Marina was setting the birthday cake on the table when Alexey handed her a gift box. Inside lay a nonstick frying pan, twenty-four centimeters in diameter.
“Thank you,” Marina tried to smile. “Very… practical.”
“You don’t look pleased,” Alexey frowned. “I specifically chose a quality one with a ceramic coating. The salesperson said it’s the best model in the line.”
“Alyosha, we already have three frying pans. And there’s been a list hanging on the fridge for a month of what I actually need.”
“What list?” He glanced toward the fridge, where a sheet of paper stood out. “Ah, that one. Look, what matters isn’t the gift but the thought. A frying pan is always useful in the household.”
“It says a Bradbury book, running shoes, a styling hair dryer,” Marina pointed at the list. “Have you ever read it even once?”
“Well, I skimmed it…” Alexey faltered. “But why do you need a hair dryer when your hair is short? And you can get books from the library. A frying pan is more practical.”
Marina silently put the pan back in the box. Her sister Olya gave her a styling hair dryer, her mother set aside money for running shoes, and her friend Svetlana gave her the long-awaited Ray Bradbury book Dandelion Wine. Everyone remembered what she wanted. Except her husband.
“You know,” Alexey spread his hands, “if you really loved me, you’d be happy even with toilet paper. Because it’s a sign of attention from someone you love.”
“Interesting philosophy,” Marina nodded. “I’ll remember it for the future.”
Alexey didn’t notice the chill in her voice. Something inside her shifted, like tectonic plates before an earthquake.
“See how simple it is!” he rubbed his hands, satisfied. “Love isn’t about expensive gifts, it’s about appreciating care. My mother always said a real wife should be grateful for any attention from her husband.”
“A wise woman, your mother,” Marina began clearing the table. “Very wise.”
February twenty-third. In the living room sat her mother-in-law, Tamara Stepanovna, and her sister-in-law, Irina. Alexey was impatiently tearing the wrapping paper.
“Toilet cleaner,” he lifted the first bottle. “Deodorant. Toilet paper… air freshener… floor cleaner…”
Her husband’s face went long. Tamara Stepanovna pursed her lips.
“Marina, what kind of mockery is this?” the sister-in-law demanded.
“No mockery,” Marina sat down opposite them and folded her hands on her knees. “If Alexey loves me, he should rejoice at any sign of attention. Household chemicals are always useful.”
“You’re making fun of me!” Alexey jumped up, throwing the wrapping on the floor. “Where’s the real present?”
“Isn’t this a real present?” Marina tilted her head. “You said yourself—the thought matters, not the gift. I showed care for our home.”
“Don’t try to fool me with your clever words!” Alexey stepped closer. “You know perfectly well what you’re doing!”
“I understand the same thing you did a month ago with that frying pan.”
“Marina!” Tamara Stepanovna rose from the couch. “Do you have any conscience?”
“My conscience is intact,” Marina held her gaze. “But apparently justice is a concept that applies only to women.”
“What are you talking about?” Irina jumped up. “What justice? A wife should respect her husband!”
“And a husband doesn’t have to respect his wife?” Marina smiled. “Or do special rules apply to men?”
“Enough of this circus!” Alexey looked at his gift. “If you try to embarrass me like this again, you’ll be dealing with a divorce!”
“Excellent idea,” Marina stood and headed for the door. “I’ll file the papers tomorrow.”
“Wait!” Alexey grabbed her by the hand. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely serious.”
“Marina, calm down,” Tamara Stepanovna took a step forward. “Don’t be rash. But the gift really was inappropriate. A wife should be happy with any sign of attention from her husband if she loves him.”
“Word for word what your son said,” Marina turned to Alexey. “Then you should be happy with my gift too. Or do you not love me?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Alexey turned pale. “This is completely different!”
“What’s the difference?” Marina raised an eyebrow. “Explain it to me, slow as I am.”
“The difference is that I’m a man! And men get normal presents—watches, ties, cologne!”
“And women get frying pans and brooms?” Marina nodded. “Got it. Live and learn.”
Alexey kept silent, clenching his jaw. Tamara Stepanovna took her daughter by the hand.
“Let’s go, Ira. We won’t interfere in their domestic squabbles. Let this lady show her character.”
“The lady is staying,” Marina dipped a curtsey. “But the domestic squabbles are over.”
They left in haste. Marina remained alone with her husband.
“You know,” Alexey paced the room, “originally I wanted to buy you cosmetics from your list. But Irina said we needed to test how sincere your feelings were. Like, if a wife truly loves her husband, she’ll be happy with any gift.”
