— You don’t understand, Lena, she’s my mother! Her blood pressure shoots up when she sees the rotten boards on the veranda. We have to do this renovation for her. I already promised.
Oleg stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, pretending to be an Atlas holding the vault of family well-being on his shoulders.
Only this Atlas was wearing stretched-out sweatpants, and the “vault” was supposed to be repaired using my annual bonus and the money I had set aside for new teeth.
— Wait — I slowly put down my teacup, careful not to let the porcelain clink and give away my boiling rage. — You promised your mother a full renovation of her summer house.
With a sauna, as I heard on the phone? With my money?
— But we have a shared budget! — my husband shouted, stepping back. — I’m contributing too! I’ll supervise the crew!
— Oleg, last month you “supervised” changing a light bulb and we sat without electricity for two days — I replied calmly. — The money on the card is my project bonus and savings for dental implants.
You want your wife to walk around toothless so your mother can steam herself in a cedar sauna?
Oleg puffed himself up, trying to give his face an expression of offended virtue.
— Material things are fleeting, Lena. What matters most is the emotional comfort of loved ones. My mother said the sauna will cleanse our karma.
— Your mother isn’t cleansing karma, she’s polluting it with her demands — I snapped. — And I’m not giving the money.
— Too late — my husband muttered, looking away. — I already ordered the log house. Paid the deposit with the credit card. I told them you’d cover the debt tomorrow and pay the rest.
Oleg looked like a naughty cat who’s sure he’ll still get sour cream because “where would she go.” He jerked his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible flea.
On Saturday we went to Tamara Ivanovna’s summer house. “A family council,” as my mother-in-law called it.
Her daughter was there too, Sveta — a thirty-five-year-old woman whose main life achievement was the ability to professionally suffer from lack of money without ever having worked.
Tamara Ivanovna greeted us in the pose of a landowner inspecting her estate.
— Lenochka, dear! — she trilled, kissing the air ten centimeters from my cheek.
— I’m so glad you came. I was thinking: a log house is boring. Let’s order rounded logs and a Finnish stove. I saw it in a magazine, it’s trendy now.
— Tamara Ivanovna — I smiled the smile usually reserved for scaring debt collectors — a Finnish stove costs as much as an airplane wing. And our budget is three pennies and Oleg’s enthusiasm.
— Oh, don’t be modest! — my mother-in-law waved it off, adjusting her hat. — I know you’re a department head. For a beloved mother-in-law, you can make an effort. Money is energy, you can’t hold it back or the Universe will be offended.
— The Universe, Tamara Ivanovna, usually gets offended when a pension is spent on lottery tickets but renovations are demanded from the daughter-in-law — I noted in an icy tone.
My mother-in-law started choking on air, coughing and clutching her heart, but when she saw I wasn’t running for heart drops, she straightened up at once.
Her face twisted as if she’d bitten into a lemon thinking it was marshmallow.
— Mom, don’t worry! — Sveta cut in, chewing an apple from my bag.
— Lena’s just driving up the price. By the way, Lena, since you’re hiring a crew anyway, could they insulate my balcony too? You know, family-style. There’ll be leftover materials.
— Of course, Sveta — I nodded. — We’ll build you a lovely shack on the balcony out of sawdust and old roofing felt.
Sveta choked on the apple, turned red, and shot an angry look at her brother.
She looked like a puffed-up frog that had been given a plastic button instead of a fly.
In the evening, the real theater began. We set the table on the veranda. Oleg poured liqueur, and after a couple of shots Tamara Ivanovna went on the offensive.
— I look at you, Lena — she began in the sweetest voice — and I think how lucky you are with my son. Another man would drink or beat you, but this one is responsible and takes care of his mother. And you’re still holding back.
I heard you wanted to change your car? Why do you need it? Women driving is dangerous anyway. Better invest in real estate. In the family nest!
— In your nest, Tamara Ivanovna, cuckoos lay their eggs, and for some reason I’m the one expected to feed them — I calmly cut off a piece of shashlik. — And by the way, Oleg promised the renovation would be paid from his pocket.
— Everything is shared between husband and wife! — Sveta shrieked. — Why are you so materialistic? We’re family!
— Family is when people support each other, not milk each other — I replied. — Oleg, did you tell your mother I agreed to pay 150,000 for the sauna?
Oleg hunched his shoulders:
— Well… I thought we’d come to an agreement…
— I already ordered it! — my mother-in-law announced triumphantly. — They’ll deliver it tomorrow. Payment on delivery. Lena, get your card ready.
This was too much. They didn’t ask — they informed. My money had already been mentally divided, cut up, and spent.
I looked at their satisfied faces, shiny with greasy meat, and felt something click inside me. Self-pity disappeared. Cold calculation remained.
— So it’s being delivered tomorrow? — I asked again.
— At ten in the morning — Tamara Ivanovna nodded importantly. — And don’t be late with the transfer, the driver is nervous.
