Andrey Sergeyevich was pouring morning coffee into their favorite porcelain cups—the very ones his wife had once brought back from a trip to Vienna. Yelena Viktorovna stood by the window, looking at the Mariinsky Theater poster on her phone.
“Tomorrow is Swan Lake,” she said dreamily. “Do you remember when we first went? Twenty years ago…”
“Of course I remember. You cried during the intermission.”
“I cried from the beauty!” Yelena turned to her husband with a smile. “And what do we have today?”
“Today is Friday, dear. We can go to Yeliseevsky, get that Brie you had your eye on. And some jamón.”
For the last five years their life had flowed just like that—measured and pleasant. The children had grown up and flown the nest. Their son Igor lived in Yekaterinburg with his wife and two little ones, their daughter Marina had settled in Kazan. They visited on holidays, called on weekends—the perfect distance for keeping warm relations.
And they, together at last, were living for themselves. An apartment on the Petrograd Side, savings that meant they didn’t have to scrimp on little things, a season subscription to the theater, exhibitions at the Hermitage. Andrey Sergeyevich had retired a year earlier but continued consulting for former colleagues—enough for a comfortable life.
The phone rang just as they were getting ready to go out.
“Andryusha?” His sister Tamara’s voice sounded tense. “Where are you?”
“At home, of course. Toma, what’s happened?”
“Listen, I really need your help. You know Nastya’s started having heart problems—they can’t tell us anything definite at the local hospital. She needs to see a good cardiologist, and we don’t have any here.”
Nastya—their niece, Tamara’s daughter. Nineteen, studying at the teachers’ college. Andrey didn’t see her often, but he remembered her as a good, modest girl.
“And what do you want?”
“Could we come to you for a couple of days? I’ll wrangle an appointment with a doctor, we’ll get the tests done…”
Yelena, who had been listening, nodded to her husband—of course they had to help.
“Of course, Toma. Come. When?”
“Tomorrow morning by train. Andryush, you’re a gem! I was so worried about how to ask…”
Hanging up, Andrey hugged his wife.
“It’s okay, we’ll put up with it for a couple of days. It’s for a good cause.”
“Come now, Andryusha. Family is family.”
The next day at half past ten they were standing at Moskovsky Station. The train arrived exactly on schedule.
The first to step off the carriage was Tamara—a plump fifty-three-year-old woman in a bright pink jacket. Behind her came a tall man with a belly, then a girl in jeans, a boy of about twelve, an elderly woman with a cane and… a small shaggy dog on a leash.
“Andryusha!” Tamara flung herself on her brother. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Toma…” Andrey stared, bewildered, at this procession. “And this…?”
“Oh, that’s my Vitaly,” she hauled the man toward them. “And this is Mom, you remember your aunt, don’t you? And Zhenya, Vitaly’s son from his first marriage. You know Nastya. And this is Zhuchka—Mom’s dog, we couldn’t leave her.”
Yelena Viktorovna stood there, unable to utter a word.
“Toma,” Andrey said quietly, “you said you were coming with your daughter…”
“Well yes, but what could I do? You can’t leave Mom alone, Vitaly took time off work specially to support us… And Zhenya’s on school break, where were we supposed to put him?”
“And the dog… why the dog?”
“Because Mom can’t live without Zhuchka! Come on, brother, surely you can understand?”
The trip home went by in a chaotic babble, and Andrey feverishly calculated: in their three-room apartment they would have to fit seven people and a dog. How?
“It’s all right,” Yelena whispered in his ear, “we’ll manage somehow.”
At home, the settling-in began. Tamara and her husband took over Andrey’s study, the boy set himself up on the couch in the living room, Nastya got a folding cot in the kitchen. Tamara’s elderly mother—Aunt Klava—claimed an armchair in the sitting room, announcing that “beds are uncomfortable for me, I’m used to dozing in a chair.”
The little dog immediately scouted the territory, marked the leg of an antique table, and lay down on the Persian rug.
“She’s well-behaved,” Aunt Klava assured them, “she just needs to get used to the new place.”
By evening Yelena discovered the refrigerator was half-empty. The expensive cheeses they had planned to stretch over a week disappeared in one dinner. The jamón too.
