— “Mommy, where’s my bunny?” Katya tugged on Marina’s sleeve.
They were standing in the entryway at her mother-in-law’s place, where they’d stopped literally for a minute—to pick up the toy.
From the living room came the rich aroma of meat fried with garlic; glasses clinked, men’s laughter sounded. Marina took a step toward the half-open door. Through the crack she saw a set table—snow-white tablecloth, crystal bowls with salads, a platter of expensive cold cuts, a golden roast duck, bottles of wine and cognac, a vase piled with grapes and tangerines.
Her breath caught. Yesterday, at Irina Petrovna’s birthday, that very same table had held boiled potatoes, pickles from a jar, and a couple of sprat sandwiches. She froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the feast.
Marina jerked back from the door, found the bunny on the console under the mirror, grabbed it, and pulled her daughter toward the exit.
“Come on, Katyusha, quickly.”
Marina’s heart pounded as she went down the stairs. In the car she buckled Katya in and slumped back in the seat, trying to make sense of what she’d seen.
Five years ago, when Aleksey first brought her to meet his mother, Irina Petrovna greeted them in a worn housecoat. On the table were packaged gingerbread cookies and a teapot with a chipped spout.
“Forgive me, my pension is small,” the mother-in-law sighed then, pouring weak tea. “Lyosha knows, I’d be glad to host you better.”
Since then they visited every month. Their bags always held chicken, cheese, fruit. Marina bought the expensive blood-pressure meds his mother supposedly couldn’t afford.
“Mom, we brought your Concor,” Aleksey would say, laying the boxes on the hall table. “And we got Cardiomagnyl too—the pharmacy said it’s better to take them together.”
“Oh, sonny, why spend the money?” Irina Petrovna would flutter her hands, but she quickly put the medicines away in the cupboard.
When his mother landed in the hospital with a hypertensive crisis, Marina brought her homemade food for two weeks. She cooked broths, made steamed cutlets. The nurses were surprised:
“Your mom is lucky with her daughter-in-law! Some people’s own children don’t visit.”
On every holiday, Irina Petrovna’s table looked the same: boiled potatoes, sauerkraut, herring. On New Year’s she added a crab-stick salad.
“Don’t be offended,” the mother-in-law would whisper. “My pension is pennies.”
She never talked about the older son. On the dresser stood a single photo—a man of about forty in an expensive suit. At the sight of it, Aleksey would darken and step out for a smoke.
“Viktor and I don’t speak,” he explained to Marina after their first visit. “Old story.”
Yesterday’s birthday went as usual. Marina took a “Prague” cake out of the bag, and Aleksey handed his mother an envelope of cash.
“Oh, why so much!” the mother-in-law exclaimed, quickly tucking the envelope into her apron pocket. “Sit down, I boiled some potatoes.”
On the oilcloth were the familiar dishes: boiled potatoes with dill, sliced herring, bread. Irina Petrovna bustled about, spooning food onto plates.
“Mom, maybe I’ll make a salad? You’ve got fresh cucumbers,” Marina offered, peeking into the fridge.
“No need, dear, this will do. We’re among our own—no formalities.”
After tea with the store-bought cake, they got ready to go home. Already in the car, Katya started to whimper:
“Mommy, I forgot my bunny! My favorite one!”
“We’ll swing by tomorrow,” Aleksey promised.
But in the morning he was urgently called in to work. Marina sighed, dressed her daughter, and went herself.
She had a key to the building door. They went up to the third floor; Marina rang—silence. She knocked.
“Irina Petrovna! It’s me, Marina! Katya left her toy!”
No one answered, but voices came from inside. Marina pushed the door—it wasn’t locked. She walked down the hallway and froze.
All day Marina couldn’t find peace. She chopped salad for dinner and saw crystal bowls before her eyes. She washed the dishes and remembered the smell of roast duck. When Aleksey came home from work, she waited for him to change and eat.
“Lyosh, I need to tell you something,” Marina sat opposite her husband on the couch. “We stopped by your mom’s today to get the toy.”
“So what?” Aleksey reached for the TV remote.
“The table was set. Like…” she faltered, searching for words. “Duck, wine, fruit. Everything in crystal. Like a restaurant.”
