— Don’t get underfoot, Galya! We have important guests today — Larissa snapped, simply pushing me aside from the porch of my own house.
She adjusted the light chiffon scarf floating around her neck, then proudly surveyed the garden.
The sight was rather peculiar. Against the backdrop of our old, moss-covered apple tree, the silk scarf looked about as appropriate as a diamond tiara on the head of a collective farm chairman.
I leaned against the doorframe and watched my sister-in-law with curiosity.
Just on Wednesday, she had called my husband, Sergei, her own brother.
— I just want a small family gathering — she pleaded. — Nothing extravagant. A few people, a little barbecue, maybe some sausages. It’s his fiftieth birthday, you know…
Sergei is not the kind of man who begrudges a guest a bite to eat. Neither am I.
The country house had been left to me by my parents. Over ten years, the two of us had restored it. When we first got it, the garden was almost completely overgrown with weeds. Now it had a well-kept lawn, flowerbeds, a wrought-iron gazebo, and a whole collection of roses.
A few years ago, Sergei had even given Larissa a spare key.
— If you want, drop by sometimes and pick some apples — he had said.
As it turned out, Larissa interpreted this not as a spare key, but as a property deed.
Because her “small family gathering” had already turned into a minor military operation by eight in the morning.
First, a white van marked “Elite-Catering” squeezed through the gate.
Then another one.
Then a florist arrived.
Then a photographer.
Then waiters.
Finally, a nervous young man tried to stick a huge arrangement of artificial orchids among my peonies.
Sergei stared at it silently for a few seconds.
— Better not — he said.
The young man didn’t understand.
— It will look very elegant.
— It won’t — Sergei replied. — But the roses will. Put it behind the sauna.
We didn’t send the workers away. They were only carrying out the order they had been given. Larissa, however, kept insisting that everything was perfectly normal.
— It’ll all be ready by afternoon, and we’ll clean everything up tonight.
Sergei looked at me.
I simply said:
— Fine. Let her celebrate. But if she starts presenting our house as her own, or humiliates us in front of her guests, I will step in.
At the time, I had no idea how quickly I would need to do exactly that.
Late that morning, Larissa’s husband, Arkady, arrived.
The man climbed out of his enormous black SUV as though he had come to accept the surrender of an entire country.
He looked around our garden, then his eyes landed on our freshly washed Niva.
— Galina, move this wreck out of here!
— Good morning to you too, Arkady.
— Important people are arriving any minute. A banker is coming too. Irina Leonidovna. I don’t want her to think we’re at some scrap-metal yard.
I looked at the Niva, then at his SUV.
— Our car is parked in its own parking space. Your jeep, on the other hand, is sitting on my drainage grate.
Arkady looked down at his tires.
— Oh, come on. Don’t bother yourself with these country problems of yours!
— The grate is already bent.
— I told you in the spring that you should order an alpine lawn. Italian technology. It regenerates itself.
I smiled.
— Arkady, this is perennial ryegrass with clover. Sergei planted it. It took him two years to get the soil right.
— You always interfere with elite landscaping with your collective-farm mentality!
I didn’t answer.
I went into the kitchen.
By two that afternoon, I barely recognized our own country house.
A string quartet was playing on the porch.
The photographer was running from bush to bush.
The waiters were pouring champagne.
Guests in high heels were trampling the grass.
And Larissa was behaving as though she were the lady of some country estate.
Through the open kitchen window, I could hear her perfectly.
— Yes, this is our little country estate — she was explaining to a tall, gray-haired man. — Arkady has put so much effort into it. We insisted on the rustic style. Nothing flashy. Just nature.
The gray-haired man nodded approvingly.
He was probably Irina Leonidovna.
Just then, Sergei came up onto the porch.
He was wearing work trousers and a checked shirt. He had just repaired the pump at the well.
Larissa saw him.
Her face changed instantly.
She rushed over to him.
— Sergei! Look at you!
My husband looked at her.
— Like someone who lives here.
— I asked you not to show yourself! Go to the shed or stay behind the house!
