On December 24th, Lida woke up early, got dressed, and left for work without saying goodbye to Andrey. He was still sleeping. She returned in the evening, cooked herself buckwheat with canned meat, ate alone in the kitchen. Andrey sat in the living room, watching something on a tablet. When Lida washed her plate and walked past, he called out to her.
“Lid.”
She stopped without turning around.
“Did you make a grocery list?”
“No.”
“Well, would you look at that. New Year’s is the day after tomorrow. Let’s go to the store today.”
“Go yourself,” said Lida calmly and walked on.
“Lida!” Andrey jumped up, caught up with her in the hallway. “What are you doing? We have guests in three days!”
“You have guests,” she corrected. “You invited them. You host them.”
“Are you out of your mind!” He grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her toward him. His face turned red. “You are my wife. You are obligated.”
“I am not obligated to do anything.” Lida shook off his hand. “You spent all our money without even asking me. You invited people without consulting. Now deal with it yourself.”
Andrey opened his mouth, closed it, then smirked. Maliciously. Nervously.
“You think I won’t manage? Think I can’t do it without you?”
“I don’t think. I don’t care.”
She went into the bedroom, locked herself in. Andrey stood at the door, then banged his fist on the doorframe and left.
December 25th, morning. Lida woke up to Andrey walking loudly around the apartment, slamming cupboard doors, muttering something. She went out to the kitchen. He was standing by the stove, boiling sausages for himself. On the table lay her old notebook with recipes. Andrey was flipping through it, frowning.
“Do you know how much mayonnaise is needed for Olivier salad?” he asked without raising his head.
Lida walked past, poured herself some tea.
“How should I know if I’m not making it?”
Andrey threw the notebook on the table.
“Lida, enough. This isn’t funny anymore. Let’s talk normally.”
“About what?”
“About the holiday.” He walked over, sat opposite, his face was gray, dark circles under his eyes. “Listen, I understand you’re offended. But let’s be adults. You’re angry, be angry. But you can’t cancel the holiday. Guests will come, we have to welcome them.”
“You have to,” said Lida, stirring her tea.
“Well fine, I do!” Andrey clenched his fists on the table. “Lida, help me. I can’t handle it alone.”
“You’ll handle it. You’re a man. The head of the family.”
He jumped up so abruptly that the chair tipped over.
“What are you pretending to be?” he yelled. “Think I don’t understand? You’re humiliating me. On purpose. You want me to embarrass myself in front of my mother?”
Lida raised her eyes to him.
“You embarrassed yourself when you spent someone else’s money without asking.”
“Not someone else’s, ours!” Andrey banged his fist on the table. Tea splashed in the mug. “How long can this go on? We are a family!”
“A family is when decisions are made together,” said Lida quietly. “And you just took and did as was convenient for you.”
Andrey breathed heavily, then abruptly turned and left the kitchen. The door to the hallway slammed. He left.
Lida finished her tea. Stood up, washed the cup, picked up the overturned chair from the floor, put it in place. Then she took the oak board, leaned it against the wall. Where it wouldn’t be in the way. She felt neither anger nor pity. Only calmness. Cold, scorched calmness. Let him decide for himself.
In the evening of the same day, Andrey returned late. Lida had already gone to bed, but wasn’t sleeping. She lay in the dark, listening to sounds outside the door. He walked around the apartment, opened the fridge, something rattled in the kitchen. Then everything went quiet.
On the morning of the 26th, she woke up to the smell of frying. Went out to the kitchen. Andrey stood at the stove, frying eggs. Bags from the store lay on the table. Not many, three small bags.
“Good morning,” he said without turning around.
Lida silently walked to the kettle.
“I went out yesterday, bought a few things,” continued Andrey. His voice was strainedly cheerful. “Take a look, maybe something else is needed?”
Lida looked into the bags. Mayonnaise. Three cans of canned peas. A kilogram of boiled sausage. A bag of frozen vegetables. Eggs. Potatoes—about two kilograms. A herring. One.
She calculated in her mind. For eight people, this wouldn’t be enough even for salads, let alone the main course.
“Well done,” she said evenly.
Andrey turned around. There was something resembling hope on his face.
“So it’s okay? Is it enough?”
“I don’t know. I’m not cooking.”
The hope extinguished. He turned off the stove, poured the eggs onto a plate. Sat at the table, began to eat. Lida poured herself tea, took a pack of cookies, and left the kitchen.
“Lida!” he called out.
She stopped in the doorway.
“You’re really not going to cook?” His voice trembled. “At all?”
“At all.”
“But guests are coming!” He stood up, threw the fork onto the plate. “Do you even understand? My mother is coming! The whole family!”
“Your mother!” corrected Lida. “Your family! Your guests!”
“Lida, damn it, enough!” he yelled. “You’re not a child! Okay, you’re offended! Okay, forgive me! I won’t do it again! Let’s just somehow get out of this situation!”
“No.”
One word. Short, like a blow. Andrey froze. Then sat back on the chair, covered his face with his hands.
“You hate me,” he said dully.
“No. I just don’t care.”
Lida went into the bedroom…
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