Their apartment smelled of smalt and tile adhesive, despite Olga’s best efforts to keep her work out of the house. She had spread colorful mosaic sketches across the table, pushing aside a mug of cold tea. Across from her sat Victor, his head buried in blueprints for the new «Whirlwind» carousel his firm was designing for the city park.
“Victor, look at this option,” Olga said, tapping her finger on a resort brochure. “Pine forest, skiing, and most importantly—no cooking. Three buffet meals a day. We’ve earned a real New Year’s, just the two of us.”
Victor looked up, but his gaze was shifty, like an engineer searching for a calculation error under pressure. He took off his glasses and turned them over in his hands.
“Olga, look… Mom called half an hour ago.”
Olga slowly pulled her hand away from the glossy page.
“And what did Elena Alexeyevna have to say?” Her voice was still soft, but an alarm bell was already ringing in her head.
“They… well, they decided to come. Mom, Ira, her husband, and their nephew.”
“Victor, are you joking?” Olga tried to smile, praying it was just a bad prank. “We had a deal. Last year? Remember? I spent three days straight at the stove while your relatives watched TV and criticized my salads. You gave me your word.”
“I remember, Olga, I really do. But they already bought the tickets. Ira said Mom is lonely, and she can’t stay at Ira’s because it’s too cramped. But we have plenty of room.”
“We have a two-bedroom apartment, Victor!” Olga started to lose her patience. Her fingers, used to chipping away at hard stone, clenched into a fist. “Where are they supposed to sleep? On the ceiling?”
Victor sighed, trying to play the role of the calm peacemaker.
“Look, we’ll put an air mattress in the living room. We can squeeze in for a few days. Olya, honey, try to understand—they’ve already got their hearts set on it. I can’t exactly kick my mother and sister out into the cold.”
“They live sixty miles away, Victor! It’s not the edge of the world,” Olga said, standing up. “Here’s how this is going to go. You call them right now and tell them we have other plans. We’re leaving.”
“Leaving where?” her husband asked, caught off guard.
“To the resort. I’m calling Katya. She and Andrei invited us; I was hesitant before, but now—no doubts at all.”
“Olga, that’s expensive. And it’s awkward. People are coming to see us, and we’re just… running away?”
“We aren’t running away; we’re saving my sanity!” she snapped. “I didn’t sign up to be a waitress for your sister.”
Olga dialed her friend. Katya, an antique appraiser who was always busy, picked up instantly.
“Hey, Katya, is the offer still on the table? Book it for four. Yes, starting on the 30th. Yes, I’m sure. I’ll transfer the money right now.”
Victor stared at his wife in terror.
“What are you doing? They’re arriving on the morning of the 30th! We’ll run right into them at the door!”
“Perfect,” Olga hissed. “We’ll hand them the keys to an empty apartment with no food and let them entertain themselves. Actually, no. No keys. Let them go back home.”
The next day, Victor walked around looking like a dark cloud. He tried calling his sister, but the conversation was short and pathetic. Olga heard every word because he had put it on speaker, hoping for her support.
“Oh, Victor, don’t be silly!” Irina chirped, her voice cutting through the sound of a crying child in the background. “We’ve already packed the presents. Tell Olga to buy a goose; Mom wants goose with apples. And tell her to make the holiday aspic ahead of time—it never seems to set right when she does it at the last minute.”
Olga felt the blood rush to her face. This wasn’t just disrespect anymore; it was the blatant, entitled confidence of people who thought they owned her time and energy.
“Ira, we’re leaving,” Victor muttered.
“And where do you think you’re going?” His sister’s voice turned shrill. “Your mother is coming to visit, her blood pressure is acting up, and you’re off to some resort? Have a conscience! Anyway, we’ll be there at nine a.m. on the 30th. See you then.”
The line went dead. Victor looked guiltily at his wife.
“You see? She won’t listen.”
“Because you’re spineless!” Olga barked. “Give me the phone.”
“To who?”
“I’m calling your mother. If you can’t explain to your family that we aren’t the help, I will.”
Victor handed over the phone like it was a grenade with the pin pulled out.
Elena Alexeyevna answered immediately, as if she had been waiting.
