«They’re family, Irina,» Tamara Pavlovna said with emphasis. «Not strangers. They just stopped by to see how you’ve settled in, to see how you’re living.»
«To see the rooms,» Aunt Valya clarified, her eyes narrowing slyly. «We’re only staying a minute, sweetie. Don’t you stress; we’ll figure it all out ourselves.»
Irina wasn’t stressing. She was silently counting the shoes that didn’t belong to her. Four pairs. Plus her mother’s burgundy shoes, which had long ago claimed this entryway as their sovereign territory. Seven years ago, Irina had given her mother a spare set of keys—just in case. Her mother wasn’t registered there, didn’t pay the utilities, but for her, those keys hadn’t become a right to help, but rather a search warrant.
These «cases» happened constantly: staying the night after a bus trip, dropping off bags before a doctor’s appointment, or letting a distant relative with a child stay «for one night» that stretched into a month. Once, a friend of her mother’s from Lubny lived with Irina for three weeks, eventually attempting to teach Irina the «proper» way to scrub kitchen tiles.
But today was different. That morning, Irina had received a text from Mykola: «Tamara Pavlovna, we’ll be there at six. If Irka starts pushing back, you tell her yourself; she listens to you.» Mykola had messaged the wrong person. Irina had read it, tucked her phone in her pocket, and by lunchtime, she’d already booked a locksmith to change the locks the following morning.
«Ira, where’s the small room?» Svetlana asked, craning her neck to peer deeper into the apartment.
«Behind the kitchen,» Irina answered automatically.
«There!» her mother exclaimed. «Show them around. Why are you standing there like a dorm matron? Give them the grand tour!»
«After dinner, Mom. I’m tired.»
«Oh, what are you waiting for? We’ll just take a quick peek!»
Aunt Valya was already marching confidently down the hallway, holding a bag of pastries in front of her like a shield.
«Valya, don’t go in there,» Irina tried to stop her.
«I’m just looking!» Aunt Valya giggled. «It’s not like we’re an inspection team; we’re family!»
«An inspection team would at least give fair warning,» Irina muttered under her breath.
Her mother whirled around. «Here we go! Ira, your relatives are here! Smile for once. You can’t go through life constantly looking like a tax auditor!»
«Mom, I just want some peace and quiet.»
«Don’t get cute with me! Come in, everyone, come in.»
They piled into the small room. It held Irina’s desk, her laptop, a shelving unit full of documents, an ironing board, and a narrow sofa where she occasionally napped while working. Empty pots sat on the windowsill—Irina had dreamed of planting mint there, but in this family, even the mint didn’t have enough personal space.
«Not bad,» Mykola concluded, eyeing the ceiling. «Does the sofa fold out?»
«No,» Irina clipped.
«It does!» her mother interrupted confidently. «I remember, we bought it three years ago.»
«Mom, it doesn’t fold out. I replaced it last month.»
«Fine, then we’ll buy a cot,» Tamara Pavlovna waved it off. «As if that’s a problem!»
Slightly further in, Svetlana approached the shelves and began examining boxes. «We can move these boxes into the big room. A wardrobe would fit perfectly right here. Mykola, look, there’s even a desk. You can sit here and work in the evenings.»
«I use that desk for work,» Irina said, crossing her arms.
«What ‘work’ at home?» her mother snorted. «You sit in an accounting office all day. You should rest at home, not peck at keys. Who needs your reports in the middle of the night?»
«It’s a side gig, Mom. It’s my income.»
«Oh, don’t start. Everyone has a side hustle, and they’re fine. Family is more important than your paperwork.»
Aunt Valya peeked behind the door, modestly covering her mouth with her hand. «Irina, dear, it wouldn’t be forever. Their lease is ending, and the landlady raised the rent—the old witch. Where are young people supposed to live these days? On the street?»
«In a new rental,» Irina replied calmly.