“What is this strange meat?” Vitaly asked, polishing off the last slice. “It’s kind of raw.”
“It’s Spanish ham,” Yelena answered weakly.
“Oh, right. We don’t eat that in our region. We prefer normal sausage.”
That night Andrey couldn’t sleep. Nastya tossed and turned loudly on the cot, quietly whimpering—apparently something really was bothering her. The TV in the living room was on—Aunt Klava slept with late-night programs. From the study came Vitaly’s snoring. And in the kitchen the dog periodically gnawed on something.
Morning didn’t improve matters. The line to the bathroom stretched to an hour and a half. Aunt Klava occupied the toilet with a newspaper and was in no hurry. The boy Zhenya splashed in the tub for half an hour, running the hot water down.
“Mom, where’s this uncle’s Wi-Fi?” he asked at breakfast.
“Andryush, give him the Internet password,” Tamara requested.
“Why does he need the Internet?” Andrey asked, surprised.
“What do you mean, why? He plays games! You can’t deprive a child of his usual pastime.”
Yelena noticed her expensive creams had vanished from the bathroom. When asked, Tamara replied:
“What’s the big deal? Cream is communal, we’re not strangers!”
On the second day they never made it to the doctor—Nastya said she “felt kind of better” and asked to be taken shopping. “Since I’m in Petersburg, I want to see some pretty things.”
By the end of the week Yelena was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The guests felt at home—actually, better than at home. Vitaly lay on the couch from morning till night, flipping channels. Zhenya tore around the apartment with a tablet, blasting videos at full volume. Aunt Klava bossed everyone and demanded “proper food” instead of “these incomprehensible delicacies.”
“Where’s your usual sausage?” she would ask. “And buy normal bread, not these French rolls. You can’t even get full on them!”
Meanwhile Tamara studied the contents of the cupboards, tried on Yelena’s dresses (“we’re the same size, after all!”) and shared her plans:
“You know, Andryush, I feel so good here! I’m thinking maybe we’ll stay another week? We never really got to the doctor…”
That evening Yelena called her husband into the kitchen.
“Andrey, I can’t take this anymore.”
“Lena, hold out a little longer…”
“How much longer? A week? A month? They’ve already settled in! Your Aunt Klava told the neighbor yesterday that we don’t feed them well. And your sister asked if they could have keys made—‘so we don’t have to stick to your schedule.’”
“But they’re…”
“Relatives, right? And what am I to you, not a relative?” Yelena’s voice broke. “I’ve been your wife for thirty years, and these people showed up for a week and are already running my home!”
“Len, don’t—”
“I will! Talk to them. Tell them it’s time to go home. We are not a hotel!”
“I feel awkward…”
“And I don’t? Is it convenient for me to find cigarette butts in my flowerpots? Convenient to buy kilos of cheap sausage instead of quality products? Convenient to stand in line for my own bathroom?”
Andrey shuffled, shifting from foot to foot.
“You know I’m no good at these kinds of conversations…”
“Then I’m leaving.”
“Where?”
“To Veronika’s, in Moscow. She’s been asking me to come for ages.”
“Lena, don’t be silly…”
“It’s not silly. It’s common sense. Someone has to put a stop to this disgrace.”
In the morning Yelena packed a suitcase. Seeing her getting ready, Tamara grew alarmed.
“Lenka, where are you off to?”
“On vacation. To a friend.”
“What do you mean, on vacation? What about us?”
“You’re Andrey’s guests. Not mine.”
“How can that be? We’re family!”
“Family is when people respect each other’s boundaries. Not when they live at someone else’s expense and give nothing in return.”
In the hallway Yelena turned to her husband:
“Feed your relatives yourself. When they leave—call me. I’ll come home.”
The door slammed. Andrey was left face to face with the guests.
“How could you just let her go?” Tamara protested. “A man should keep his wife in hand!”
“And who’s going to buy my sausage now?” Aunt Klava fretted.
The first three days without Yelena were a disaster. Andrey couldn’t cook anything more complicated than scrambled eggs. He bought ready-made foods and heated them in the microwave. Tamara tried to cook, but her skills extended to pasta with hot dogs.
“Where did your wife buy normal groceries?” she grumbled. “Everything in these stores is so expensive!”