Aleksey froze with the remote in his hand. His jaw tightened; muscles jumped in his cheeks.
“Viktor came,” he said hoarsely. “She let it slip yesterday as we were leaving. Said she’d be busy today.”
“But why such a difference?” Marina couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. “For us—potatoes and herring, and for him…”
“Because,” Aleksey flung the remote onto the coffee table, “to her we’ve always been second-rate. I’m the loser who didn’t get into university. And Viktor is the pride of the family, a businessman.”
He got up and went to the balcony to smoke. Marina looked at his hunched back through the glass. Something snapped inside. All these years she’d been fooling herself, thinking she was helping a poor pensioner.
Marina lay down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Aleksey had turned to the wall and breathed evenly, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. In the dark, scenes from the past years floated up, each more hurtful than the last.
Here was Katya’s birthday three years ago. Marina baked a cake, decorated the apartment, invited kids from daycare. Irina Petrovna came with a tiny doll worth two hundred rubles.
“Sorry, my pension is small,” she sighed.
And a week later Marina happened to see a photo on her mother-in-law’s phone—Viktor’s grandson with a huge radio-controlled helicopter. The caption read: “Thanks to Grandma for the gift!”
She remembered how, at the hospital, she brought chicken broth in a thermos. She got up at six, cooked it, strained it through cheesecloth. The women sharing the room marveled:
“Irina Petrovna, what a golden daughter-in-law you have!”
“Yes, she’s good,” the mother-in-law nodded. “But my older son—though he’s busy—calls regularly. A man of affairs!”
Marina turned onto her other side. Anger was kindling in her chest. Here she was, giving her mother-in-law her mink coat:
“Mom, take it, it’s gotten too small for me. And it will suit you.”
“Oh, it’s too expensive, I can’t accept it!”
“Come now, Mom, we’re family!”
Irina Petrovna took the coat and hung it in the closet. Marina never saw it on her after that. Where did the coat go? Probably a gift to Viktor’s wife.
In the morning Marina woke with a clear head. The decision had ripened overnight—firm and final. Calmly, she made breakfast—eggs with tomatoes, sliced bread. Aleksey sat down, stirring his coffee.
“You know,” Marina poured herself tea, “I’m not going to run over to your mother’s at the first call anymore.”
Aleksey looked up from his plate.
“She can buy her own medicines. Or Viktor can. If she puts on a show for him, then he can help.”
“Mom will call and start complaining,” Aleksey broke off a piece of bread. “About her blood pressure, about her tiny pension.”
“She’ll call,” Marina shrugged. “I’ll politely say we’re busy, that we don’t have money. Everything she told us about Viktor—he’s busy, he has business.”
Aleksey smirked for the first time since the night before.
“And if she ends up in the hospital?”
“I’ll visit once a week. Empty-handed. Like the other visitors—came, chatted, left.”
The phone on the table vibrated. “Mom” lit up on the screen. Aleksey glanced at the display and slid the phone away.
“I’ll call back later,” he said, and kept eating.
Marina nodded. Her chest felt lighter, as if she’d dropped a heavy backpack after a long trek.
Three months passed. Marina was setting the Sunday table for her own parents—they’d come to see their granddaughter. A stew simmered on the stove; an apple pie browned in the oven.
“Grandma!” Katya flew into her grandmother’s arms. “Did you bring me a book?”
“Of course, sunshine—two of them!”
Aleksey helped his father-in-law off with his coat and settled him in an armchair. The table was noisy and warm. Marina’s mother asked about work; her father played pat-a-cake with Katya.
The phone rang twice. “Irina Petrovna” flashed on the screen. Marina pressed decline.
“Your mother-in-law?” her mom asked.
“Yes. I’ll call back later.”
Last week they’d stopped by Irina Petrovna’s for half an hour. Drank tea with store-bought gingerbread, chatted about the weather. The mother-in-law hinted about new blood-pressure pills—expensive, Swiss. Marina nodded sympathetically and kept quiet.
“Mom, more pie, please!” Katya reached for the dish.
Marina cut her daughter a bigger slice and smiled. In this kitchen, with these people, she was home. Truly home.