“Where is the money we saved for the New Year’s table?” Olga asked as she peeked into the tin tea can sitting on the very top shelf of the kitchen cabinet.
She balanced on her tiptoes, reaching up, but her fingers touched only the cold metal bottom. Her heart skipped a beat. There were just two days left before New Year’s. That tin had held thirty thousand rubles – the amount she and her husband had carefully set aside over the past two months, saving from every paycheck and advance. It was meant for food, gifts for each other, and a little holiday fun.
Andrey, who was sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through his newsfeed on his phone, didn’t even look up. He just shrugged, as if swatting away a pesky fly.
“Andrey, I’m talking to you,” Olga’s voice turned sharper. “The can is empty. Where is the money?”
Her husband finally managed to tear himself away from the screen. He looked at his wife with the same expression a schoolboy gives when caught with a cigarette: a mix of guilt, defiance, and the hope to quickly change the subject.
“Olga, why are you making a fuss?” he winced. “I took it. Mom needed it.”
Olga slowly sat down on the chair across from him. Her legs suddenly felt like jelly. There was a ringing in her ears, like an empty seashell.
“Your mom?” she repeated softly. “And what happened to Antonina Pavlovna this time? Leaky roof? TV broke? Or did she urgently need a massage course for her favorite cat?”
“Don’t be snarky,” Andrey snapped, locking his phone and placing it face down on the table. “She has a real problem. A serious one. Her washing machine broke. For good. The repairman came, looked at it, and said, ‘You’d be better off buying a new one than fixing this old thing.’ How is she supposed to cope without a washing machine? She’s sixty-five, Olga! Are you saying she should start washing sheets in the bathtub? With her bad back?”
Olga took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to steady her trembling hands.
“Andrey,” she began, aiming to keep her voice calm. “Your mom is sixty-five, not a helpless old lady. Her washing machine was fine – an Indesit, and we bought it for her just five years ago. But even if it broke… Why now? Why two days before the holiday? And why did you have to give away all of our savings?”
My husband gave our holiday savings to his mother, and I set an empty table for him.
“Because the discounts are now!” Andrey threw up his hands, as if explaining something obvious to a stubborn child. “It’s New Year’s sales. We found a great model, with a dryer, loads of programs. Mom’s been dreaming of it for ages. She can’t save up for it on her small pension. Was I supposed to tell my own mother, ‘No, mom, wash everything by hand, Olya and I want to eat caviar’?”
“Caviar?” Olga smirked. “Andrey, the money wasn’t just for caviar. It was for everything: meat, vegetables, alcohol, gifts. We were planning to invite guests. Your friends, by the way. Seryozha and his wife, Kostik. What are we supposed to feed them?”
Andrey waved her off, getting up from the table and walking toward the kettle.
Oh, come on, stop being so dramatic. You’re the queen of the kitchen—your pantry’s always stocked! Just pull out some jars, we’ll boil up some potatoes. We can buy a chicken, it’s super cheap. You’ll come up with something. Toss some salads together with whatever’s there. The main thing is the company, not the food. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
Buy a chicken? Olga stared at her husband’s broad back. With what money? I’ve got fifteen hundred left in my wallet until the next advance, which won’t come till January tenth. You’re broke too, aren’t you, seeing as you’re raiding the jar.
Well… Andrey hesitated. We’ll borrow from someone. Or you can take it off the credit card. We’ll pay it back later. At least Mom has her new machine now—she was so happy, Olga! You should’ve seen her. She instantly baked some pies and promised to send them over.
Thanks, Olga replied dryly. Pies are wonderful. Especially when they replace the whole holiday table.
She stood up and left the kitchen, refusing to drag out this pointless conversation. Andrey just didn’t get it. Or didn’t want to. For him, the family budget was something abstract, stretchy—there to be dipped into for any need from his mom, and his wife would sort things out somehow afterwards.
