Human audacity is like a gas. It quietly expands to fill any available space unless you quickly clamp a tight lid on it. Nowhere is this more obvious than in family relationships.
“I’ll pay you back later,” my mother-in-law declared, slapping her plump hand on our kitchen table like she was stamping a wax seal on an official decree. “We’ll collect the money from the gifts and return it then. For now, just cover the restaurant. It’s my jubilee, isn’t it? You only turn sixty once!”
I glanced at Nina Yegorovna. Then at her youngest son Valera, who was busy examining the pattern on my tablecloth, pretending he was just passing through. Next to him was his wife, Oksana, her eyes sparkling with the holy anticipation of free stuff.
My husband Dima sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Dima is truly a gem—fair, sensible, and he genuinely loves me. But when faced with his own mother’s demands, he sometimes folds like a first grader caught in the principal’s office.
“Mom,” Dima began gently but firmly, “we can’t pay for a banquet for forty people at ‘Imperial.’ That’s a big expense. We’ve set money aside to repair the roof at the dacha—winter is coming soon.”
“The roof can wait!” my mother-in-law waved dismissively, adjusting her chunky brooch. “But a mother can’t. It’s embarrassing in front of people! Lyuda from the third building had a three-tiered Belgian chocolate fountain at her party! Am I worse than Lyuda? I’ve dedicated my whole life to you! Valera here,” she nodded at her youngest, “just took out a mortgage—they’re struggling with Oksanochka. But you two are doing well. Pay now, I’ll pay back later. Mother’s word!”
At that moment, Nina Yegorovna reminded me of a giant bark beetle. This plump, methodical bug quietly burrows into the trunk of someone else’s well-being and, if you don’t pay attention to the subtle crunch early on, one day you’ll wake up to find your entire budget eaten to dust.
Sensing the pause, Oksana immediately spoke up:
“Tanya, you’re family! Things are just things, but memories are priceless. Can you really be stingy with your own mother?”
I calmly sipped my tea.
“You know, Oksana,” I said, looking right into her brazenly earnest eyes, “it’s strange—family ties always seem to tighten hardest around someone else’s neck.”
Oksana clattered her cup loudly on the saucer in outrage, Valera pulled his head down into his shoulders, and my mother-in-law gasped.
I turned my gaze to Nina Yegorovna.
“I’ll also say: ‘Later.'” And that was the end of discussion.
There was no scandal that night. Apparently, the family decided my ‘later’ was just a bit of womanly teasing, and that if they pushed me a little, our credit card would just leap into their hands. They left with their heads held high, leaving Dima and me alone in the kitchen with cooling tea.
“Tanya,” my husband asked quietly as he hugged me from behind, “you know she’s never going to pay us back. The gift money will go to a new fur coat or to help Valera.”
“I know, darling. That’s why we’re not going to pay. But we’ll go to the party. We’ll even help with the organization. Trust me.”
The following week felt like something straight out of a theater of the absurd. Every single day, Oksana would call me, bubbling with excitement, and give updates on the preparations as if we were organizing a G8 summit.
“Tanya, Mom and I decided that regular cold cuts are just too basic,” she chirped on the phone Tuesday. “We’ve ordered sturgeon! And caviar rolls! It’s adding up to a pretty hefty sum, but Mom said you guys can handle it!”
“Excellent choice,” I agreed calmly. “Sturgeon does have a certain status.”
She called again on Thursday:
“Tanya, a fountain! We found a fountain! But they need a deposit, and Valerik and I are completely out of cash. Can you come with me to the restaurant tomorrow? We’ll sign the paperwork, and you can bring the money.”
“Of course, Oksanochka. Is three tomorrow okay?”
On Friday, Oksana, Valera, and I arrived at the ‘Imperial’ restaurant. The luxurious lobby smelled of expensive perfume and Nina Egorovna’s ambitions.
Oksana fluttered around the menu, her manicured finger pointing at the priciest items. The administrator, a perfectly trained young man with an unreadable face, rapidly tapped on his tablet.
“And the champagne has to be French, not local!” Oksana commanded. “It’s Mom’s anniversary, and the guests are distinguished!”
I sat beside her, politely nodding and sipping on the complimentary espresso. Once the list of demands was complete, the administrator printed the order form. The final total looked more like we were buying a used car than feeding forty relatives.
“Perfect,” I agreed. “Put it all in Valeriy’s name. He’s the youngest son, the main organizer of the party. Valera, get your passport out and book the banquet under your name!”
Valera hesitated for a moment, but Oksana nudged him with her elbow. Convinced that Dima and I would pay, he took out his passport and signed the contract.
“Yes, put it under our name. But the payment will be made by Tatiana here.”
The administrator turned to look at me.
“That’s right,” I said, pulling a few bills from my purse. “Here’s exactly enough for two entrees and two salads. That covers my husband’s and my servings. The rest? The person who placed the order, Valeriy, will pay on the day of the banquet, just before the main course is served. That’s your rule, isn’t it?”
The administrator nodded, quickly counted my money, and clipped the receipt to Valera’s contract. Oksana blinked rapidly, as if her eyelashes had stopped working.
“Tanya… wait. What about the rest? Mom said…”
“Mom said she’d pay us back later. So, we’ll pay the main portion later too,” I replied cheerfully. “Being generous with other people’s money isn’t kindness, Oksana. That’s financial piracy. Now, excuse me, I have to get to work.”
