Marina ran her hand over the freshly painted fence board and smiled. The white paint had gone on smoothly, without drips, and now the plot looked completely different—not like an abandoned grandmother’s dacha, but like a real vacation home.
“Alyosh, look how beautiful it turned out!” she called to her husband, who was busy with the new metal roofing on the shed.
Aleksey climbed down the ladder, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked around. In two months of work, the plot had changed beyond recognition. The old house was sided, the roof replaced, all the outbuildings painted. Marina planted new flower beds, put in roses and peonies, tidied up the vegetable garden. They even paved the paths with tiles.
“Yeah, it turned out great,” he agreed, putting his arms around his wife’s shoulders. “Grandma would have been pleased.”
They stood in the middle of their little paradise, breathing in the scent of fresh paint and blooming apple trees. All the weekends spent on repairs, all the arguments in the hardware stores, all the blisters on their hands—it was all worth it. Now they had a place they wanted to come to.
“We should celebrate,” Marina suggested. “Let’s buy some champagne, make a salad…”
“Definitely. But first, I need a shower—I’m covered in dust.”
But they never got to celebrate their housewarming. As soon as they arrived and unloaded groceries, Viktor, Aleksey’s brother, drove into the yard in his Zhiguli.
“Oh, little brother!” Viktor climbed out of the car and looked around. “You’ve built yourself a whole palace here! Irka, look how beautiful it is!”
Irina, Viktor’s wife, scrutinized the plot critically.
“Not bad,” she agreed condescendingly. “Though the siding color isn’t great. And the porch is a bit small. But overall—okay.”
Their teenage children got out of the car and immediately headed to the swings Aleksey had recently installed.
“We’re here for a barbecue!” Viktor announced. “The weather’s great, it’s the weekend… We’re thinking of having a good rest.”
Marina glanced at her husband in confusion. They had planned to quietly work in the garden and then sit alone in the new gazebo in the evening.
“But we weren’t prepared for guests,” she began.
“Come on, what’s there to prepare!” Viktor waved off. “We’ll just grill some meat and hang out. By the way, where’s the grill?”
“We don’t have a grill yet,” Aleksey admitted.
“No grill?!” Irina was outraged. “You have a dacha like this and no grill! That’s the foundation of dacha relaxation!”
“We planned to buy one, but we’ve been spending everything on repairs…”
“That’s simple!” Irina insisted. “What kind of dacha is it without a grill? You should have bought one first.”
Viktor looked around the yard professionally, calculating where best to place the grill.
“Over there, under the apple tree, is the perfect spot. Better to make a brick, permanent one. But for now, we’ll run to the store and buy a disposable one.”
“We didn’t budget for a grill,” Marina tried to object.
“Come on, don’t be stingy! You built such a dacha and now you’re reluctant to spend money on a grill!”
In the end, Aleksey went to the hardware store for a portable grill, charcoal, and a grate. Marina stayed behind to entertain the guests and prepare snacks from the groceries she had brought for themselves.
“Where’s the meat?” Viktor asked when Aleksey returned.
“What meat?”
“For the barbecue! We came for a barbecue!”
“Well, you didn’t tell us… We didn’t buy any meat.”
“Ah, young people!” Viktor shook his head. “You don’t know how to host guests. Fine, let’s all go to the butcher together.”
The day passed in a fuss and expense. Aleksey bought three kilos of pork, marinated it, chopped vegetables for a salad. Marina spent the whole day in the kitchen preparing treats. By evening, the guests finally left, leaving behind a mountain of dirty dishes and an emptied fridge.
“This is funny,” Marina said tiredly as she cleared the table. “They came here to rest, but we ended up being the ones who worked.”
“Come on, they’re family,” Aleksey tried to excuse his brother, though he himself was not very pleased.
Two weeks later, Viktor and his family came again. This time, they gave advance notice.
“We’ll come over tomorrow,” he said on the phone. “Prepare about three kilos of meat, fresh veggies. And the tomatoes should be sweet, not that sour store stuff. We’re bringing young potatoes, baked in their jackets.”
“Viktor, maybe everyone should bring their own meat?” Aleksey timidly suggested.