Sergei said nothing.
— Important people are here! — Larissa hissed. — Irina Leonidovna is here too! Our contract depends on her!
— And?
— Please, sit in the summer kitchen for now.
Sergei’s jaw tightened.
— I’m in my own house, Larissa.
Then he simply moved her aside and walked inside.
I saw it on his face.
Something had broken inside him.
Not his pride.
His patience.
A little later, Larissa stormed into the kitchen.
— Galya, help the waiters!
— Excuse me?
— The hot food has arrived. Take a tray.
— You invited fifty people here.
— So?
— To our house.
— We’re family!
— Then why should I wait on your guests?
Larissa rolled her eyes.
— Oh, don’t make a big deal out of everything! If anyone asks, I told them you two are just caretakers.
I fell silent.
— Caretakers?
— Yes. It’s very fashionable now.
She turned around and went back to the guests.
And finally, I understood something.
There was nothing left to discuss with Larissa in private.
She had lied to everyone.
So everyone was going to hear the truth.
A few minutes later, I went out onto the porch.
Arkady was standing beside Irina Leonidovna.
— Try this prosciutto! — he raved. — It’s aged for three years in caves in Calabria. We have it flown in by private charter!
I looked at the plate.
— Arkady, I saw the packaging earlier.
He froze.
— And?
— It says “sliced dried meat.” Made in the Moscow region.
Irina Leonidovna raised an eyebrow.
— Galina! — Arkady growled. — You really don’t know when to keep quiet!
— I only said what I saw.
— Your only talent is digging around in manure!
— I only dig around in manure when I’m fertilizing my roses.
Arkady turned red.
Irina Leonidovna, however, was no longer smiling.
Then Tatiana Borisovna, our neighbor, came over.
She was standing by the fence with a watering can.
— Galyunya! What is this fancy gathering? — she called. — I only came to return your dill seeds!
Larissa rushed over.
— Please move away from the fence! This is a private event!
Tatiana stared at her in disbelief.
— Larissa, is that you?
— Larissa Viktorovna!
— All right, Larissa Viktorovna.
— Don’t ruin the concept of the event!
Tatiana looked at me.
— Galka?
— Tanya, come inside later. I baked a pie.
— Okay.
She left.
Larissa glared at me.
And I was already smiling.
That evening, everyone finally took their places at the long tables.
Champagne.
Candles.
Music.
Cameras.
And a microphone.
Larissa stood up.
Her dress sparkled as though she were standing on the red carpet in Cannes rather than at a country house outside Moscow.
— Dear friends! Business partners! — she began. — I’m so happy that we can all be here at our cozy country home!
Arkady smiled proudly.
— We built this house together. We planted every bush. Every board bears the mark of our work.
The guests applauded.
Sergei stood beside me.
— Right now, I’d really like to take the microphone away from her — he said.
— Don’t.
— Why?
— Because I’m going to do it.
I walked down from the porch.
Larissa was just about to continue her speech when I stepped up to her and simply took the microphone from her hand.
At first, she just stared at me.
Then she began moving her lips soundlessly.
The music stopped.
Every eye turned toward me.
— Good evening.
My voice carried across the garden.
— I would also like to raise my glass. But not to Larissa and Arkady.
I paused.
— To the true owners of this house.
I looked at Sergei.
— My husband, who built this gazebo with his own hands. And myself, because I planted most of these roses.
The silence became almost tangible.
Larissa stepped forward.
— Galya…
I didn’t give her the microphone back.
— Larissa and Arkady are guests here, just like all of you.
Someone gasped.
— On Wednesday, Larissa asked if she could have a small family barbecue here for five people. Today she invited fifty people and is presenting our house as her own.
Arkady jumped to his feet.
— Enough!
— No, Arkady. I’m only getting started.
Several guests exchanged uncomfortable glances.
— I would also like to mention that a few minutes ago she wanted to send my husband, her own brother, to the shed because he “didn’t look right” in front of the guests.
Sergei stood silently on the porch.
— And she called me a caretaker.