“She chose quality products,” Andrey explained.
“What quality! It’s just overpaying!”
By the end of the fourth day Andrey realized he missed his wife. He missed their unhurried breakfasts, their evening talks about the theater, the quiet of the house. He missed the scent of her perfume, the neatly arranged things, a life without constant noise and chaos.
In the evening he called Yelena.
“How are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Wonderful!” his wife sounded cheerful and bright. “Can you imagine, Veronika and I were at the Pushkin Museum yesterday, today we’re going to the Bolshoi.”
“And I…”
“And how are you? Managing?”
“Managing…” he lied.
“Good then. Don’t worry about me. It’s lovely here! We go to restaurants every day, tomorrow we’re planning to head to Peredelkino…”
Hanging up, Andrey, for the first time in days, really thought about the situation. His wife was having fun, enjoying life. And him? He had become a servant to people who could barely manage a thank-you.
Tamara came into the room just then.
“Andryush, when is Lenka coming back? I’ve gotten used to having a woman keep the house in order…”
“I don’t know when she’s coming back.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re her husband!”
“I’m her husband, but not her master. She’s a free person.”
“What’s gotten into you? You’ve gone completely soft! You need to show some backbone!”
That evening, when everyone had finally gone to bed, Andrey sat in the kitchen thinking. He thought about how, in thirty years of marriage, Yelena had never put him in front of such an ultimatum. He thought about why it was “awkward” for him to ask his relatives to leave, but not awkward to turn his wife into support staff.
In the morning he made a decision.
“Toma, we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About your plans. How much longer are you going to stay?”
“What’s the problem? We’re not bothering you!”
“You are. Very much.”
“Andrey!” Tamara even half-rose. “What are you saying?”
“The truth. You came for two days to see a doctor. A week has passed, and you still haven’t gone. You’re living at our expense, eating our food, using our things, and complaining on top of it.”
“But we’re relatives!”
“Relatives don’t parasitize on each other. Relatives help in a tough moment, they don’t set themselves up at someone else’s expense.”
“How can you! We’re family!”
“Family, as I understand it, is respect and mutual help. Not consumerism.”
Tamara burst into tears.
“I thought you loved us…”
“I do love you. But love doesn’t mean I have to give up my own life for your convenience.”
The conversation was heavy. Tamara took offense, Aunt Klava bristled (“So this is modern upbringing for you!”), Vitaly muttered something about “city snobs.” But by evening a decision had been made: they would leave tomorrow.
“And don’t think I’ll forgive you for this!” Tamara declared at parting. “Betraying your own sister!”
“I haven’t betrayed anyone,” Andrey replied calmly. “I’ve simply learned to respect my life and my wife’s.”
That evening, when the apartment was finally quiet, Andrey went from room to room putting things in order. He brushed ash from the windowsills, washed the dishes, vacuumed the carpet. And for the first time in many days he felt relief.
Yelena came back three days later. Cheerful, rested, with presents from the capital.
“How are things?” she asked cautiously.
“They left.”
“When?”
“The day before yesterday. I told them it was time to go home.”
Yelena looked at her husband for a long time.
“And how was it?”
“Unpleasant. But necessary.”
“Is Tamara offended?”
“Very. But that’s her problem.”
In the evening they sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and talked.
“You know,” Yelena said, “I had a wonderful time. Veronika and I saw so much! And I realized one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That our life is ours. And we have the right to defend it.”
“Yes,” Andrey agreed. “I realized that too. Sorry it didn’t occur to me right away.”
“It’s all right. The important thing is that it did.”
The next day they went to the Philharmonic. They sat in the stalls, listened to the music, and held hands. Like once, twenty years ago. Only now they knew the value of their peace.
And a month later Andrey received a letter from Tamara. Short and dry: “Nastya’s heart is fine. The doctor said it was from nerves. She’s doing well at college now. Thanks for the hospitality.”
“She’s thanking us,” he showed the letter to Yelena.
“Late,” his wife smirked. “But better late than never.”
“Do you think they understood?”
“I don’t know. But that’s no longer our problem.”
And Andrey understood that his wife was right. Their problem had been learning to say “no” when necessary. And they had done it. At long last.