«There it is!» Tamara Pavlovna threw her hands up. «You won’t even give a corner to your own flesh and blood! And you say this while your mother is still alive! You have no shame.»
«Mom, let’s go to the kitchen. Dinner is getting cold.»
Dinner was waiting: roasted chicken, new potatoes with dill, and a large bowl of salad. Irina had prepared it all solely for her mother. Tamara Pavlovna had called that morning and asked: «I’ll stop by after the clinic; we’ll sit and talk like human beings.» Not a single word had been said about a «landing party» of relatives. Of course, because if Irina had known, she simply wouldn’t have opened the door.
They sat packed tightly around the table. Her mother sat at the head, like the lady of the house. Aunt Valya was beside her, with Mykola and Svetlana across from Irina. The bag of pastries sat in the center of the table.
«See, isn’t this nice?» her mother remarked, helping herself to potatoes. «Everyone gathered together. Like a family.»
«Family is when you ask permission in advance,» Irina said, her food untouched.
«Oh, she’s at it again! Valya, eat, don’t mind her. Ira’s become quite stern. She got her own apartment, and her attitude grew right along with the square footage.»
«It’s a nice place,» Svetlana chimed in, chewing on salad. «We don’t need much. Just the small room, one shelf in the bathroom, and a little space in the fridge. We aren’t picky.»
«Svetlana,» Mykola nudged her with his elbow under the table.
«What? That’s what we agreed on with Aunt Tamara!»
Irina looked up at her mother. «Who did you agree with?»
Tamara Pavlovna calmly swallowed a piece of chicken. «Don’t give me those eyes, Ira. They agreed with me. I’m your mother. I know best where and how we can help our loved ones. You don’t have children, you don’t have a husband—why do you need two rooms? Who are you saving them for? The dust?»
«For myself, Mom. I’m saving them for me. I live here.»
Her mother chuckled, as if she’d heard a child say something silly. «She lives here! One woman in two rooms—that’s just wasteful. Where’s the justice? Valya’s son and daughter-in-law are bouncing between rentals, throwing money away on rent, while you’re keeping boxes on a sofa.»
«Those aren’t just boxes. Those are my clients’ documents. If I lose them or someone snoops through them, I lose my job.»
«Don’t be dramatic. You can put the documents in a dresser and lock it. Or move them to the balcony.»
«Should I move my life to the balcony too, just so Mykola has a place to watch TV?»
«Enough!» Tamara Pavlovna rapped her finger against her plate. «I didn’t raise you to turn your back on family. You should be grateful you even have this roof over your head.»
Aunt Valya coughed, sensing the atmosphere reaching a boiling point. «Tamara, maybe take it easy. Maybe it really is inconvenient for Ira.»
«Take it easy? I’ve been easy on her my whole life!» her mother shouted. «She’s walled herself off from the family like some grand lady. She gave me the keys, but every time I use them, she makes a face like I’m breaking into her safe to rob her!»
Irina set down her fork. Slowly, without making a sound.
«Mykola, you sent a text this morning. Except you didn’t send it to Tamara Pavlovna, you sent it to me. You picked the wrong chat.»
Mykola turned beet red instantly. «What do you mean, to you?»
«Just that. I read everything. About how ‘if Irka starts pushing back,’ and about how you’d already decided everything without me.»
Svetlana stopped chewing. Aunt Valya began intensely wiping her hands with a napkin, though they were already clean.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed.
«So what?» her mother shot back. «So the boy sent a text. He’s just worried that you’ll start acting up like you always do and refuse to help. And it’s true, Ira. You’ve become cold.»
«I’m not cold. I just wanted to hear from you today—specifically—how you’d phrase it. ‘A room inspection,’ ‘an arrangement,’ ‘a corner for a month.’ You didn’t come here as family, Mom. You came here as invaders.»
«Don’t you dare talk to your mother that way!» Tamara Pavlovna stood up abruptly.
