On Friday evening, Sergey opened the refrigerator, looked over the shelves packed with food, and smiled with satisfaction.
Then he called his mother.
— Mom, don’t bring anything tomorrow. We have plenty of food at home. Oksana will cook everything.
I was standing in the hallway at that exact moment, holding a large shopping bag.
For a second, I honestly thought I had misheard him.
The refrigerator really was full.
But there was a reason for that.
Just two hours earlier, I had gone grocery shopping after work. I had bought enough food to prepare several meals for the coming week because Monday was going to be the beginning of an exhausting workweek.
The last thing I wanted was to come home after seven every evening and spend another two or three hours standing over the stove.
Sergey ended his phone call, put his phone on the table, and casually announced:
— My family is coming tomorrow. Around three.
I stared at him.
— Your family?
— Yes. Mom, Sveta and Pasha, Aunt Nina, Kostya and his wife… The children will probably come too. Nine people altogether, including us.
I slowly put my shopping bag down.
— And when exactly were you planning to tell me?
Sergey opened the refrigerator again, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere between the chicken and the vegetables.
— I’m telling you now. What’s the big deal? It’s not like we have guests every weekend.
We had been married for eight years. I had never had any serious conflict with his relatives. They were basically decent people. Sometimes loud, sometimes overly familiar, but nothing unbearable.
There was just one problem.
Sergey somehow believed that inviting people over and actually hosting them were two completely different things.
His part usually took about three minutes.
He called his mother, sister, aunt, or whoever happened to be available and said:
— Come over Saturday!
That was it.
His job was finished.
Mine was just beginning.
Shopping. Cooking. Salads. Meat. Side dishes. Dessert. Tea. Setting the table. Washing dishes. Cleaning the kitchen.
At first, I didn’t even realize how this had become the normal arrangement.
The first time, I helped.
The second time, I cooked almost everything.
By the third time, Sergey was already telling his relatives:
— Oksana will make something.
And I did.
Every single time.
But that Friday evening, something inside me finally snapped.
— How many people exactly?
— I told you. Nine.
— And you’ve already invited everyone?
— Of course. Mom suggested it this afternoon. I said they could come here. We have enough space.
That sentence irritated me more than anything else.
“We have enough space.”
Yes, the apartment was big enough.
The living room was big enough.
The refrigerator was full enough.
But apparently nobody had bothered to ask whether I had enough time or energy to feed nine people.
Sergey pulled a package of chicken from the refrigerator.
— We can roast this with potatoes. And you could make two salads with those vegetables.
Then he remembered something.
— Oh, and Mom loves your cabbage pies. If you have time, you could make those too.
I turned toward him.
— There will be no cabbage pies.
— Fine. Then don’t make them. We can buy something for tea.
— Sergey, you still don’t understand. I am not cooking for nine people tomorrow.
He finally looked at me seriously.
— Oksana, they’re my family.
— I know. That’s exactly why I don’t understand why I’m supposed to feed them when you’re the one who invited them.
— Why are you making such a big deal out of this?
— I’m not. I’m asking a simple question. Why don’t you cook?
He sighed impatiently.
— Because you cook faster.
I just stared at him.
Then he added:
— Why do you always have to turn everything into some kind of principle?
I knew that phrase very well.
Whenever Sergey said, “Why make this a matter of principle?” it usually meant that he expected me to do something he had volunteered me for without asking.
The next morning, he woke up around nine, had breakfast, and announced that he needed to run a few errands.
— I’ll be back before three.
I looked at him.
— And when are you going to cook?
He put his cup down.
— Are we starting this again?
— I’m just asking.
He was silent for a moment before softening his voice.
— Fine. Please help me today. I don’t want to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone. I already invited them.
There it was again.
“I already invited them.”
As though those four words automatically turned his decision into my responsibility.
I stood up.
I walked into the pantry and pulled out two large shopping bags.
At first, Sergey didn’t understand what I was doing.
Then he saw me taking vegetables, meat, dairy products, and other groceries from the refrigerator.
— What are you doing?
— I’m going to my mother’s.
— With all that?
— Yes. I’ll prepare the food there that I planned to make here. My mother can have some too.
I packed the meat and dairy products into an insulated cooler bag with ice packs.
I didn’t take everything.
There were still eggs, bread, butter, pasta, rice, flour, frozen food, and plenty of other things left behind.
Sergey wasn’t going to starve.
I was simply taking the groceries I had bought for my own plans instead of allowing him to turn them into a free nine-person family banquet.
He stood by the refrigerator, getting angrier by the second.
— Are you seriously leaving?
— Completely seriously.
— What am I supposed to tell the guests?
I put on my coat, picked up the bags, and looked him straight in the eye.
— You invited your family, so you feed them!
Then I walked out.
Sergey followed me to the door.
— Oksana, you’re putting me in an incredibly embarrassing position!
I turned around.
— No. You put yourself in that position when you promised nine people my time and my work without even asking me.
Then I left.
I drove to my mother’s house, which was only twenty minutes away.
Once I arrived, I put the food in her refrigerator and placed my phone face down on the kitchen table.
The first call from Sergey came around one in the afternoon.
— What am I supposed to make?
— Whatever people normally make when they invite guests.
— Very funny.
— I’m not joking.
I ended the call.
Later, his sister Sveta messaged me.
She asked if everything was all right because Sergey had told them only that I had suddenly gone to my mother’s.
I didn’t want to start a family war.
I simply wrote:
— I found out about the nine guests the night before, and I decided I wasn’t going to host them.
A few minutes later, she replied:
— I understand. He didn’t tell us that.
On Sunday evening, I returned home.
The apartment was quiet.
The kitchen was clean.
But I could immediately tell Sergey had done the cleaning.
The colander was sitting beside the salad bowls, and the large plates had somehow ended up on the shelf with the small ones.
Sergey was sitting in the living room.
— You really abandoned me yesterday — he said.
I took off my coat.
— What happened?
He finally told me everything.
He had bought ready-made salads, cold cuts, and other food. He had ordered some of the hot dishes. Sveta had arrived early and helped him set the table.
And after everyone left, Sergey had spent nearly an hour washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
— Mom kept asking where you were — he said.
— I hope you told her the truth.
He didn’t answer.
I didn’t lecture him.
I didn’t need to.
About a month later, his mother suggested another family gathering.
This time Sergey came into the kitchen and asked:
— Are you free next Saturday? Mom wants everyone to get together.
— No. I already have plans.
Sergey nodded.
He took out his phone.
A few minutes later, he booked a large table at a restaurant.
On Saturday, he got dressed and went to meet his family alone.
And from that day on, nobody ever asked me when I was going to make my famous cabbage pies again.
Because Sergey had finally learned something he should have understood eight years earlier:
Inviting guests takes two minutes.
Feeding nine people, serving them, washing their dishes, and cleaning up afterward is work.
And when someone else keeps giving away your time as if it belongs to them, sooner or later, you have to hand their responsibility right back.
