Tamara Nikolaevna smiled. A cold, calculating smile.
— Maybe. Or maybe you. If you change.
— I’m not going to change. I am who I am. And if Oleg doesn’t like it, then…
— Then what? — Marina faltered. She didn’t know what to say.
— See? — the mother-in-law said with satisfaction. — You’re not even sure about your own marriage. And I just want to help.
— Help? — Marina scoffed. — You? Help me?
— You and Oleg. Help you part ways without unnecessary pain. Before it gets worse.
— Part ways?
— Divorce. Peacefully, civilly. Divide the property and go your separate ways. You’ll get the apartment, the car, whatever you want. Oleg won’t be stingy.
Marina looked at her mother-in-law and couldn’t believe her ears. This woman came here to offer her a divorce? On her father’s anniversary?
— You’re out of your mind! — she said slowly.
— No, dear. I’m perfectly sane. And I want my son to be happy. With you, he is unhappy. So, this needs to be fixed.
— And Oleg? Does he know about your proposal?
Tamara Nikolaevna hesitated. Just for a second, but Marina noticed.
— We discussed the general situation.
— So he doesn’t know.
— He’ll understand when the time comes.
Marina stood up. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was firm.
— Tamara Nikolaevna, I’ve heard enough. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m warning you. I am not a doormat. I never have been and I never will be. And if you think you can just get rid of me like this, you are sorely mistaken.
The mother-in-law looked up at her. There was no anger in her eyes, only cold calculation.
— We’ll see, — she said quietly. — We’ll see, Marinochka.
Marina turned and went into the house. Her heart was pounding like crazy. Something was about to happen. Something bad. She could feel it.
That evening, when everyone had gone to bed, Marina couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Tamara Nikolaevna’s words echoed in her head: “We’ll see.” What was she planning? What was her plan?
Around midnight, Marina heard voices through the wall. Oleg and his mother were talking about something. Quietly, almost in a whisper. She crept to the door and listened.
— Everything is ready, — Tamara Nikolaevna was saying. — Tomorrow at dinner.
— Mom, I’m not sure.
— Don’t be a wimp, Oleg. We’ve discussed this. There’s no other way.
— But what if she finds out?
— She won’t. Everything will go smoothly. Trust me.
Marina recoiled from the door. Her heart sank. “Everything is ready. Tomorrow at dinner. There’s no other way.” They were planning something. Both of them. Oleg and his mother. Something that was supposed to happen tomorrow. Something bad.
Marina went back to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Until dawn, she lay with her eyes open, thinking. “Tomorrow. Dad’s anniversary. The celebratory dinner. And at that dinner, something is supposed to happen that will change everything.” She didn’t know what it was. But she was ready for anything. She was not a doormat. She never had been and never would be. And if anyone thought they could break her, they were sorely mistaken.
Sunday morning began with the smell of fresh baking. Mom had woken up at the crack of dawn and was already bustling in the kitchen. Baking pies, preparing salads, setting the festive table. Her husband’s anniversary was a serious matter.
Marina had barely slept. All night, the words she’d overheard replayed in her mind: “Everything is ready. Tomorrow. At dinner. There’s no other way.” What had they planned? What was supposed to happen today?
She came down to the kitchen around eight. Mom had already kneaded the dough and was now rolling it out for a cabbage pie.
— Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?
— More or less, — Marina lied. — Let me help.
— Help, help. The potatoes need peeling, the carrots need grating. We’ll have a lot of guests, so much cooking to do.
They worked in silence, four hands at it. Mom hummed something under her breath. Marina mechanically peeled vegetables and thought. She needed to be on her guard. To watch Tamara Nikolaevna’s every move. Not to let her out of her sight for a second.
Around nine, her father peeked into the kitchen.
— Good morning, my little housewives. What smells so delicious?
— Pies, Stepan. Your favorites, with cabbage and with apples.
— Valenka, you’re my treasure, — he kissed his wife on the cheek and winked at his daughter.
Marina smiled back, but the smile was forced.
— What’s wrong, Marinochka? — her father noticed. — You seem a bit down.
— Everything’s fine, Dad. Just didn’t sleep well.
— Sure. And I thought it was because of our guests from the capital.
Marina remained silent. Her father, as always, saw right through her.
— Alright, I won’t disturb you. I’m going to check the grill. We’ll have shashlik for lunch—finger-licking good.
He went out into the yard. Mom sighed.
— Marinochka, I can see something’s wrong. Do you want to talk about it?
— Mom, everything’s fine, really.
— Is it because of Oleg’s mother? She was acting strange all evening yesterday. Too polite. I don’t trust people like that.
— I don’t trust her either.
Mom put down the rolling pin and turned to her daughter.
— Marinochka, I know she doesn’t like you. I know how she treats you. Your father told me what you said to him.
— Dad told you?
— We’ve been married for 35 years. We have no secrets.
Marina looked down. She didn’t want to burden her mother with her problems before the celebration.
— Mom, let’s not do this today. Today is Dad’s day. I don’t want to spoil it.
— Alright, honey. But know this: if that woman says a single word against you, I won’t stay silent. I don’t care what she thinks of herself.
— Thanks, Mom.
They hugged—briefly, but warmly.
— Okay, let’s get to work. The guests will be here by two, and we’ve still got a mountain to do.
Around ten, Tamara Nikolaevna appeared in the kitchen. She was already fully dressed up: hair done, makeup on, in a festive dress.
— Good morning, — she sang in a honeyed voice. — How can I help?
Mom and Marina exchanged glances.
— Thank you, Tamara Nikolaevna. We’re managing.
— Oh, nonsense. I didn’t just come to sit around. I want to be useful. — She surveyed the kitchen with a proprietary gaze and winced. — Although, it is a bit cramped in here. You can really spread out in my kitchen, but here… Well, we’ll manage.
“In my kitchen…” Marina clenched her teeth. Her mother-in-law couldn’t even offer help without taking a jab.
— Maybe you’d like to rest for a bit? — Mom suggested. — The weather is nice. You can sit in the yard.
— No, no, I want to help, — Tamara Nikolaevna grabbed a knife and reached for the tomatoes. — Let me chop the salad.
— The salad is already done.
Then the mother-in-law looked around.
— Oh, juice! You will have juice on the table, won’t you?
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