“What? No way! We’re the guests! The hosts should treat us. That’s just how hospitality works.”
Marina snatched the phone from her husband:
“Listen, Viktor, when are you bringing the housewarming gifts? We’ve been living here for two months already.”
“What gifts! We’re bringing potatoes! Do you know how expensive young potatoes are now? That’s a serious gift!”
After that conversation, Marina was gloomy all week. On Saturday, she woke early, went to the market, bought good expensive meat, tasty vegetables, fruits. She spent the whole day preparing salads, marinating meat, setting the table.
Viktor and his family arrived around two in the afternoon with a single bag of small potatoes.
“Look at this beauty we brought!” he proudly announced, dumping the potatoes on the table. “Not some store junk!”
“Yeah,” Marina muttered through her teeth. “What a treasure.”
“Exactly! Do you know how much these potatoes cost? I paid one hundred fifty rubles per kilo! So we’re not coming empty-handed.”
Irina inspected the set table critically:
“There’s not enough meat. And where’s the greens? Dill, parsley are must-haves. And green onions. And cucumbers—where are they from? Not from your own garden, right? Yours are still small.”
“Store-bought,” Marina admitted.
“Oh, you should have told us earlier—we would have brought some from our garden. Ours are already big and tasty.”
“Your garden is two hundred kilometers from here!”
“So what? They’re ours!”
The whole day went on in the same tone. Viktor’s family ate, drank, criticized, and gave advice. The kids ran around the plot, broke two new roses, scratched the freshly painted fence with a bicycle.
“Next time buy fattier meat,” Irina instructed as they got ready to leave. “This was a bit dry. And get more charcoal—the grill didn’t heat well.”
“And buy a proper grill,” Viktor added. “This disposable one is nonsense. Money down the drain.”
After the guests left, Marina sat amid the trashed plot staring at the pile of dirty dishes. Aleksey silently gathered empty bottles.
“You know,” she said quietly, “this won’t happen again.”
“Come on, don’t be upset. They’re family…”
“What family? They’re freeloaders, not family. They think we owe them entertainment at our expense.”
But Aleksey didn’t want to argue with his brother, and when Viktor called a week later, suggesting another barbecue, he agreed.
“Just a heads-up,” Viktor said on the phone. “We won’t be alone. We’re bringing Kolya and his wife, and Sergey with the kids. So buy more meat and veggies. And don’t worry, we’ll bring potatoes again.”
Marina listened to the conversation, feeling anger boiling inside.
“Alyosha,” she called her husband after he hung up. “Come here.”
“What’s up?”
“Sit down and listen carefully. I’m not hosting your relatives’ feedings anymore. Enough.”
“Come on, they’re family…”
“Your family thinks we owe them entertainment. They come here like to a restaurant where they’re supposed to be served. But they don’t put in a single kopeck and still criticize us.”
“But they bring potatoes…”
“Potatoes for two hundred rubles! And we spend thousands! Alyosha, wake up! They’re using us!”
“Well, it’s not that bad…”
“How not? They didn’t even bring us a grill for the housewarming, though they constantly complain we don’t have one. But they demand we feed them. And act like we owe them!”
Aleksey thought it over. Indeed, the recent visits from relatives felt more like raids than friendly visits.
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “I’ll call Viktor and tell him we won’t be here this weekend.”
“No,” Marina shook her head. “Don’t lie. Tell the truth—that we’re no longer willing to feed them at our expense. If they want to come, they should bring their own meat, veggies, drinks. If they don’t like it, they shouldn’t come.”
“They’ll be offended…”
“Let them be offended. Better offended relatives than a ruined family budget.”
Aleksey hesitated to call his brother. But when Viktor called Friday to confirm the arrival time, he had to speak up.
“Listen, Vitya,” he started uncertainly. “Let’s do it differently this time. Everyone brings their own stuff. We’ll buy meat for ourselves, you for yourselves…”
“Are you crazy, little brother?” Viktor got angry. “We’re coming to visit you! Guests aren’t welcomed like that!”
“But you see, our budget can’t take it anymore…”
“What budget! You have good salaries, such a dacha… Don’t be stingy!”
At that moment Marina came to the phone.
