— Put this table here, — Regina Lvovna jabbed with her manicured finger at the narrow passage between the column and the door, which bore a modest sign. — Right next to the bathroom entrance.
So that everyone who comes out brushes against it with their elbow.
The young administrator of the “Versailles” restaurant nervously adjusted his tie, glancing at the tables set for the city’s elite.
— But, Regina Lvovna, there… well, it’s not a very good spot. Draft from the doors, next to the kitchen, people constantly walking by. This isn’t a place for guests.
— For my guests — it’s perfect, — the woman smiled predatorily, adjusting the heavy necklace that lay on her neck like a cold hoop.
— Let them sit, see how people live. For eight years my son Artem and his wife have been walking through the mud with nothing, so this will be perfectly familiar for them.
Regina Lvovna turned, admiring her reflection in the gilded mirrors.
She had turned sixty. She was in her prime: an apartment in the center, old connections in the administration, respect from colleagues. The only dark spot on her impeccable name was her son.
Eight years ago Artem, her hope, her “golden boy,” for whom any door would open, did the unthinkable. He married Daria — a quiet, inconspicuous girl who painted plates in some shop.
Then, as if in a daze, he left a promising job, sold the foreign car his mother had given him, and moved with his wife to a remote village. “To create our own life,” he had said then.
“They went off to dig the land,” Regina told her friends, barely holding back her anger. — “They live in a barn, work in the garden. They’ve shamed me in front of the whole city.”
All these years she didn’t answer calls. But for the anniversary, she decided to invite them. Not out of love — she wanted triumph. She wanted to see Artem with calloused hands, in a cheap suit, and Daria — overweight, in a cheap synthetic Chinese dress, with a weathered face. She longed to see envy in their eyes for her luxurious life.
Guests arrived with decorum. The hall filled with the hum of voices, the scent of expensive perfumes, and the clinking of glasses. Zhanna — a friend from the tax office — arrived, even the deputy head of the district came with his wife.
— So, Nadya, will your hermits come? — Zhanna asked caustically, adjusting her brooch. — Or didn’t they have money for a ticket?
— They’ll come, where would they go — Regina smiled as she took a sip of icy, dry red. — I told them my health isn’t what it used to be, I want to discuss the inheritance. They bit immediately. Everyone needs money in their situation.
The restaurant doors opened. Regina Lvovna straightened dramatically, preparing her most haughty expression. She expected to see poverty. She expected the scent of need and misery to emanate from them.
But the picture didn’t fit.
Artem and Daria entered as if this hall were their living room. Artem broadened in the shoulders, the office slouch disappeared. He wore a graphite linen suit — perfectly tailored, without a single unnecessary crease.
His face tanned, calm, with harsh folds at the corners of his lips — the face of a man used to taking responsibility.
But Daria surprised the most. That same “gray mouse.” She wore a closed, complex sand-colored dress that flowed over her figure like liquid silk.
Around her neck, a thin dark wooden thread, and on her arm a massive handmade bracelet. No diamonds, no fuss. But she radiated such confidence that Zhanna instinctively covered her own ornate necklace with her hand.
— Hello, mother, — Artem’s voice became lower and more confident. He stepped forward and handed her a small wooden box. — Happy birthday.
— Hello… son, — Regina was taken aback, but immediately pulled herself together. Anger flared with new force.
“Dressed up! Took out loans to put on a show!” — Well, come on. There’s no space in the center; after all, all the important people are here. Your place — there.
She pointed to the rickety table by the bathroom. At that moment, the door opened, a waiter came out with a tray of dirty dishes, almost brushing Daria with his shoulder.
Silence fell in the hall. Everyone expected a scandal. Regina reveled: “Go on, get outraged, show your nature!”
Artem looked at the table, then at the sign “Bathroom,” then at his mother. There was no offense in his eyes. There was some kind of bitter, adult pity.
— Alright, mother, — he said calmly. — Let’s go, Dasha.
They walked through the hall, watched by all eyes. They sat at the small table. The draft tousled a strand of Daria’s hair, but she didn’t flinch. She sat straight, calmly examining the table setting.
Regina Lvovna exhaled. It worked. She had shown them their place.
An hour later, when the mood had risen, Regina decided it was time to press further. She took the microphone.
— My dears! — her voice rang across the tables. — I am so glad we are here. In this temple of taste. Unfortunately, not everyone in my family knows how to stay civilized.
My son Artem believes that digging in the forest is happiness. Artem, stand up, show yourself!
Artem slowly stood.
— Tell us, — Regina continued in a syrupy voice, — what’s it like? Running to the toilet outside? Must be hard after university, digging in the earth?
Don’t hesitate, take more from the table. I told the waiters to collect leftovers for you so you can eat properly at home.
