Anna Petrovna Kravchenko was standing at the stove, stirring borscht, when the lock clicked in the hallway. It was ten to seven in the evening, and Igor’s return home at this time was a surprise to her. Usually, her husband stayed late at work until nine or even ten, citing urgent matters, meetings with partners, and warehouse checks.
Over the past two years, this had become a habit, and Anna no longer expected him for dinner, leaving food on the stove for him to reheat.
— Anya, are you home? — Igor’s voice sounded particularly cheerful, even with a hint of excitement.
Anna wiped her hands on her apron and went out into the hallway. Her husband was taking off his coat, an unusual smile on his face, and he was holding some kind of envelope in his hands.
— Igor, why are you so early? Did something happen? — she asked with slight anxiety. Recently, all surprises brought more worry than joy.
— On the contrary! — he hung his coat on the rack and went into the kitchen, placing the envelope on the table. — Sit down, I have something to tell you.
Anna sat on a chair, studying her husband. Igor was 52, and in recent years, he had aged noticeably. The bald spot on his crown had grown larger, bags had appeared under his eyes, and his belly had rounded out despite the expensive suits he wore. But now, a spark of excitement she hadn’t seen in years burned in his eyes.
— I bought you a trip to Turkey. For two weeks, a good hotel, all-inclusive. The flight is the day after tomorrow.
Anna blinked, not immediately grasping the meaning of his words.
— A trip? For me? But why so suddenly?
Igor pushed the envelope towards her, and she saw tickets and a hotel booking confirmation inside.
— Anya, I look at you and I see that you’re tired. You work, you run the house, you’re in charge of everything. When was the last time we went somewhere together? Three years ago? You deserve a break. So I decided to give you a surprise.
The words were right, but something about them bothered Anna. Maybe it was that he said “you” and not “us”? Maybe the too-hasty “day after tomorrow”? She picked up the ticket, examining it: Antalya, flight in two days, at eleven in the morning.
— What about you? You’re not coming with me?
— I can’t, Anya. I’m swamped at work right now, a big deal is closing. I’d love to, but I just can’t. But you’ll get to rest, sunbathe, relax. The sea, the sun, the pool. You need it, you really do.
Anna sat, holding the ticket, a strange mix of feelings rising inside her. On one hand, it was true, she was tired. Twenty years of marriage, a job at the library where she was the head librarian, endless household chores. Her daughter Katya was long grown, married, and living in another city, calling once a week and visiting a couple of times a year. Her son Maxim was studying in another city and got in touch even less often. The children had grown up and flown the nest, leaving her and Igor alone in their three-room apartment, and for the past few years, they had been coexisting more than living together.
On the other hand, her husband’s sudden generosity was alarming. Igor wasn’t stingy, but he wasn’t particularly extravagant either. He was practical, calculating. Every major expense was discussed, planned. And now, he just goes and buys a trip without even asking if she wanted to go anywhere alone.
— Igor, but why so urgent? The day after tomorrow is just…
Comments are closed.