A phone call shattered the morning silence so unexpectedly that Natasha jumped. The screen displayed the name: “Aunt Lyuba.”
— “Natashenka!” an excited voice came from the other end of the line. “Can you imagine, we’re coming to your country house!”
Her cup of coffee froze mid-air. Aunt Lyuba was the very one who had “stayed over” in their new apartment for three months while she was renovating her own. Those three endless months were filled with constant questions like, “Why don’t you have this?” or “Why is that done that way?” along with her favorite remarks about how things were “in my day.”
— “How… are you coming? Who… are we?” Natasha managed to choke out.
— “We’re coming with the girls! To relax for a week,” replied the aunt, and laughter and the clinking of bottles could be heard on the line. “What’s the problem? We’re family!”
The word “family” had always been a magic key for Aunt Lyuba, capable of opening any door. After the episode with the apartment, Natasha and Vitya had decided not to tell the rest of the family about the country house. But someone they trusted had apparently let it slip… even giving away the address.
— “Aunt Lyuba, we can’t…” Natasha tried to object, striving to steady her voice.
— “We’re already on the train!” her aunt cheerfully interrupted. “We’ll be there soon!”
A few short beeps ended the conversation. Natasha felt her heart beginning to beat faster. She dialed her husband:
— “Vitya, Aunt Lyuba and the girls are coming.”
— “My God, again,” he sighed. “Can’t you just not open the door?”
— “They won’t just leave,” Natasha replied nervously while fiddling with the edge of her apron. “They’ll wait by the fence, shaming us in front of the neighbors. Do you remember the apartment story? ‘The beloved niece kicked her own aunt out onto the street!’”
By lunchtime, Aunt Lyuba and her companions — three middle-aged cousins — were already taking over the kitchen. The veranda, where Natasha had enjoyed solitude that morning, was now cluttered with strangers’ suitcases. The refrigerator was filled not only with homemade preserves but also with someone else’s groceries, and neatly arranged beside them were packs of wine.
— “Natasha, where are your towels?” yelled the middle cousin, Lyuda, from the bathroom.
— “And bring some toilet paper!” added the youngest, Katya.
— “And your shampoo is so odd,” criticized the eldest, Vera, sniffing the bottle with a lavender scent. “Give me a normal one!”
Natasha clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Her shampoo was exactly as she had wanted it to be – personal, unique, not meant for a crowd of guests. It seemed it was time to learn how to say “no,” even when it came to relatives.
— “And I see you’re living pretty nicely here!” declared Aunt Lyuba as she comfortably settled into the wicker chair that she and Vitya had brought from Italy. “The plot is spacious, you’ve got a bathhouse… Why didn’t you tell us? We’re still family!”
— “Exactly because of that,” Natasha said softly, yet a restrained emotion could already be heard in her voice.
— “What-what?” Aunt Lyuba pretended to bring her hand to her ear. “I didn’t quite catch that!”
— “Exactly because!” Natasha’s voice suddenly rose to a cry. “Because you are exactly the relatives who think they have the right to just show up, occupy all the space, and use everything that belongs to us!”
— “Natashenka!” Aunt Lyuba nearly lifted herself as if preparing to defend herself. “How dare you…”
— “That’s exactly how!” Something hot that had long been suppressed began rising within Natasha. “Do you remember what happened in the apartment? ‘Oh, I’m just staying for a week!’ – and then it turned into three months! And every day it was: criticisms, directives on how to live, what to change…”
At that moment, the “girls” appeared in the doorway – some with towels, others with wine glasses – looking on in bewilderment at the scene unfolding.
— “And anyway, we’re soon leaving on vacation,” Natasha tried to speak calmly, though her voice betrayed a quiver. “We’ve already bought the train tickets.”
— “Oh, don’t worry, we can handle it ourselves!” Aunt Lyuba waved off carelessly, settling back into her chair. “Go on with your vacation!”
— “No,” Natasha replied, feeling her knees trembling but her voice remaining firm. “You’re not staying here. Not now, not for a week. This is our home, and we want to be alone.”
Aunt Lyuba seemed either not to have heard or pretended not to understand.
They endured for three days. Three endless days of strained hospitality. In the morning – unfamiliar voices in the kitchen, in the afternoon – endless remarks: “Why is it like that with you?” or “Others do it completely differently…” In the evenings, guitar songs went on until midnight, completely ignoring the neighbors whom it disturbed. Natasha’s petunias nearly withered because no one bothered to water them. Masha’s toys disappeared from the veranda – “they’re in the way of relaxation.” The cat even chose to move in with the neighbors to escape the constant noise.
But on the fourth morning…
— “Aunt Lyuba,” Natasha said firmly as she placed the suitcases before her relatives. “Today you need to leave.”
— “What do you mean, ‘need to’?” the aunt snapped, withdrawing from her wine glass. “We agreed – it’s just for a week.”