Someone among the guests stifled a laugh. Zhanna buried her face in a napkin to hide her laughter. That was a cutting remark, deeply offensive.
— We are fine, mother, — Artem said calmly. His voice carried to every corner without a microphone. — We eat from our own dishes. And we live as we like. And the leftovers… keep them for yourself. You need them more.
— Oh, proud, aren’t you! — Regina yelled. — Even your shoes cost more than my apartment, bought on credit!
At that moment, the massive doors of the restaurant burst open. A tall man in a flawless tuxedo rushed in.
It was Vitaliy Andreyevich — owner of the “Versailles” chain, a city legend. Regina had called his secretary three times, begging him to at least visit for a minute, but got refusals.
Regina spread into a smile and stepped toward him.
— Vitaliy Andreyevich! What an honor! You still found time for a humble birthday girl…
The owner passed by her, not even turning his head. His eyes were fixed on the distant corner. At the table by the bathroom.
Vitaliy Andreyevich’s face went pale. He almost ran, buttoning his jacket on the move.
— Artem Viktorovich? Daria Sergeyevna? — his voice trembled with excitement. — For heaven’s sake, what is happening here?! Why are you sitting here?! Who… who dared to seat you here?!
The music quieted. Only the air conditioner could be heard.
Daria smiled gently at the approaching owner.
— Good evening, Vitaliy. We didn’t want to disturb. We’re here as private individuals, it’s our mother’s birthday. The place… well, whatever was assigned.
— Assigned?! — Vitaliy Andreyevich snapped to the hall. His gaze, full of rage, found the administrator. — Why didn’t you report that the chief architects of our suburban complex arrived?! Do you even understand who they are?!
The administrator went pale, and his legs nearly gave out.
— I… I was told… it’s the worthless son…
Vitaliy Andreyevich turned back to the pair, bowing respectfully.
— Excuse me. I beg you, forgive this nightmare. Artem Viktorovich, your designs are masterpieces. We received the grant for construction only thanks to your project.
And your textiles and ceramics, Daria Sergeyevna… Guests from across the country come to see your works!
A murmur ran through the hall. The guests slowly, as if in slow motion, turned the plates and looked at the mark on the back. On the bottom of each plate, under the glaze, was a small tree and the signature “Terra Viva.”
Regina Lvovna felt the microphone slip from her damp hand. Her head was buzzing.
Architect of a complex? Brand “Terra Viva”? Plates for astronomical prices?
She remembered how Artem spoke about “reviving traditions.” She thought they were weaving bast shoes. And they…
— Partners? — Zhanna asked hoarsely. — Regina, you said they lived in some remote place…
Artem stood. Calmly, without fuss.
— Thank you, Vitaliy. Don’t scold the boy, he was just following the orders of the hostess of the evening.
He approached his mother. Regina stood in the middle of the hall, small, pitiful in her burgundy dress and smudged mascara. All her confidence, all her power evaporated.
— Mother, — Artem placed a small bundle of keys on the table. — We didn’t want to prove anything.
We just came to congratulate. The riverside apartment, the one you wanted so much, we bought it. Everything is ready. Move in. For you, at your age, climbing to the fifth floor without an elevator is hard.
He paused, looking into his mother’s empty eyes.
— We are not worthless, mother. We just like to live this way, with our own heads. And you… you live in your own apartment. There, the silence is good. You’ll have time to think why you were left completely alone in this hall.
Daria stepped to her husband, took his hand. She didn’t say anything, didn’t gloat. She just nodded in farewell.
— Let’s go, — Artem said quietly.
When the doors closed behind them, the hall became so silent that one could hear water dripping from the faucet in that very bathroom where they had sat. No one looked at the birthday girl. Guests hurriedly began to leave.
— Artem has a countryside club project… — they whispered at the tables. — Plates for thousands… And she’s next to the bathroom… Well, she has character.
Zhanna, the first friend, stood up, grabbed her bag.
— Well, Regina… — she said with disgust. — Happy holiday. The apartment is good. Too bad you’ll never see your grandchildren in it.
She left without saying goodbye. The others followed. Fifteen minutes later, in the huge, light-filled hall, Regina Lvovna was alone.
She sat in her royal seat, staring at the empty stage. On the table before her lay the keys. A gift. Grace from her son, whom she tried to trample in the mud. Suddenly she realized that the keys were all that she had left.
In the distant corner, at the bathroom entrance, the rickety table stood alone. A draft from the kitchen slammed the door, and Regina shivered. Suddenly, it became unbearably cold.
— Shall I clear it, Regina Lvovna? — the waiter asked timidly.
She did not answer. She looked at the plate made by her daughter-in-law, and for the first time in her life realized: no money, no connections, can buy what she had lost forever today.