Irina stood as well. She walked calmly to the hallway shelf and picked up a beige bag. Inside were her mother’s slippers, an old hairbrush, and a spare sweater—items Tamara Pavlovna kept there «just in case.»
Irina set the bag on the table next to her mother’s purse. «The revolving door is closing, Mom. For good.»
«What on earth are you talking about?» Her mother’s voice wavered with surprise.
«I’m changing the locks tomorrow morning. The locksmith is already booked. No one else will have a spare key anymore. Not for any ‘case’ whatsoever.»
«You’d leave your own mother without a key?» Tamara Pavlovna stared at her daughter.
«Yes. Because those keys were given in trust, and you turned my apartment into a hotel without my consent. I’m done waiting for the day I find someone in my bedroom measuring floor space for their wardrobe.»
«Ira!» her mother screamed. «This is family! Mykola, Valya!»
«To you, they’re family. To my home, they’re people who don’t respect the owner. Anyone who measures someone else’s rooms without permission automatically becomes a stranger.»
«So now you’re going to throw Grandma’s paperwork in my face? Your deed?» Tamara Pavlovna put her hands on her hips.
«No, Mom. I’m showing you the door. It’s my door. And I decide who walks through it.»
«And a mother doesn’t have a door?» her mother asked snidely.
«She does. In her own home. But this is my home.»
Mykola shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. «Ira, we didn’t mean to be pushy. It’s just that Aunt Tamara said everything was already settled.»
«You did mean it, Mykola. You just hoped I’d swallow it like I always do. But my patience has run out.»
Aunt Valya began gathering her things. «Tamara, she’s right. We should go. I’m sorry, Ira dear, we didn’t mean to cause a fight.»
«You didn’t want to fight; you just wanted my room,» Irina said, already standing by the door, holding it open.
Svetlana was the first to get up, giving Irina a disdainful look. «Fine, go ahead and live all alone with your boxes. We’ll see who you run to when you actually need help.»
«At least I won’t run to measure someone else’s bedroom,» Irina fired back.
Mykola grabbed his jacket and hurried out. Aunt Valya stuffed the uneaten pastries back into the bag and gave a sad nod.
Tamara Pavlovna lingered the longest. She looked at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. Then, she slowly stood up, took her beige bag, and walked toward the exit.
«Call me when you find your conscience,» she tossed over her shoulder.
«I’ll call you when I want to see my mother. Not a hotel manager,» Irina replied.
Her mother’s eyes flashed with anger, and she stepped out onto the landing. The door clicked shut.
Irina leaned her back against the door. She felt incredibly exhausted, but at the same time, a strange sense of lightness washed over her. The hallway suddenly felt spacious. The four pairs of strange shoes were gone. Her mother’s burgundy shoes were gone, too. The apartment belonged only to her again.
She went into the small room, sat at her desk, and just looked at her boxes of documents. No one had moved them. No one had put a stranger’s wardrobe there. She was home.
Three days passed. Irina changed the locks. The old key that had lived in her mother’s purse for seven years was now just a useless piece of metal.
On Saturday morning, the intercom buzzed.
«It’s me,» Tamara Pavlovna’s voice came through. «The key isn’t working for some reason.»
Irina sighed, looking at the intercom monitor. «That means they installed a good lock, Mom. I told you I was doing it.»
«Are you really going to keep your mother standing outside the building?» Her mother’s voice wasn’t quite as commanding as before.
«Mom, I’m home. But from now on, you only come up when I invite you. Are you alone?»
«I’m alone, Ira. Just me. I brought pastries. Meat ones, the way you like them.»
«Are these for the ‘revolving door’ or for your daughter?» Irina asked, her hand hovering over the release button.
«For my daughter,» Tamara Pavlovna muttered.
Irina pressed the button. She knew it would take a long time for her mother to be «cured» of the habit of bossing people around in their own homes. But today, she was standing downstairs. With a bag. And without a crowd of relatives behind her.
It was a small victory for the right to call her home her fortress.
