I called my ex-father-in-law right in the middle of my mother-in-law’s takeover of our bedroom
“Kostik, don’t just stand there—take the bags straight to the bedroom!” Oksana Trofimovna barked in her best commander voice as soon as she stepped through the door.
“And don’t drop the box with the multicooker, I still have plenty of use for it!”
Konstantin shuffled nervously in the hallway, dressed up in a crisp cotton shirt. He clutched a tightly packed canvas pouch to his chest, its top tied with string.
Already on the floor by the coat stand sat two bulky, plaid bags and a cardboard box.
“Mom, what’s with all the luggage?” he mumbled, rubbing his nose bridge.
“We only invited you for a holiday lunch.”
“The holidays are over, son!” his mother-in-law said, tugging down the sleeves of her burgundy blouse as she made her way to the table.
“That’s it—I’ve had all the peace and quiet I’m going to get!”
Anfisa was just placing a dish of roasted duck in the center of the dining table. Today, she and Kostya were celebrating their seventh wedding anniversary.
And there was extra cause for celebration: exactly one month ago, they’d finally finished paying off the mortgage on their two-bedroom place.
For five years they’d denied themselves everything, never vacationing beyond their dacha. Just last week, they treated themselves to a new bed for the bedroom, complete with an expensive orthopedic mattress.
At the table already sat Irina—Anfisa’s oldest friend and coworker from the accounting department. She adjusted her amber necklace, eyed the mountain of belongings crowding the hallway, and raised a ginger eyebrow.
Two years ago, Oksana Trofimovna had divorced father-in-law Arseniy Terentievich. The breakup was noisy, with arguments over everything down to the spoons and garden rakes.
Since then, the mother-in-law often complained to Kostya about her woes. She frequently hinted that maybe it was time they all moved in together, but Anfisa always found a way to joke it off.
“Come have a seat, Oksana Trofimovna,” Anfisa said, putting her oven mitts back on the shelf.
“The duck will get cold. We can sort out the bags later, if you’re staying the night.”
“What do you mean, staying the night?!” the mother-in-law huffed, unbuttoning her cardigan.
“I have nowhere to live—clear out the bedroom!”
Irina nearly choked on her plum compote and stared at the unexpected guest. Anfisa was left standing at the edge of the table.
Slowly, she slid down onto the edge of the sofa, staring blankly ahead for a long moment, then rubbed her temples.
“What do you mean, clear out the bedroom?” Anfisa repeated.
“And why is it that you suddenly have nowhere to live?”
“I mean exactly what I said!” Oksana Trofimovna plopped herself in the place of honor and heaped her plate with salad.
“I’m moving in with you—for good! Forever!”
“Wait, what do you mean—for good?” Anfisa stammered.
“Just like I said! I am not sleeping on some folding sofa in a walk-through room at my age—I’d break all my bones! My back’s already giving me trouble! You young folks can manage in the living room—I need a sunny side and some peace.”
My back’s acting up! You two are young, you can make do in the living room—I need the sunny side and a bit of peace and quiet.
“Unbelievable,” Irina said, putting down her fork.
“Some anniversary greeting this is. Amazing!”
“And you, lady, keep out of family matters!” the mother-in-law snapped at her.
“We’re handling things with our own kids. Kostik, why are you so quiet? Say something to your wife!”
“Mom, can we please drop the bedroom talk for a minute?” Kostya perched at the edge of his seat and glanced apologetically at Anfisa.
“Tell us what happened. What’s going on with your apartment?”
“You can thank your father for that!” Oksana Trofimovna wailed, dabbing at the completely dry corners of her eyes with a paper napkin.
He drove me crazy for two years, and then yesterday he showed up out of the blue! Claimed half of the two-room apartment was his, and moved in a nephew from the countryside—plus his wife and three little kids!
“What nephew?” Konstantin asked in surprise.
“Doesn’t Uncle Tolya just have grown daughters?”
“It doesn’t matter which one!” his mother hissed at him.
“A second cousin! The main point is they’ve turned the place into a circus! There are diapers hanging all over the hallway, boys racing scooters on the parquet, and the porridge is burning on the stove in the kitchen!”
How is a saintly person like me supposed to handle such chaos? They basically drove me out!
“Hold on a minute,” Anfisa interjected, finally finding her voice.
“But Arseny Terentievich lives outside the city in Sosnovka. He built a winter house there and even put in a new stove. Why would he settle family in your apartment?”
“Just to spite me!” the mother-in-law declared sharply.
“It’s pure male nastiness! The old rogue knows I can’t stand noise. He wants to drive me out!”
He wants me to sell him my half of the apartment for a pittance. But I have pride, I won’t stoop that low!