Marina sank onto the couch. The world tilted.
“It was a test?”
“Well… in a sense. Mother supported the idea. She said if you really love me, you’ll fight for our marriage instead of throwing fits over some frying pan.”
“Irina doesn’t like me?”
“She thinks you’re too… demanding. Says a real wife should adapt and not set terms. And Mom agrees—a woman should be softer, more compliant.”
“And what do you think?” Marina looked at her husband. “Your own opinion?”
“I… I think Mom has thirty years of marriage behind her.”
Marina looked at her husband and saw a stranger. A man who, at thirty, couldn’t choose a gift for his wife without his mother’s advice.
“I’m packing.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my mother’s. Far from the family council of wise men.”
“Marina, don’t turn this into a drama!” Alexey blocked her path to the wardrobe. “You’re behaving like a spoiled princess! All this fuss over a stupid frying pan!”
“Not over the frying pan,” she quietly placed clothes in a bag. “Over the fact that for you it’s normal to test your wife, while respecting her wishes is a whim.”
“And what about your humiliating gift?” He started tossing her things out of the bag. “Wasn’t that a test?”
“Don’t you dare!” Marina caught his hand. “That was a lesson. But as usual, you understood nothing.”
“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” he laughed nastily. “Who would want you with your tantrums? Try finding a fool who’ll put up with your antics!”
Marina picked up the scattered clothes and put them back. In the rented apartment, almost nothing belonged to her—it was astonishing how little had piled up over two years of married life.
Alexey went to the bathroom, came back with her shampoo and conditioner, and threw them into the trash.
“Take all your junk! And don’t come back!”
“I don’t intend to,” Marina looked at the bottles in the trash and didn’t take them out. “I have self-respect. Unlike some.”
She took the bag and headed for the door.
“You’ve got nowhere to go!” Alexey shouted after her. “You’ll crawl back in a week!”
“Tell your mother and sister to find you a more agreeable wife. Or better yet, buy an inflatable doll. No problems with her at all.”
An hour later.
“I always knew your parents’ home was your fortress, sunshine,” her mother, Elena Petrovna, helped her carry in the bags. “Tell me what happened.”
Marina laid it all out—from the frying pan to the toilet paper, from the test of her feelings to Tamara Stepanovna’s motherly advice.
“I see,” Elena Petrovna poured tea into Marina’s favorite lilac-patterned cups. “Has he called?”
“No.”
“And he won’t. He’s sitting with his mommy right now, discussing what an ungrateful, heartless girl you are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen how he acts around his mother. Remember the wedding prep? As soon as Tamara Stepanovna showed up, your Alexey turned into a spineless marionette.”
“I thought it was nerves,” Marina cupped the mug in her hands. “That he was just anxious.”
“Sweetheart, the man is almost thirty. If he still hasn’t learned to make decisions without his mommy, he never will.”
Marina finished her tea and picked up her phone. Alexey answered on the second ring.
“Well, have you blown off steam? Stop being childish and come home. I’m willing to forgive you.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Marina smirked. “Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce.”
“Marina, stop this theater! To make such a drastic move over some silly things… We’re adults!”
“Exactly why I’m divorcing a mama’s boy.”
She hung up. The next morning she sent a text: “The petition is filed. You’re free to search for a compliant wife.”
There was no reply.
Two days later the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Alexey and his mother.
“Elena Petrovna,” Tamara Stepanovna entered without waiting to be invited, “talk to your daughter. She’s destroying a family over trifles. Completely ungrateful! After all my efforts to make her a proper wife!”
“Sit down,” Elena Petrovna pointed to the couch. “Let’s sort this out calmly, without extra emotion. Alexey, explain to Marina’s mother why you gave your wife a frying pan for her birthday. I’m honestly curious to hear the logic.”
“Well… it’s practical… A woman should cook,” Alexey mumbled.
“Practical, of course,” Elena Petrovna nodded with a barely noticeable irony. “And why didn’t you choose something from the list on the fridge? There were fairly specific wishes.”
Alexey flushed and glanced at his mother.
“A wife should appreciate any attention from her husband. The list is capriciousness! A real woman is happy with whatever she gets!”
“Interesting philosophy,” Elena Petrovna turned to her son-in-law. “That’s not your opinion, it’s your mother’s. What do you yourself think, Alexey? Or do you not have an opinion of your own?”
“I… I agree with my mother. She’s always right.”