Larissa’s face went pale.
— You’re lying!
— Then let’s clear this up.
I turned the microphone toward Maxim Olegovich.
— Who ordered this event?
The catering representative cleared his throat.
— Larissa Viktorovna.
— Who paid the deposit?
— Larissa Viktorovna.
— And who is responsible for paying the remaining balance?
Maxim Olegovich glanced at Arkady.
— The person who placed the order.
A strange, tense silence fell over the garden.
I turned back to Larissa.
— So neither Sergei nor I owe you anything.
Arkady’s face turned red.
— You’re ruining our contract!
— No. Your lies are ruining it.
At that moment, Irina Leonidovna slowly stood up.
She placed her glass on the table.
— Arkady Petrovich — she said quietly. — I can tolerate a great many things during a business negotiation.
Arkady froze.
— But there is one thing I cannot tolerate.
Irina looked him directly in the eyes.
— Lies.
The man tried to interrupt.
— Irina Leonidovna, you misunderstand…
— No. I understand perfectly.
She looked at Larissa.
— You brought me here to a house that does not belong to you. And you presented the actual owners as caretakers.
She adjusted her handbag.
— If someone is willing to deceive even their own family so easily just to appear more important than they are, I don’t want to do business with them.
Larissa’s mouth fell open.
Irina was already walking away.
At the door, she turned around one last time.
— And by the way, the prosciutto really did taste like plastic.
She left.
Several guests followed her.
Within minutes, the celebration fell apart.
The caterers were already dismantling the tables.
Arkady angrily transferred the money.
Larissa was crying.
— You’ve ruined my life!
Sergei walked over to her.
— No.
Larissa looked up.
— You did.
My husband’s voice was quiet, yet everyone could hear him.
— This house is our home. And you came here as if it were yours.
He took out the spare key.
— You’re never using this again.
Larissa didn’t move.
— Sergei…
— Pack your things.
— But I’m your sister!
— That’s exactly why it hurts.
He paused.
— Don’t come here again.
A week later, Arkady paid for the damaged lawn and the drainage system as well.
The tire tracks were far too obvious for him to argue.
But the garden continued to bear the marks of the celebration for days.
Trampled grass.
A paper napkin under the bush.
A broken glass beside the gazebo.
Then, one evening, everything finally became quiet again.
The scent of peonies once more filled the garden.
Tatiana Borisovna appeared by the fence with a plate of pastries.
— Well, Galka — she said. — I’ve never seen anything like that. And I worked in a school for thirty years.
I laughed.
— Consider it professional development.
Tatiana handed Sergei a pastry.
— When are you going to fix the ryegrass?
Sergei looked down at the trampled lawn.
— Tomorrow.
Then he looked at me.
— We’ll reseed it.
— Ours?
— Ours.
I smiled.
Sergei put his arm around my shoulders.
The sun was just disappearing behind the trees.
— You know, Galya — he said — this grass is stronger than they think.
— So are we.
He nodded.
Then he took a bite of the pastry.
— And at least this one is actually homemade.
I started laughing.
There were no guests in the garden anymore.
No music.
No flashing cameras.
No champagne.
Just the two of us standing in front of our own house.
And then I realized something.
A home does not become valuable because of how luxurious we can make it look in front of other people.
It becomes valuable because when everyone leaves, it still feels good to stay there.
And perhaps that was why I was no longer angry with Larissa.
Because in a single evening, she had done everything she could to make our home look like a palace.
And the next morning, we simply got it back.
The roses bloomed again.
The grass turned green again.
Two mugs of tea steamed beneath the gazebo once more.
And behind the gate, we no longer had to prove to anyone that this was our house.
Because when someone truly belongs somewhere, they don’t need guests, applause, or a loud toast.
It is enough to close the gate behind them, look around, and quietly say:
— I’m home.
Then, when we switched on the light on the porch, a whole group of cockroaches scattered from among the bushes.
Sergei looked at me.
— See? Even they know when the party is over.
And for the first time in weeks, we laughed without having to think about anyone else.
