– Mom, Dad, Valera and Natasha are coming on Saturday. They’re staying here for a month.
Kostya dropped this sentence as if he were just saying the milk had run out. He was standing by the fridge, drinking kefir straight from the bag, scrolling his phone, completely calm.
I was holding a plate. I put it down. Too carefully.
– For a month – I repeated.
– Yes. Dad has vacation, and it was Mom’s long-time wish to come. Valera is coming with Natasha too. We’ll all be together as a family – he said without even looking up. – That’s normal, right?
Normal.
We had been married for seven years. In that time, his family had already taken over our apartment four times. Always longer than promised. Always slightly unexpected. But it was “family”.
I worked remotely as an accountant. I had a small office: eight square meters next to the bedroom. A desk, a computer, folders. A precisely calculated space, because this two-room apartment couldn’t handle more.
– Kostya – I said slowly. – There are two of us here. Where are we supposed to put four adults?
He finally looked up.
– My parents will be in the living room. Valera and Natasha will be in your office. I’ll buy an inflatable mattress.
– And where do I work?
– In the kitchen or the bedroom. You have a laptop.
As if that were the most natural arrangement in the world.
I stood there, and suddenly it became clear: he wasn’t asking. He was announcing. And I was just expected to adjust.
– You could have at least asked me – I said quietly.
– Ask what? They’re my parents.
Not strangers. Just… not my family.
I took a breath.
– Fine. Then I have a condition.
He looked up.
– You cook. You clean. They’re your guests.
He laughed shortly.
– Lena, my mom will do everything. She likes cooking.
I stayed silent.
Half a year earlier, I had started saving money. Evenings, extra work. Little by little. Forty-eight thousand rubles on a separate card. My “escape” money: sea, silence, a month of freedom.
At the time, I didn’t know I would actually need to escape.
They arrived on Saturday.
They didn’t knock — they marched in.
Three suitcases, two bags, grocery-store plastic bags full of pickles and buckwheat like some kind of survival kit.
Zinaida Pavlovna entered first.
– Small apartment – she said instead of hello. – And these wallpapers… still? I told you.
– Hello – I replied.
Gennady Petrovich only nodded and headed straight for the TV. Valera squeezed through the hallway. Natasha followed with her head down.
Kostya ran around, unpacking, inflating the mattress, moving furniture. My office disappeared.
In its place there was a bed. Temporary. For a month.
The “I’ll work in the kitchen” sentence suddenly became reality.
And from that moment, every day was the same.
I cooked.
He managed.
– The onion is too big.
– The carrot doesn’t look like that.
– This oil isn’t good.
Three hours by the stove. Every day.
Kostya sat in the living room with his father watching football.
The guests ate. Valera ate for two. Natasha barely ate. Zinaida Pavlovna commented on every bite.
– Salty.
– Not enough.
– This isn’t how it should be.
In the evening I washed dishes for six people. Every day.
By the tenth day, I was already calculating.
Food, utilities, time. And the invisible labor no one notices because it’s just assumed.
Then the limit broke.
My office was completely taken over. The mattress, the clothes, the noise.
I opened my laptop on the kitchen table between jars of pickles and a cutting board.
A client called:
– When will the report be ready?
– Tomorrow – I said.
I hung up.
– Lena, make cutlets – Zinaida Pavlovna said.
– I’m working.
– It’s quick.
And in the evening, after everyone had eaten, she said:
– We’re saving up for renovations. Kostya is helping too.
I looked up.
– Helping?
They were sending fifteen thousand a month from our shared money to them.
– That’s nothing – she waved it off.
I put down my fork.
– Then let’s calculate.
Silence fell.
– In ten days, we spent twenty-two thousand just on food. If it continues like this, it’ll be seventy by the end of the month. Shall we split it?
– Are you asking the family for money?! – she snapped.
– No. I’m dividing costs.
Valera laughed.
– We’re guests!
– Guests stay three days – I said. – This is a lifestyle.
After that, dinner wasn’t dinner anymore. More like silence.
Kostya didn’t come to bed that night.
He slept in the car.
On the fourteenth day, I woke up at dawn. Packed a bag.
I wrote a note:
“Your host has gone away to rest for a month. Food is in the fridge, recipes are with Zinaida. Have fun.”
And I left.
On the plane I finally slept properly.
On my phone: 114 messages.
– You’re a traitor
– Mom is crying
– Who is cooking now?!
I turned it off.
The sea.
Sleep.
Silence.
On the fourth day I turned it on:
“They left.”
I didn’t ask anything.
On the twentieth day:
“We need to talk.”
I replied: “Yes.”
A month later I came home.
The apartment was clean.
– When did they leave? – I asked.
– After a week – Kostya said.
A week. That’s all it took.
Since then, there was no reconciliation. No big scene. No embrace either.
Just a quiet, strange new order.
Kostya sleeps in the living room.
I sleep in the bedroom.
And for the first time in a very long time… no one tells me how to slice the onion.