“What a story,” Irina said, studying her mother-in-law closely.
“So you just left your own apartment? Didn’t even argue?”
“What else could I do?” Oksana Trofimovna selected the juiciest piece of duck for herself.
“What would people say if I started fighting that crowd? I’m a cultured woman. I gathered my essentials, called a cab, and came straight to my only son!”
“Mom, this wasn’t the plan,” Kostya muttered, clearly flustered.
“We don’t exactly have a palace here, either.”
“Don’t give me that!” his mother snapped at him.
“I raised you, lost sleep for you, and now you begrudge your own mother a place to stay?”
“Anfisa, please, let’s not start,” Konstantin mumbled, avoiding his wife’s eyes.
“You can see how poorly Dad acted. Would you have me kick Mom out onto the street? We’ll just have to make it work.”
“We’ll make it work?” Anfisa echoed.
“You mean on the sofa in the walk-through room? Kostya, do you even hear yourself right now?”
“And what did I do this time?!” her husband bristled instantly.
“What am I guilty of? Not wanting to leave my own mother under a bridge? We’ll move your dresses from the wardrobe to the entryway—they’ll survive!”
“Exactly!” Oksana Trofimovna jumped in, munching baked potatoes with gusto.
“Why do you think I packed so carefully all morning? I was hoping they’d come to their senses, but of course not!”
She washed down her meal with compote, then victoriously surveyed the table.
“I left like a proper housewife!” the mother-in-law added proudly.
“I defrosted the freezer, wiped it dry, unplugged it from the socket. And I turned the valves all the way off on both bathroom pipes, so not a drop of water can drip!”
Anfisa reached for the salad bowl, but her hand stopped halfway. The irony of the situation was just starting to dawn on her.
“Wait—you turned off the valves?” Anfisa repeated.
“And unplugged the freezer?”
“That’s right!” the mother-in-law replied proudly.
“I’m not about to pay for their water and electricity! I know those freeloaders—they’d run up the utilities bills in no time!”
“Excuse me,” Irina even leaned forward across the table.
— But you just said your nephew, his wife, and their three kids are left in the apartment! How can they be sitting there with three little ones, no water, and the freezer unplugged?
Oksana Trofimovna choked on a piece of apple from the duck and started coughing. Pink spots instantly appeared on her cheeks.
— Well, they… they went out of town for the weekend! — she blurted, stumbling over her words.
— They went back for the rest of their things! And they’ll be back on Monday. That’s why I turned everything off, just to be safe!
— How very thoughtful of you, — Irina replied with an ironic tone.
— Especially considering yesterday you said they were hanging diapers all over the hallway and burning porridge on the stove.
— Don’t nitpick my words! — snapped Oksana Trofimovna.
— My head is spinning from all this stress!
Anfisa didn’t say anything. She got up from the table, walked over to the hallway entrance, and glanced at the tightly packed canvas bag that Kostya had left on the dresser.
From the open mouth of the bag came the scent of forest and dried porcini mushrooms. Tied to the cord was a square piece of cardboard.
On it, written in bold, sweeping handwriting with a distinct pressure on the ‘r’ was: “Porcini from Sosnovka. Picked this autumn, dried on the new stove.”
Anfisa would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Her father-in-law, Arseny Terentyevich, used to tie the same kind of cardboard tags to bags of linden flowers and herbs whenever he sent gifts from the village.
And he only built the new stove in Sosnovka this summer, after the divorce.
— Holy moly, — Anfisa quietly muttered to herself.
— So that’s what’s really going on here!
— What are you mumbling about over there, daughter-in-law? — Oksana Trofimovna called from the table.
— Don’t dawdle! Go change the bedding in the bedroom, I want to lie down after the trip. And clear the top drawer in the dresser for my knitwear!
— I’ll clear it now, — promised Anfisa.
— I just need to check the roast in the oven and make a quick call.
She picked up her phone from the shelf near the mirror and stepped out onto the enclosed balcony, closing the door behind her.
Through the glass, you could see Oksana Trofimovna already giving directions to Kostya with a commanding gesture about where to move the floor lamp. Irina sat with her cheek resting in her hand, openly watching the scene with curiosity.
Anfisa opened her contact list. She still had Arseny Terentyevich’s number saved from August, when she and Kostya picked up currants from him. The phone rang only a few times.
— Hello, Anfisa? — came her father-in-law’s cheerful, slightly raspy voice on the phone.
— Happy anniversary, you two! Seven years is a big deal. I just got back to Sosnovka and fired up the stove.
— Thank you, Arseny Terentyevich, — said Anfisa.