“Give it to me,” she said to her husband and took the receiver. “Viktor, hi. Listen carefully. We won’t feed you at our expense anymore. If you want to come—bring your own meat, products, drinks. If not—don’t come.”
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Viktor exploded. “We’re family! We bring potatoes!”
“Potatoes for two hundred rubles against our five thousand! You’re out of line! You think we should entertain and feed you just because we have a dacha? And what do you give in return besides criticism and rudeness?”
“Marina, are you crazy? Alyosha, take the phone and talk to your wife!”
“He won’t,” Marina said. “Because he agrees with me. We’re tired of your raids. Either you start behaving like normal guests and contribute to shared costs, or don’t come at all.”
“You’re crazy! Stingy now! We won’t come anymore!”
“That’s fine,” Marina answered calmly. “Grill your own barbecue in your own yard.”
She hung up and looked at her husband, who stood with wide eyes.
“Marina, you do realize they won’t talk to us anymore?”
“Thank God. Maybe now we can rest properly at our dacha.”
“But it’s my family…”
“Alyosha,” she said wearily, “family is when people care for each other. Not when some use others. Your brother doesn’t care about us—he uses us. And if you don’t understand that, the problem isn’t only with him.”
Aleksey walked around gloomily for several days, expecting Viktor to call and make peace. But Viktor never called. Instead, on Saturday morning, Aleksey and Marina were alone at the dacha for the first time in a long while.
“You know,” Aleksey said, sitting in the gazebo with a cup of coffee and looking at his well-kept plot, “this is nice.”
Marina smiled, watering flowers.
“I told you. Now this really is our place to relax.”
“But we still need to buy a grill.”
“We will. For ourselves. And we’ll barbecue whenever we want, not when uninvited guests show up.”
They sat in silence, enjoying the peace. Bees buzzed over flower beds, a woodpecker hammered somewhere, and no one demanded the table be set immediately or to entertain them at someone else’s expense.
“What if they do come after all?” Aleksey asked.
“They won’t,” Marina answered confidently. “And if they do, I’ll send them back. I said—they’re not welcome here anymore.”
Aleksey nodded. He understood his wife was right. This was their dacha, their work, their money. They had the right to decide how to relax here and whom to host.
“You know, I’m even glad it turned out this way,” he admitted. “I got tired of listening to them. Everything’s wrong, everything’s not right. And what did they do for this dacha? Nothing.”
“Exactly. And now we can peacefully enjoy what we created with our own hands.”
She came over, hugged him around the shoulders. They looked at their plot—neat beds, blooming flower beds, freshly painted buildings—and felt deep satisfaction. This was their place, their little paradise they made themselves. And now no one disturbed them from enjoying the fruits of their labor.
Since then, the relatives really stopped coming. Sometimes Aleksey met his brother in town—Viktor pretended not to see him or gave meaningful looks but didn’t dare to start a conversation. Meanwhile, Aleksey and Marina spent every weekend at the dacha, inviting friends who always brought something and helped cook. They bought a good grill, set up a nice barbecue area, and now their plot truly became a place they wanted to return to again and again.
Last summer, Viktor unexpectedly stopped by. Alone, without his family. He stood at the gate, looked at the transformed plot, and quietly said:
“It’s beautiful here. You did a good job.”
“Thank you,” Aleksey replied.
“Maybe I could come in? Talk?”
Aleksey looked at his wife. Marina shrugged:
“If he wants to talk like a human, let him come in.”
Viktor entered, sat at the gazebo table. Marina silently placed tea before him.
“I realized you were right back then,” he finally said. “We really behaved like… freeloaders. Sorry.”
“It’s good that you realized,” Marina responded.
“Can I come sometimes? But differently. With my own food.”
“Sure,” Aleksey agreed. “But let us know in advance. And come not with a crowd.”
“Of course. And… thanks for not kicking me out right away.”
Since then, Viktor started coming occasionally, always with food, always alone or with his wife. He stopped criticizing and bossing around, helped cook, thanked them for hospitality. Marina realized that this was how it should be—when people respect each other and don’t think they owe someone just because they’re relatives.
And the dacha became what they had envisioned—a place of rest and joy, not constant stress from uninvited guests with empty hands and big appetites.