“I see,” Elena Petrovna turned to Tamara Stepanovna. “Tell me honestly, do you want a daughter-in-law for your son, or do you want free help around the house? Because first you should teach the boy to stop hiding behind his mother’s skirt, and only then look for him a life partner.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” Tamara Stepanovna sprang up. “I raised my son with love and care! And your daughter is a spoiled egotist! She thinks only of herself!”
“I dare because my daughter deserves a partner, not a mama’s boy who at thirty can’t make a decision without consulting his mommy,” Elena Petrovna replied evenly.
“Do you hear this?” Tamara turned to her son. “How she insults our family!”
Alexey abruptly stood and ran out of the room. The front door slammed.
“There’s your answer,” Elena spread her hands. “Instead of a man-to-man conversation—flight. Touching, isn’t it? At thirty, reacting like a sulky teenager.”
“You… you tore them apart!” hissed Tamara. “You turned your daughter against my son!”
“Dear,” Elena’s voice turned drier, “I taught my daughter to respect herself. And if your son isn’t ready for an equal relationship, the problem isn’t my girl.”
The mother-in-law silently collected her purse and headed for the door.
In the evening over dinner, mother and daughter washed the dishes together.
“You know, sunshine, do you know what I’ve learned over the years?” Elena rinsed the plates. “A mother’s love can be creative or destructive. Your grandma Galya always supported your father and me. If we quarreled, she’d tell me: ‘Lena, he’s a good man, take care of each other, learn to understand.’ But from the start, Tamara Stepanovna set her son against you.”
“Mom, but she wanted to test the sincerity of my feelings…”
“My dear, she wanted to prove you weren’t worthy of her precious boy. Tests in relationships aren’t a way to strengthen them, they’re a method of destroying them. You don’t test love by humiliating someone.”
Marina nodded, drying the glasses.
“You’re right.”
“And now you don’t need any of that, dear. You’re free of this theater of the absurd.”
“I remembered how at our wedding Tamara told her friends, ‘We’ll see how long this one lasts.’ At the time I thought I misheard.”
“And now you understand she was expecting your failure from the beginning?”
“Yes. And she did everything to bring it closer. And Alexey… he never even tried to defend me.”
“Because in his world his mother’s opinion matters more than his wife’s being right. Such men aren’t made for family life, dear.”
“I made the right choice, didn’t I?”
“The very best choice. Now live for yourself, my clever girl.”
Meanwhile, in town, Alexey sat in the rented one-room apartment—the very one he had recently shared with his wife—and cursed the whole world. His mother, who came up with the idiotic frying-pan test. His sister, who suggested the “practical” gift. His ex-wife, who refused to “fight for the family.”
By the river, Marina, Olya, and Svetlana sat by a campfire. Mist drifted over the water; somewhere in the distance an owl cried. The flames cast dancing shadows on their faces, creating an intimate atmosphere for candid conversation.
“Do you regret it?” Svetlana asked, peering closely at her friend.
“Regret what exactly, dear?”
“The divorce. After all, you lived together for two years.”
Marina stirred the coals with a stick. Pine logs cracked in the fire, sending golden sparks up into the air.
“I only regret spending two years on a person who didn’t know me,” she said with a bitter smile. “He didn’t remember that I don’t eat fish, thought my favorite color was pink even though I can’t stand it. He bought perfumes with a vanilla scent when I prefer citrus. And he never tried to remember.”
“Men can be like that,” Olya said sympathetically.
“No, darling, not all,” Marina objected. “Remember Sveta’s Denis? After their first date he remembered she likes jasmine tea. And my ex couldn’t be bothered to read a list on the fridge in two years.”
“You know what hurt me most?” Marina went on, tossing a dry twig onto the fire. “When I tried to explain my preferences, he’d say, ‘Come on, what’s the difference.’ As if I were asking the impossible.”
“That’s basic attention to someone you love,” Svetlana agreed.
“Exactly!” Marina exclaimed. “And he thought it was enough just to be around. As if his mere presence in my life was already a reward for me.”
The fire slowly died down, turning into glowing embers. A thicker mist rose over the river, shrouding the bank in a mysterious haze.
The owl called again somewhere in the dark, as if confirming the rightness of her decisions. The three friends sat by the fading fire, each lost in her own thoughts, yet all feeling the warmth of true friendship and support.
“Time to pack up?” Olya asked, checking her watch.
“Yes, it’s late,” Marina agreed. “But I’ll remember this evening for a long time. Thank you, my dear girls.”
“And thank you for your honesty,” Svetlana replied. “Your story is a lesson for all of us.”
They began to douse the fire and gather their things, but the warmth of the evening—the warmth of friendship—would stay with them for a long time.