— So, here’s the thing… Oksana Trofimovna has come to stay with us. With two huge bags and a multicooker.
She says you let her second cousin with three kids move into her two-room flat on Rechnaya Street yesterday and kicked her out!
Her father-in-law paused for a second and then burst out laughing so loud Anfisa had to pull the phone away from her ear.
— I moved who into where?! — Arseny Terentyevich repeated with a laugh.
— Oh for goodness’ sake! Oksana, you sly woman! Losing her marbles in her old age!
“So there’s no nephew at all?” Anfisa clarified, though deep down she already knew the answer.
“Where would he come from, my dear!” her father-in-law exclaimed in disbelief.
“First of all, I don’t have any family with little kids in this region.
Second, what do I have to do with her apartment on Rechnaya? We settled that amicably last year!”
“You settled it?” Anfisa said, surprised.
“Kostya thinks you two still haven’t figured out how to divide the apartment.”
“She’s just messing with Kostya’s head, pretending to be helpless!” explained Arseniy Terentyevich.
“I let her have our entire city two-bedroom, and in return she gave me the dacha in Sosnovka. She’s the sole owner on Rechnaya!”
“Well, well,” said Anfisa, glancing through the glass at her mother-in-law, who was already serving herself seconds.
“And that bag of your dried porcini mushrooms—how did she get that?”
“I delivered it to her myself an hour and a half ago!” her father-in-law replied willingly.
“She called me last night. Asked me to pour two sacks of potatoes into her basement for winter and bring her some mushrooms.”
I drove over to Rechnaya, carried the potatoes down to the cellar, and she comes out to the porch with two big plaid bags!
“With the bags already packed?” Anfisa asked again.
“Exactly! There’s a cab waiting at the entrance. I asked her, ‘Where are you off to at this hour, Trofimovna?’”
And she immediately replies, ‘I shut the apartment, turned off the water, I’m moving in with Kostya where he’ll take care of me! Let’s see if my daughter-in-law will look after me for a change—I’ve been stuck there long enough. And I’ll rent my two-bedroom out to a nice couple for the whole year starting Tuesday—that money will pay for trips to Kislovodsk for my nerves!’
Anfisa even shook her head at such unabashed straightforwardness.
“So, Kislovodsk, then,” she repeated.
“And new tenants are moving in on Tuesday?”
“That’s right!” confirmed Arseniy Terentyevich.
“She even grabbed a bag of porcini mushrooms from my trunk, said she’d bring them to Kostya for soup. So her place is empty—nobody’s even dusting there.”
Don’t you go easy on her, Anfisa! Let her stay just a week and you’ll never get her out—I’ve known her for thirty years!
“I won’t, Arseniy Terentyevich!” Anfisa promised firmly.
“Thank you for the mushrooms—and for telling me the truth.”
She hung up, opened the taxi app, entered the address she needed, and went back to the room.
The living room was already a flurry of activity. Konstantin was dutifully carrying the multicooker box from the hallway toward the bedroom, and Oksana Trofimovna stood by the cabinet, carefully inspecting the shelves.
“Put those picture frames with the wedding photos in the closet,” her mother-in-law ordered, pointing at Anfisa’s wedding shots.
“I’m going to keep my blood pressure monitor and tincture bottles here. And you really should change the bedroom curtains—they’re too light and the sun will wake me up in the morning.”
“Kostya, put the box back by the door!” Anfisa called out sharply.
Her husband stopped in the doorway and looked around, confused.
“Anfisa, what’s up? Didn’t you say you’d clear off the shelves right now?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Anfisa said, walking over to the console in the hallway, picking up the cloth bag of mushrooms, and setting it right at the edge of the table.
Before we change the curtains, let’s admire the presents! Oksana Trofimovna, those are some amazing porcini mushrooms! The whole house smells incredible. Where did you find them?
The mother-in-law grew suspicious, pulled her sweater tight and grumbled unhappily:
“Mushrooms are just mushrooms. I grabbed the last sack from my own pantry when I had to run away from those rude people!”
“From the pantry?” Anfisa gave Irina a sly wink.
“Imagine that! But there’s a tag, handwritten by Arseny Terentyevich, saying these mushrooms were harvested this fall and he dried them himself on the new stove in Sosnovka!”
“Who knows what’s written on it!” the mother-in-law waved her hands dismissively.
“Some old scrap of paper got stuck to it!”
“Is that so?” Anfisa replied mockingly.
“Well, Arseny Terentyevich just told me something very different two minutes ago! He said just an hour and a half ago, he handed you this very sack himself at your building on Rechnaya Street.”
Right after he helped you, at your request, to pour two sacks of potatoes into your cellar!