— Fine — I stood up from the table. — Enjoy your meal. I’m going to sleep.
In the morning I woke up to the sound of an engine. A truck was standing at the gate. The loaders were already unloading bricks and some expensive blocks. Tamara Ivanovna was running around them like a regimental commander in a floral robe.
— Careful! That’s Italian ceramic! — she shouted. — Oleg, come receive it! Lena, where’s the phone? Transfer the money!
Oleg, sleepy and rumpled, ran up to me:
— Lena, hurry, it’s 180,000 with delivery.
— 180,000? — I feigned surprise. — You said 150.
— Well… the exchange rate jumped, and Mom also wanted a forged weather vane.
— A forged weather vane? — I repeated. — Very necessary. So you know which way the wind blows in an empty head.
Oleg turned red:
— Enough sarcasm! Pay already, people are waiting!
Tamara Ivanovna was already waving at us:
— What are you dawdling for? Payment goes to the foreman’s phone number!
I stepped out onto the veranda, stretched, and loudly, so both the loaders and the neighbors could hear, said:
— Oleg, I don’t have any money.
Silence fell. Even the birds stopped chirping. My mother-in-law froze with her hand raised.
— What do you mean you don’t have any? — my husband hissed. — You showed me the app… there were 300,000 there!
— There were — I agreed. — But I remembered that I had a promise too.
— What promise? — Sveta screamed, coming out of the house.
— Five years ago I promised myself that if I saved up a round sum, I’d fulfill my dream. And yesterday, while you were dividing the skin of an unkilled bear and my bank account, I transferred all the money.
— Where?! — the relatives exclaimed in unison.
— To a dental clinic — I smiled with my still imperfect teeth. — Full prepayment for implants, veneers, and treatment. And I bought a trip too. To a sanatorium. By the sea. For two weeks. Departure tonight. The taxi is already on the way.
Tamara Ivanovna grabbed the fence so she wouldn’t fall.
— You… you spent Mom’s sauna money on teeth?! — Oleg shouted. — You’re an egoist!
— And you’re a freeloader who wanted to make a name for himself at someone else’s expense — I replied calmly. — I warned you: my money is my money.
— And what about the sauna?! — my mother-in-law screamed, seeing the loaders start exchanging nervous glances. — They won’t leave!
— That’s your problem — I picked up my suitcase, packed the night before. — Oleg is the “manager.” Let him handle it.
Then a stocky driver stepped forward:
— So, owners, are we paying? Or we load everything back up, but for the wasted trip and loading/unloading you owe us thirty thousand.
— Oleg! — Tamara Ivanovna shrieked. — Do something!
Oleg rushed to me, grabbing my hand:
— Lena, don’t be stupid! Cancel the transaction! Give the money back!
— You can’t — I lightly shook his hand off. — These are medical services under contract. And the ticket is non-refundable.
— Then take out a loan! — my husband hysterically shouted.
— A loan? You’re the man, the head of the family. You take it out. In your own name.
— I have a bad credit history! — he blurted out, then fell silent.
— Oh, I see — I laughed. — So you wanted to take out a loan in my name?
— You have to help the family! — Sveta jumped in. — Mom is stressed!
— Sveta, stress is when you’re thirty-five, living off your mother’s pension, and demanding a heated balcony — I shot back. — Go get a job, maybe you’ll earn enough for a brick.
Sveta opened her mouth but found no words, only made a strange sound, like a deflating balloon.
She stood there with bulging eyes, like a fish thrown onto the shore in the Sahara Desert.
A yellow taxi pulled up to the house. I rolled my suitcase to the gate. Behind me, a Shakespearean-scale drama was unfolding.
— Load it back up! — the driver yelled. — Pay thirty thousand for the call-out!
— I don’t have it! — Oleg squealed.
— Mom, give the “funeral money”! — Sveta demanded.
— I won’t! — Tamara Ivanovna shrieked. — That’s sacred! Let Oleg sell a kidney!
I got into the taxi and rolled down the window.
— Oleg, I left the apartment keys on the nightstand. While I’m gone, pack your things. I’m filing for divorce and division of property.
But there’s not much to divide — the apartment is premarital, the car is mine. The loan for the log house deposit is your personal problem. Good luck!
The taxi pulled away. I watched in the rearview mirror. Oleg was running in circles between his screaming mother, sobbing sister, and the gloomy loaders,
who had already started tossing the “Italian ceramic” straight into the mud by the road, since no one wanted to pay for careful handling.
Tamara Ivanovna clutched the fence and was probably cursing the day I entered their lives. Or the day she decided I was a compliant fool.
I leaned back in the seat. Ahead of me were the sea, new teeth, and most importantly, a new life without parasites. My phone chimed: a bank message — “Payment successful.”
Never before had parting with money brought such a sweet, intoxicating feeling of freedom.