In the bedroom, Olga sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to cry—not because of the money, but because of his attitude. All December she’d been planning the menu, searching for recipes, making lists. She wanted a real celebration. Beautiful, delicious, with the house full of the smells of pine and roasted goose. And now…
“You’ll come up with something.” That phrase stuck in her mind, making her seethe with cold anger. How many times had she heard it? “Olya, Mom wants some seedlings for the country house, figure something out with the money.” “Olya, I scratched the car, need a quick paint job—think of how to save somewhere.” And Olya always found a way. She’d cut back, rearrange, deny herself new makeup or another pair of tights.
But today was the last straw.
That evening Andrey acted like nothing had happened. He watched TV, laughed at some comedy show. He was sure the problem was fixed. The wife had grumbled and now, like a magician, she’d wave her ladle and the fridge would magically fill with food.
The next day, December 30th, Olga went to work. The office was buzzing with pre-holiday chaos. Her coworkers chatted about where they shop and swapped recipes for herring under a fur coat and aspic.
“Olga, are you making goose with apples or oranges?” Sveta from accounting asked, stirring her tea.
“With air,” Olga answered gloomily, then forced a smile. “This year, we’re trying an experiment—minimalism.”
After work, she didn’t go to the big supermarket like she’d planned. Instead, she stopped by the tiny shop next to her building. She bought a pack of the cheapest salt, a loaf of black bread, and a can of sprats. Then she thought for a second and grabbed three potatoes. At the register, she paid with loose change she’d dug out of her pocket.
At home, Andrey greeted her with a question:
So, did you do the shopping? Because I called Mom and she said she’s coming over tomorrow. Wants to ring in the New Year with us, christen the new machine, so to speak.
Olga froze in the hallway, still in her boots.
“Mom’s coming?” she repeated.
“Yeah, of course. Why would she sit at home alone? She said she’ll come by around nine to send off the old year. Don’t worry, she isn’t picky. All she wants is some attention.”
“Perfect,” Olga nodded. “Just wonderful.”
Suddenly something clicked inside her—the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. So, her mother-in-law would be coming over. The same mother-in-law who just got a thirty-thousand-ruble washing machine paid for out of their family budget yesterday. And of course, she would expect a festive table—because Olya always “comes up with something.”
Olga got changed, walked into the kitchen and started preparing food. She boiled three potatoes in their skins. She opened a jar of pickled cucumbers that she had made herself last summer (thank goodness they were homemade and free). She sliced black bread into neat, thin pieces.
Next, she brought out the most beautiful, fancy tablecloth—snow-white with embroidered golden snowflakes. She’d been saving it for special occasions. She set the table with the finest china—plates with gold trim, crystal glasses, and silver utensils handed down from her grandmother.
In the center of the table, she placed a dish. On it, three boiled potatoes sat, looking lonely. Nearby, in a crystal salad bowl, three pickles cut into rounds huddled together. On a small plate, there were slices of black bread. And a tin of sprats—still sealed—lay next to a can opener.
“That’s everything,” Olga whispered, surveying the spread. “Just as requested.”
On December 31, Andrey woke up late. He stretched, looking forward to a pleasant day.
“Olyusya!” he called out. “Is there breakfast?”
“In the fridge,” Olga replied from the bathroom.
Andrey found a pot of yesterday’s buckwheat on the shelf.
“Why so modest?” he grumbled, but ate it anyway. “Are you cooking something? Smells… strange.”
“I’ve already finished everything,” Olga said, stepping out of the bathroom in her robe with a towel wrapped around her head. “The table’s set. Don’t go into the room—it’s a surprise. Let everything soak in until evening.”
Andrey rubbed his hands together.
“A surprise! I love surprises. You’re a gem. I knew you’d manage it.”
All day, Olga took care of herself. She applied a face mask, painted her nails, and styled her hair. She put on her best dress—a dark blue velvet one. Andrey strutted around, glancing at his wife approvingly.
“Stunning!” he said. “Mom will be impressed. By the way, she called—said she’s bringing a gift. Probably something for the house.”
Closer to nine in the evening, the doorbell rang. On the doorstep stood Antonina Pavlovna. She was flushed from the cold, wearing a brand new mink hat (apparently, a new washing machine didn’t get in the way of buying expensive things). In her hands was a small bag.