Irina stifled a laugh into her napkin. Konstantin remained standing, box in hand, staring in shock first at his wife, then at his mother.
“Who is this Arseny?!” Oksana Trofimovna screeched, her cheeks immediately blotching red.
“Why did you call him?! Who gave you the right to stick your nose into my business?!”
“I just wanted to shame a shameless relative who kicked you out with three kids!” Anfisa declared, without a hint of drama.
“Turns out, you actually traded the dacha in Sosnovka last year for the entire city apartment! You’re the sole owner now, and there never were any nephews on Rechnaya Street!”
“Mom, is this true?” Konstantin finally asked, lowering the multicooker box back to the floor.
“Dad left you the whole two-room place a year ago? And you’ve been telling me all winter that he’s suffocating you with utility bills! I’ve been sending you money from every paycheck!”
“Oh please, you sent barely anything, just pennies!” Oksana Trofimovna snapped back, realizing there was no point denying it now.
“And anyway, what’s it to you?! A mother just wanted to enjoy life with her son under the same roof for once!”
“At the same time, rent out your empty two-room starting Tuesday, and run off to a spa in Kislovodsk with all that money!” Anfisa added.
“You actually bragged to Arseny Terentyevich about that at the entrance just an hour and a half ago!”
So we’re supposed to squeeze onto the living room sofa in a walk-through room after five years of paying off a mortgage, and wait on you after work? Dream on, Oksana Trofimovna! What a treat!
“Wow, what a scheme!” Irina exclaimed, actually slapping her hands together.
“We need a mastermind like this in the accounting department—she’d get the annual report done in record time!”
“How dare you make fun of me?!” the mother-in-law stomped her foot and turned to her son.
“Kostya! Your wife won’t let me, your own mother, cross the threshold in front of strangers! Tell her right now that I’m staying!”
Konstantin glanced at his mother, then at the canvas sack with his father’s tag, and then at his new bedroom.
It finally dawned on him that he himself would be the one sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room. And he’d be the one paying for all his mother’s trips to the spa.
“No, Mom,” Kostya forced the words out, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“If you have your own empty two-bedroom apartment, why do we all need to crowd together here? That wasn’t a good idea. Not good at all.”
“Oh, that’s how it is now, my son!” Oksana Trofimovna snapped at him, clutching the collar of her maroon blouse.
“You’ve gone soft! Your own mother isn’t needed anymore! Maybe I was saving that rent money from the tenants for your rainy day!”
“Thanks, we’ll manage to save up on our own,” Anfisa cut off the outburst and glanced at the screen of the phone in her hand.
“Your empty apartment is waiting for you at: Rechnaya Street, Third Entrance! You’ll have to open the valves on the pipes yourself, and don’t forget to plug the freezer back in.”
A beige Toyota had already pulled up to our building—I called a taxi straight to your doorstep!
“What?!” the mother-in-law exclaimed in shock.
“What taxi? I haven’t even finished my meal!”
“I’ll wrap the duck for you in foil to take with you,” Irina offered cheerfully, reaching for the roll on the shelf.
“So you don’t starve in the empty apartment while the freezer gets cold!”
Oksana Trofimovna swept the feast with a furious glare. Meeting Anfisa’s determined eyes and her son’s gloomy face, she realized there was no way she’d be sleeping in the master bedroom tonight.
The mother-in-law jerkily buttoned up her cardigan, grabbed her handbag off the back of the chair, and lifted her chin with pride:
“You can choke on your duck! I won’t set foot in this place again, you hear me? Kostya, grab the bags—I’m not about to haul all this to the car myself!”
“But we’re keeping the dried porcini mushrooms for ourselves!” Anfisa called out as Konstantin dragged the checkered bags toward the elevator.
“Arseny Terentyevich said they were for our anniversary!”
Ten minutes later, Kostya returned, stood awkwardly in the hallway for a moment, then silently went to the kitchen to preheat the oven.
The festive evening continued without any more drama, and the mushroom soup the next day turned out especially fragrant.
By spring, all the tensions had finally died down, but Oksana Trofimovna’s character hadn’t changed at all. She was too nervous to let the young couple use her entire two-bedroom apartment.
In the end, she rented one room to a quiet medical student and stayed in the other herself, meticulously counting how many times the girl turned on the tap in the bathroom.
Now, she calls Kostya every Sunday, spending half an hour complaining that thanks to her heartless daughter-in-law, she has to share space with a stranger instead of sipping mineral water at a resort.
But at least the mother-in-law only visited the young couple twice in six months—each time for exactly an hour and a half, clutching her tiny handbag and never casting a glance at the master bedroom.