlik, khachapuri, baked fish, and the finest French champagne! And the courier will be at her entrance in literally fifteen minutes!”
A reverent silence settled in the hallway. Uncle Kolya swallowed. The teenagers stopped making noise and exchanged excited glances.
“D-Dasha, what are you talking about…” her mother-in-law croaked, feeling her knees weaken from the premonition of the bill. “What courier…”
“She’s being modest again!” Dasha laughed brightly.
“She wanted it to be a surprise right at the doorstep! But forgive me, Mama, I had to reveal the cards. The reason is serious.”
Dasha abruptly put on a sad and anxious expression.
“I didn’t want to frighten you right from the doorway, but half an hour ago the property management company called: a sewer pipe has burst in our riser. In ten minutes, the plumbers will arrive. They’ll have to open everything along our line without warning and urgently replace the pipes.”
“They’ll shut off the water until tomorrow morning. There will be dirt, noise, and… a specific smell. How wonderful, Larisa Maksimovna, that you organized the main celebration at your place!”
Dasha discreetly pressed the button on the smart-home remote lying in her pocket, and the lights in the hallway and kitchen went out all at once.
“Oh, good heavens!” Aunt Lyuba squealed in the semi-darkness. “It’s already started! They even turned off the lights!”
“Hurry!” Dasha commanded in the tone of a general.
“Grab the bags! Uncle Kolya, take the boxes of pies, they’re on the table! They’re made with select farm meat. I baked them especially for you!”
“Run across the road before the water starts flowing and before the courier with the shashlik leaves! Larisa Maksimovna, lead your guests to the table you’ve prepared!”
Driven by fear of a sewage flood and lured by the enticing thought of imaginary shashlik, the relatives began bustling about with twice the energy.
They quickly pulled on their shoes, picked up their bags, carefully took the boxes of Dasha’s magnificent pies, and dragged along the stunned, speechless mother-in-law.
Larisa Maksimovna turned around at the threshold. Her eyes showed primal terror at the bill that awaited her. She would not be able to refuse in front of the relatives — they would laugh at her and call her a miser across the whole village.
“You… you…” was all she managed to force out, staring at her daughter-in-law.
“Bon appétit, Larisa Maksimovna!” Dasha cooed sweetly.
Then, with a smile, she added, “I’ll come by a little later and bring a cake!”
The door slammed shut. Dasha clicked the remote, and the lights came back on. She walked to the window and watched with a smile as the noisy crowd crossed the road and disappeared into her mother-in-law’s entrance.
Exactly ten minutes later, a yellow delivery car pulled up briskly to that same entrance, and a courier stepped out with three enormous thermal bags.
Dasha vividly imagined Larisa Maksimovna pressing her card to the terminal with trembling hands while Uncle Kolya and Zinaida sighed admiringly.
Dasha went into the kitchen. The guests had taken the wonderful, honestly made pies with them — they deserved them. But Dasha had prudently left herself a small plate of the most golden ones.
She brewed herself some green tea, took a hot pie, opened her book, and settled comfortably into an armchair. The silence in the apartment was simply delightful.
The payback had worked, and karma, as everyone knows, never misses. Especially when you help it a little through a delivery app.