“Happy New Year, my dears!” she announced as she entered the apartment like an icebreaker. “Oh, what weather! Snow, frost! And it’s so warm and cozy here. What’s that smell? Pine? Where’s the aroma of pies?”
“Everything’s on the table, Mom, everything’s on the table!” Andrey said gallantly as he helped his mother take off her coat. “Olya’s our magician tonight—she’s prepared a surprise.”
Olga walked out to the hallway and smiled politely.
“Hello, Antonina Pavlovna. Please come in.”
“Hello, Olenka, hello. Well, show me how you’re living. Andrey told me you’re planning to renovate? Oh, and my new washing machine – it’s amazing! Washes so quietly, and the clothes come out nearly dry. Thank you, kids, you made this old lady happy. Although, honestly, you could have chosen a more expensive model, you know, the one with the steam function… but, well, you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Olga stayed silent, only pressing her lips together more firmly. They walked into the living room.
In the center of the room stood a table. A gorgeous tablecloth, sparkling crystal, shiny cutlery. And amid all this splendor – three potatoes, some cucumbers, and bread.
Antonina Pavlovna froze in the doorway. Andrey, walking behind her, bumped into her back.
“Olya?” her husband’s voice trembled. “What… what is this?”
“This is our festive dinner,” Olga replied calmly as she walked to her seat and sat down gracefully. “Please, take a seat at the table. Salads, hot dishes, delicacies – it’s all here.”
Her mother-in-law looked from the potatoes to Olga, then at her son.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked, nervously giggling. “A prank? Are you about to bring out a goose?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Olga said, picking up a starched napkin and spreading it on her lap. “There’s no goose. No Olivier salad. No caviar. You see, Antonina Pavlovna, our New Year’s dinner budget was exactly thirty thousand rubles. But two days ago, that money magically transformed into your new washing machine. The very same one that’s so quiet.”
A heavy silence filled the room. You could hear the wall clock ticking, counting down the last hours of the year.
“But…” Andrey blinked in confusion. “You said… You said you’d figure something out!”
“And I did,” Olga nodded. “I figured out not to get into debt. I figured out not to take out a loan with crazy interest just for one night. I figured out how to set the table with what we had left. And what we had left was exactly one hundred and fifty rubles. There you go. Potatoes, bread, our own cucumbers. Oh, and sprats. Andrey, please open the can. The knife’s right next to it.”
Antonina Pavlovna’s face started turning red with blotches.
“This… this is outrageous!” she screeched. “Are you saying I ate you out of house and home? That it’s my fault? My son gave me a gift, from the heart! And you’re reproaching me with a piece of bread?”
“I’m not reproaching you,” Olga’s voice was level and cold as ice. “I’m just stating a fact. Andrey gave you the money we’d been saving for the holiday. He made a choice. He chose your comfort over our celebration. I respect his choice. But miracles don’t happen, Antonina Pavlovna. Money doesn’t appear out of thin air. If it’s spent somewhere, it disappears elsewhere.”
“Andrey!” his mother turned to him. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that? We came to celebrate, I prepared, I did my hair! And she’s serving us potatoes in their skins?”
Andrey glanced from his mother to his wife. His face was bright red. He felt ashamed, hurt, and scared all at once. He knew Olga was right, but admitting it to his mother was more than he could bear.
“Olga, seriously… This is too much,” he muttered. “You could have at least gotten a chicken…”
“And with what money, Andrey?” Olga snapped, turning sharply to her husband. “Should I have paid for my commute to work out of thin air? Or was I supposed to walk for a month? Or skip lunch? I already save every penny. Yet you give away everything we have with a grand gesture and still expect a big celebration? No, darling. If you want to be a generous son, do it with your own money. Earn more, find a side job. But don’t take the last we have from your own family.”
“Family?!” Antonina Pavlovna threw up her hands. “What kind of family are you? A real family supports each other! They share their last shirt! But you… you’re selfish! I always knew you weren’t right for my son. Greedy, petty!”
