— Hello, — she said, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear while continuing to adjust some small items on a shelf.
— Hello, sunshine. — Roman’s voice sounded particularly cheerful, but beneath the cheerfulness, Kira detected familiar notes of tension, almost ingratiating. He always spoke that way when he was about to do something unpleasant but unavoidable. — Are you busy? Am I interrupting?
— No, I’m admiring the sunset; it’s incredibly beautiful today. How was work?
— The usual, swamped. Listen, Kir, I have some news… Well, my mom, she wants to come over. Right now.
Kira froze. She knew this moment would come eventually. In their nearly year-long relationship, she had never met Larisa Andreevna: she was either sick, at the dacha, or visiting her sister in another city. Roman always found some excuse, but Kira felt he was just postponing the inevitable. He loved his mother dearly, speaking of her with reverence and respect, but his stories always carried a shadow, a certain apprehension.
— Come over? To our place? — Kira asked again, trying to keep her voice calm.
— Well, yeah. She doesn’t want to go to my place, says it’s a mess, and she says she needs to see your apartment. To evaluate it, so to speak. She’s nearby, at a friend’s place. So I thought, maybe it’s a good idea, let her drop by? You’ll finally meet, we can whip up some dinner. I’ll stop by the store now and get something for tea.
“To evaluate.” The word grated on her ears. Not to see, not to be happy for her, but specifically to evaluate, as if at a market.
— Roma, I’m not ready, — Kira said, flustered, looking around her perfectly tidy apartment. She was perfectly ready physically, but not mentally. — Maybe on the weekend? I could prepare, bake something.
— Kir, please, — Roman’s voice became pleading. — You know how she is. If we say no now, she’ll be offended for life, she’ll think you don’t want to see her. She’s from the old school, straightforward, says what she thinks. Just try to understand her, okay? Don’t pay attention, if she says anything.
“From the old school” was the code phrase Roman used to justify any potential tactlessness from his mother. Kira sighed. It was pointless to argue. She knew that if she refused now, Roman would feel guilty before his mother, and this evening, and all the following days, would be poisoned by his bad mood. It was easier to agree.
— Alright, — she said as calmly as she could. — Let her come. Just don’t be late.
— I’m flying, my treasure! We’ll be there in half an hour, — Roman rejoiced. — I love you.
— I love you too, — Kira replied quietly and ended the call.
The silence in the apartment no longer felt peaceful. It became tense, ringing. Kira went to the mirror in the hallway. A pretty woman with large gray eyes and a tired crease by her lips. She quickly fixed her hair, touched up her lipstick, then darted to the kitchen. What could she cook quickly? The fridge held chicken breasts, vegetables, salad. Cutlets! That would work. She took out a cutting board, a knife, and began to chop tomatoes.
Her movements were sharp, precise. This was how she always dealt with anxiety. Through action: cleaning, cooking, working—any methodical activity calmed her and organized her thoughts. She thought about Larisa Andreevna. Roman had told her a lot about her. The widow of an engineer, she had worked her entire life in the HR department at the “Red Banner” factory. A woman of unbending character and firm convictions. She raised her son alone after her husband’s early death, and Roman was the light of her life, her greatest pride and project. She had also gotten her two-room apartment in an old brick building from the factory: she waited in line, fought others for it. For her, this apartment was not just housing, but a medal for her labor and life’s hardships.
Roman spoke these words with reverence: “Mom fought for the apartment.” Kira, paying the bank fifty thousand a month, listened with some bewilderment. She didn’t fight for her apartment; she bought it. It seemed to her that this was no easier.
Forty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Kira’s heart did a nervous somersault. She wiped her hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and went to open the door…
Comments are closed.