“Victor, have you settled your wife down yet?” his mother asked authoritatively. “Ira said you’re putting on some kind of protest.”
“This is Olga, Elena Alexeyevna,” Olga said loudly, not letting her husband get a word in. “Listen closely, because I’m not repeating myself. Victor and I are leaving on the 30th. We won’t be back until the 5th. Do not come here.”
“You… how dare you?” Her mother-in-law’s voice trembled with indignation. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? I am visiting my son! He is my son! And you are turning him against his own mother! You greedy, selfish woman! You can’t even spare a crust of bread for your family?”
“I can’t spare my life for your whims!” Olga yelled. “Last time, you turned my home into a pigsty! Irina didn’t lift a single finger! I am not your servant!”
“How dare you, you brat!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “Victor! Do you hear how she’s talking to your mother? If you don’t let us in, I’ll disown you! We are coming, and you’ll have no choice but to open that door like good little children!”
Olga felt a hot, hard surge of resolve rise up inside her. It was the same feeling she got when she picked up a heavy hammer to crack granite.
“Fine, come then,” she said, her tone suddenly icy. “Come on over. You can kiss the deadbolt.”
She hung up and threw the phone onto the sofa.
“You wouldn’t actually do that,” Victor whispered, looking at her in horror.
“Watch me. And Victor, if you start whining right now, I’m going with Andrei and Katya alone. You can stay here, cook the aspic, and listen to them talk about how awful I am. Choose. Right now. But choose wisely—there will be consequences.”
The morning of the 30th was overcast and grey, but dry. The suitcases were standing in the hallway. Olga was pulling on her boots when there was a persistent ring at the doorbell.
“It’s them,” Victor froze, clutching a bag with his ski boots. “They’re early.”
“Open it,” Olga commanded.
Victor turned the lock. The entire delegation was standing on the threshold: a heavy-set Elena Alexeyevna in a fur hat, Irina with a nose red from the cold, her sullen husband lugging oversized bags, and a whining child.
“Well, finally!” the mother-in-law huffed, taking a step forward. “We’ve been calling and calling! What took so long? Grab the bags!”
She tried to push past into the hallway, shouldering Victor aside. But Olga blocked her path. She stood in the doorway, arms braced against the frame, like a living mosaic that couldn’t be moved.
“No one. Is coming. Inside,” she said, loud and clear.
“Have you lost your mind?” Irina tried to duck under Olga’s arm. “Move!”
Olga gave her sister-in-law a sharp shove to the chest. Not a weak «girly» push, but the kind of shove used to move a heavy slab of stone. Irina flew backward, tripping over her husband’s foot. He yelped and dropped his bag.
“GET OUT!” Olga screamed, her voice so loud the motion-sensor lights on every floor of the stairwell flickered on. “I warned you! This isn’t a hotel! This is MY home!”
“Victor! Do something!” his mother shrieked, clutching her heart. “She’s attacking us!”
Victor looked at his mother, his sister, and the screeching relatives clogging the entire landing. Then he looked at his wife. Olga stood there, face flushed, ready to go toe-to-toe with all of them to defend their right to some peace and quiet.
Without a word, Victor picked up his suitcase, squeezed sideways past his wife, and stepped out onto the landing.
“Victor, darling!” his mother cried, her face lighting up. “Tell her! Tell her off!”
“Move,” Victor said dryly, nudging his mother aside with his elbow. “We’re running late. The taxi is waiting.”
“Where are you going?! What about us?” Irina’s jaw dropped.
“You’re going home. Back where you came from.”
Victor started down the stairs with a determined stride.
Olga followed right behind him. She slammed the heavy steel door shut with a thunderous bang and turned the key twice in the lock.
“This isn’t how you treat people!” his mother screamed after them.
Irina’s husband, finally grasping the situation, spat on the floor.
“I told you we shouldn’t have dragged ourselves here, you idiots. Let’s get to the station while there are still tickets left.”
Olga hurried down the stairs to catch up with her husband. She took his hand. His palm was sweaty, but he squeezed her fingers tighter than he ever had before.
Outside the building, Andrei’s car was already honking.