“Alright,” Olga stood up. “Since I’m so awful, I won’t ruin your evening with my presence. Enjoy the potatoes, they’re tasty and fluffy. The sprats are good too. Happy holiday in advance.”
She left the room, went into the bedroom, and locked the door. Her heart was pounding wildly. Sitting down on the bed, she pulled out a hidden chocolate bar and a small bottle of champagne from her nightstand—treats she’d bought with her own “pocket” money.
In the living room, the argument raged on. Olga could hear her mother-in-law’s shrill voice:
“Let’s get out of here! I won’t set foot in this house again! We’ll go to Aunt Lena’s—she may be poor, but at least she won’t let you go hungry! But this one…”
“Mom, wait…” Andrey mumbled. “Where can we go at ten at night? Mom, calm down…”
“No, I won’t put up with this! Are you a man or a doormat? She humiliated you! She humiliated me! She doesn’t even want to lend her washing machine! Well, I’ll give it back! Let her wash her clothes by hand!”
The front door slammed. Silence fell. Olga opened the champagne. The cork hit her palm with a soft pop. She poured the sparkling wine into a regular mug and took a bite of chocolate.
Ten minutes later, someone knocked on the bedroom door.
“Ol…” Andrey’s voice sounded muffled. “Ol, open up. They’ve left.”
“Olya, enough already. I get it. I messed up. Please open the door. I’m hungry.”
Olga got up, walked to the door, and unlocked it. Andrey stood in the doorway with his shoulders slumped. He looked pitiful.
“Did your mom leave?” Olga asked.
“She left. Took a taxi. Yelled all the way to the elevator. She said she’ll send movers tomorrow and return the washing machine.”
“No need to return it,” Olga sighed. “Let her use it. It’s not about the washing machine, Andrey.”
“I know,” he came into the room and sat at the edge of the bed. “It’s about me. I just… I’m used to you always fixing everything. Somehow there’s always money. I didn’t think things through. Honestly.”
“Next time, think before you act,” Olga sat down next to him. “Because there might not be a next time. I’m tired of being the problem-solver all the time. I want to be cared for, too.”
“I’m sorry,” he took her hand. “Hey, is there really only potatoes out there?”
“Really,” Olga smirked. “But if you dig around in the freezer, you might find a pack of dumplings. Our emergency stash for a rainy day.”
Andrey looked at her hopefully.
“Dumplings? Seriously? Ol, I adore you. Let’s cook them? I’ve only had buckwheat all day.”
They went to the kitchen. The holiday table set with crystal and potatoes looked surreal, like a modern art installation. Andrey scooped all the potatoes onto one plate.
“And later we’ll fry the potatoes up with butter and onion,” he said in a confident, take-charge tone. “That’s a real meal, too.”
While the water was coming to a boil in the pot, Andrey walked up behind Olga and wrapped his arms around her.
“I promise,” he whispered into her hair. “With the next paycheck, we’ll start saving again. Not a single penny to anyone. And I’ll do the grocery shopping myself. Honestly.”
“We’ll see,” Olga replied, but without any anger this time.
They welcomed the New Year under the chime of the bells, eating dumplings with sour cream at a beautifully set table. They never even opened the tin of sprats—they decided to save it for Christmas. Andrey had some vodka that he found in the bar (the only bottle he hadn’t already given away or finished), while Olga finished her glass of champagne.
It was the strangest, quietest, and maybe the most honest New Year they had ever experienced.
Of course, Antonina Pavlovna never returned the sewing machine. But she stopped calling—she was offended. For Olga, those two weeks of silence were the best gift she could’ve hoped for. She finally got some rest.
A month later, Andrey really did come home with a full bag of groceries. There was good fish, cheese, and fruit.
“This is for us,” he said as he laid the groceries out on the table. “And I got my mom a cake. Just a small one. I stopped by and congratulated her with belated holiday wishes.”
Olga smiled. It seemed the potato lesson had sunk in. Maybe it took a hard moment and some drama, but sometimes an empty plate speaks louder than any words.