— “No,” Natasha shook her head. “We never agreed to anything. You simply decided for us. It was like that with the apartment. But now, that’s it. Enough. Our tickets are for tomorrow, and there’s so much left to pack.”
— “How dare you?!” Vera jumped to her feet, outraged. “We…”
— “Relatives, I know,” Natasha said bitterly with a sad smile. “But being relatives is no reason to intrude into someone else’s life. You didn’t even bother to ask if it was all right to come. You just showed up and…”
— “And what’s wrong with that?” snorted Lyuda. “A little stay isn’t a big deal!”
— “A little stay?” Natasha felt her anger boil within. “You are not guests, you’ve occupied our home. You command, criticize, change the way things are arranged… Do you know how many times I cried in that apartment when you lived there for three months?”
Aunt Lyuba froze, holding her glass:
— “Natasha, we didn’t mean any harm…”
Natasha remembered that moment vividly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The knock at the door, a teary Aunt Lyuba on the threshold: “Natashenka, I have a renovation! Just for a week!” That week turned into three long months.
At first, everything seemed amusing. Well, the aunt would only stay a few days, so what? They had just settled into their new apartment – a two-room place in a quiet neighborhood, every detail lovingly planned. Everything was in its place, every little item chosen with special care.
And then…
— “Natasha, why are those curtains so dark?!” Aunt Lyuba said as she methodically rearranged cups in the sideboard according to her idea of order. “Look at Vera’s place: they’re beautiful! With frills, with flowers…”
— “They’re not dark, Aunt Lyuba, they’re Scandinavian style,” Natasha tried to explain.
— “Scandinavian?” the aunt snorted. “I’d call it cemetery-like! And really, who arranges dishes that way? Just let me organize everything the way it should be…”
Day after day, their little cozy space transformed into something entirely different – more like a dormitory than a home. In the kitchen, bright napkins with little roses appeared – “otherwise, your kitchen looks like a hospital ward!” In the bathroom, countless little jars and bottles were arranged – “after all, the girls do come over!” And in the hallway, a whole rack of someone else’s coats and shoes formed – “I can’t help but welcome family!”
Then came the “girls’ nights”…
— “Natashenka, please be quiet!” Aunt Lyuba said as she arranged wine glasses for the evening tea. “We’re just going to have a little tea!”
However, the “tea” stretched into the deep night. Vitya was forced to hide in the bedroom with his headphones, trying to concentrate on work. Meanwhile, Natasha barricaded herself in the bathroom, silently crying.
— “Sweetie, why are you hiding?” the aunt peered through the door. “Come out, sit with us! Look, Vera brought her signature pie…”
Morning inevitably arrived with new remarks, strange habits, and opinions on what their home should be like.
— “Natasha, why is your refrigerator so empty?” Aunt Lyuba lamented. “In my day…”
The phrase “in my day” sounded like the final verdict. In her day, housewives cooked every day, welcomed guests, and always adhered to strict rules. Every morning, Natasha woke up with a determination: “Today I’ll finally say it’s time to clear out the apartment.” But day after day, the words remained unspoken.
— “Hang on,” Vitya whispered at night, holding her close. “It’s temporary…”
That “temporary” stretched into three long months. Three months of someone else’s scents in the kitchen, someone else’s items in the cabinets, someone else’s way of keeping order in their own home. Three months filled with comparisons: “but look at how others do it…”, “in my day it was different…”, “and how Vera does it…”
And when the aunt finally began to pack up…
— “Sweetie, how will I manage without you?” she said, clutching her last bag. “Maybe I can stay just a little longer?”
— “Aunt Lyuba…” Natasha tried to speak softly yet firmly. “Your renovation is finished, isn’t it?”
— “Is it really about the renovation? We’re family! We’re related!”
Then, for two whole weeks, they restored the apartment. They returned everything to its former places. They got rid of those “cozy” napkins with pink patterns. Gradually, they reclaimed their home. And then they made a promise to each other: this would never happen again! No uninvited visitors, no “I’ll just drop by for a week,” and no relatives without prior agreement.
But here she is again – with suitcases, with friends, and with the same argument “we’re all one family” ready at hand…
In the prevailing silence, the ticking of the clock on the veranda could be heard distinctly, the buzzing of bees over the flowers, and the distant hum of a passing train…
— “Alright,” Aunt Lyuba said in an unexpectedly calm tone. “You’re right. We… really overdid it with our stay. Girls, start packing.”
An hour later they left. Without extra words, without scandals or the dramatic slamming of doors. They simply disappeared – as if realizing something important.
That evening, as Natasha settled on the veranda with a cup of hot tea, she pondered: perhaps this was how it should have been handled from the start? Just plainly say “no”? Without long explanations and invented reasons… Sometimes the hardest part in life is not learning to say “no,” but finding the strength to say that “no” at the right moment.
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