I walked out of the restaurant, breathing in the crisp autumn air. The plan was in motion, and I had no intention of stopping it.
The night of the anniversary brought unusually dreadful weather. Rain lashed against the panoramic windows of ‘Imperial’, but inside, everything sparkled with grandeur.
Nina Egorovna presided at the head of the table in her dark cherry dress, glowing with self-satisfaction as she accepted toast after toast. Relatives who’d come from far and wide clicked their tongues in admiration, taking in the crystal, sturgeon, and French champagne.
“Yes, we decided to celebrate properly!” my mother-in-law announced loudly, waving her napkin with a playful air. “I’ve always told my boys—the most important thing is the family’s status!”
Valera kept tugging nervously at his tie as if it had suddenly shrunk three sizes. Oksana glanced around anxiously. It was starting to dawn on them that the contract was signed, yet my bank card hadn’t appeared. They tried a few times to pull Dima aside, but my husband, who’d been briefed ahead of time, just patted his brother on the back and said cheerfully, “Relax, bro! Today is your and Mom’s day!”
Then came the big moment. They rolled in a cart with great ceremony, and on it was a majestic three-tiered chocolate fountain.
Warm, flowing, with a scent of luxury—and Ludmila’s envy.
Nina Egorovna clapped her hands in delight.
Right behind the cart, the administrator glided silently up to the table. He was holding a sleek black folder. Scanning the crowd, he zeroed in on Valera and leaned down toward him.
“Valery Nikolaevich, as per our agreement, before we start the fountain and serve the main course, we need to settle the main bill.”
The administrator’s voice was quiet but clear. Valera shot a panicked look at his mother. Without losing her queenly poise, Nina Egorovna simply waved royally in the direction of Dima and me.
“That’s for the eldest son! Dima, Tanya, pay the man. I told you—I’ll pay back every last penny from the gift envelopes tonight!”
A hundred eyes landed on us. The entire family at the table stopped chewing at once, and somewhere in the back someone crunched loudly on a pickled cucumber.
I calmly looked at my mother-in-law.
“Nina Egorovna, you said you’d pay back later. I told you right then: ‘later’. So my ‘later’ will come exactly when yours does.”
“What are you talking about?!” my mother-in-law hissed, barely maintaining her composure. “Don’t embarrass us in front of everyone! Pay right now!”
“I can’t,” I said, spreading my hands. “The contract is in Valera’s name. Dima and I already paid for our order—two salads and two juliennes—in advance last week. The sturgeon and the fountain are billed to whoever ordered them. Valera, be brave. It’s a big day, after all!”
Valera jumped up as if stung.
“Tanya, are you crazy?! I don’t have that kind of money! I have a mortgage!”
“And we have a roof repair,” Dima echoed, happily biting into a piece of bread. “You were the one who signed the papers, brother. You should have read them.”
Oksana started breathing quickly, looking like she might either faint or throw a fit. Nina Egorovna gripped the edge of the table so hard the crystal glasses clinked nervously.
“You… you’re heartless!” my mother-in-law choked out. “You’ve made your own mother into a laughing stock!”
“We came to congratulate you, Mom,” Dima replied quietly but firmly. “And we brought a gift. But we never agreed to pay for your show-off party for Lyuda from the third entrance.”
The administrator, realizing this family drama wasn’t about to resolve itself—and that the payment wasn’t coming—cleared his throat politely but insistently.
— Valery Nikolaevich. Will you be paying by card or cash? If the payment doesn’t come through now, I’ll have to cancel the hot dishes and remove the extras.
With trembling hands, Valera pulled out his phone, opened his banking app, and desperately began transferring money from his credit card. His face was so full of cosmic sorrow, it was like he was handing over a kidney as collateral.
The payment went through, but apparently not in full. The terminal let out an annoying beep, declining the final amount—the very sum intended for the fountain rental.
The manager nodded to the young waiter. The boy walked over to the socket and, like it was a normal day, unplugged the cord.
It was a spectacle. The three-tiered cascade of premium Belgian chocolate shuddered, the mechanism groaned and ground to a halt. The warm chocolate slowed, and right before the astonished guests, it began to rapidly solidify. In just a couple of minutes, this symbol of status and luxury turned into a lumpy, crooked brown pyramid, looking uncannily like a dried-up termite mound.
Someone from the distant relatives at the other end of the table couldn’t contain themselves and gave a nervous snort.
Nina Yegorovna sat in silence. For the first time in years, she had nothing to say. Her brilliant plan had collapsed, leaving only a massive debt on her younger son’s credit card and a hardened chunk of chocolate instead of a triumph.
Dima and I finished our julienne, sincerely wished our mother-in-law a long and happy life, said goodbye to the guests, and left the restaurant.
The rain outside had stopped. The air smelled of wet leaves and freedom. We got into the car. Dima started the engine, looked at me, and suddenly burst out laughing.
— Oh my God, Tanya… Did you see Valera’s face when the terminal beeped?
— I saw it, I nodded. — How long do you think they’ll give us the silent treatment this time?
— Hopefully until spring, my husband said dreamily as he pulled out of the parking lot. — We’ll have plenty of peace and quiet to get the roof on the summer house fixed.
I do feel a little sorry for the chocolate fountain. They say Belgian chocolate is truly delicious. But honestly, a peaceful life without pushy relatives tastes even better.