In my chest there was pain, disappointment, and complete confusion about what to do next. I kept looking at my husband with round eyes filled with hope. Hope that his words were just a bad joke. But no one laughed.
Igor and I have been married for just under five years, and our anniversary is coming up soon. It seems like we live soul to soul, but we can’t agree on my birthdays and other holidays. More precisely, I support the idea of discussing joint leisure to make it truly shared, while Igor dodges, shrugs off, and runs away from responsibilities. I have never seen anyone so eager to rush to work.
Why was he such a runner that on half the holidays only his heels sparkled? It was all painfully obvious. First, he would call a horde of his relatives, and as soon as he realized that he had to cook for them, he would scoot. And there I stood like a statue in the middle of the kitchen, my phone bursting with calls, and my head literally exploding from the shopping list and everything that needed to be prepared. It was worse than university math, I swear. Every time I counted on my husband growing up, taking care of his guests himself. But my dreams never came to life.
Probably for the same reason of Igor’s irresponsibility, we didn’t have a child… Sometimes I dream, sometimes I regret that I got involved with him at all, but for some reason, I hold on with both hands. I love him. In other respects, he’s a model family man: he’ll fix a shelf, run to the store, and will take care. But he had this unshakable urge for family feasts, at which he must always be a guest. True, no one invites us anywhere, naturally. Because every holiday, my husband preempts the relatives: ‘We’re celebrating at our place!’—and what there is to celebrate, how to organize… These are questions for someone else, not him, as the preparation, as such, was exclusively my job. Well, maybe Igor’s sister occasionally if she happens to arrive early.
‘Igor,’ I carefully began to probe the ground on the eve of my birthday, ‘how do we plan to celebrate?’
‘Celebrate what?’—my husband tore himself away from some important news on TV.
I blinked and pouted in offense, not appreciating my husband’s humor. What, what, he rarely managed to joke.
‘I was joking! I remember, I remember, New Year’s Eve, all that. Happy upcoming! We’ll celebrate as usual.’
‘Igor!’—I quickly wiped the smirk off his face.
‘Do you know how much you bother me with this? Birthday, trali-vali… We always celebrate the same way, why change anything?’
‘I wanted to suggest a slightly different plan,’—I whispered enticingly.
And the whisper really worked: Igor leaned in closer, genuine interest even appeared in his eyes. He looked at me like Santa Claus, who any minute now would give him the gifts he had long dreamed of. It was funny to watch curious Igor, it was uncharacteristic of him.
‘Come on! Tell me,’—he said impatiently, with a hint of sarcasm.
‘I want to celebrate differently this time. Just the two of us, and no one extra.’
Igor considered my proposal, occasionally scratching his chin and now and then raising his ginger eyebrow. In his head, the thought process was in full swing, it even reflected on his face. His cheeks flushed. But, it seems, my husband’s body language showed agreement to the ‘adventure’ in every possible way. For someone a routine, for someone a whole adventure, which you first need to get used to.
‘How enticing, Svetik,’—the man’s gentle voice stretched out the last word specially: Igor loved to call me that since the day we met,— ‘Why not.’
I trusted that happy face with all my heart and ran to the bedroom to plan our joint rest. Cooking—definitely not! Groaning at the stove badly affects the mood before the holiday.
‘Exactly! Why not go to the city ice rink?’—I thought to the light tapping of a pencil against my lips,— ‘There, the ice is of a whimsical shape—skating will be interesting, and there’s mulled wine, and hot chocolate, and various cafes, and the atmosphere!’
Finally, I definitely decided where Igor and I would celebrate my birthday. For the first time just the two of us. It was such a rarity, as was actually relaxing during the holidays. I rarely even looked forward to my own birthday: I spend it running from the stove to the sink. But now I was happy, already anticipating the upcoming weekend.
One evening, I returned from work. My legs ached from fatigue, and I just wanted to melt down the wall onto the floor and sleep, but the plan did not materialize—my husband appeared in the hallway.
‘Hello, dear. I’m so tired today. Just awful!’—I jumped out of my shoes and outerwear.
‘It’s…—Igor shuffled from foot to foot,— ‘There’s this thing, the guys are inviting me to the mountains.’
‘Oh, but I already planned everything with the rink…’—I weighed in my mind a vacation in the mountains and skating,— ‘Well, nothing! Let’s go there. Maybe it will even be cooler.’
‘You don’t understand, they’re only inviting me, my friends.’
In an instant, the smile disappeared from my face, and everything inside cracked. Now I’ll be celebrating the holiday alone, in the darkness, in silence…
‘Ah, right. Forgot to add. My guys already bought train tickets, they’ll be here any day! Well, you won’t be alone: it’s a holiday, after all.’
Igor tried to hug, as if he had done something good for me, something for which I ought to thank him. But my nerves only managed to push him away.
‘Do you even understand what you’re saying? Traitor,’—tears welled up in the corners of my eyes, and then one by one rolled down my cheeks,— ‘Again I have to spend all weekend only serving your relatives? I asked for just one day in five years, in which I can also rest.
‘Are you against my relatives keeping you company? My God, how was I to know you’d throw such a fuss over this trifle.’
Igor clicked his tongue loudly and rolled his eyes.
‘Celebrate your birthday without me, but my kin are coming, so set the table,’—my husband told me.
Trifle? Trifle? Was he serious? In my chest there was pain, disappointment, and complete confusion about what to do next. I kept looking at my husband with round eyes filled with hope. Hope that his words were just a bad joke. But no one laughed.
I left silently. It felt too much. I felt betrayed and broken, and these feelings were amplified fivefold when I saw how my husband was packing his bag for the trip to the mountains.
The door slammed. Igor left.
I just sat on the edge of the bed and stared straight at the wall. I didn’t feel like going, cooking, cleaning, serving everyone… Expectations did not match reality at all. I thought my husband would greet me with a bouquet of flowers, with an invitation to a restaurant… But not even the bare minimum happened—keeping a promise. I didn’t ask for expensive gifts.
‘To hell with all this!’—I literally exclaimed as I suddenly jumped out of bed.
I hastily started packing things, some of my husband’s things accidentally ended up scattered on the floor. Surprisingly. I stuffed into the bag a festive dress, home clothes, a few warm items, and a couple of essential wardrobe items.
I knew it wasn’t too late to catch the bus, then the train, and get to my hometown, where people who are dear to me truly love and value me.
And so, after just ten short minutes, I stood in complete darkness near the door. My jacket rustled pleasantly, promising me a good holiday. The moon outside amiably saw me to the stop and disappeared behind thick clouds. The black sky swallowed the celestial body whole, not a single star led the way.
When I was already on the train and quietly finishing an engrossing book, my relatives started calling:
‘Where are you walking?’—my mother-in-law asked reproachfully,— ‘We’re here waiting, right at the door.’
‘I left,’—I just briefly dodged the questions.
‘How is that?’—the voice grew quieter: this time the statement was heard by everyone,— ‘What?! You are supposed to meet us, as is proper.’
‘What you heard, goodbye!’
And I hung up the phone as soon as the other end started screaming and the unnecessary commotion began for me.
The train pleasantly swayed, and the comfortable seats lulled me. I was absolutely alone in the car, except for a couple of conductors. At that moment, I was not worried about relatives at the doorstep, nor the mess, since the apartment was originally mine, nor the husband, who also called and started throwing tantrums.
‘How could you? My kin came for the holiday, and you deprived them of it,’—a menacing voice from the receiver spoiled the atmosphere.
‘And they don’t deprive me of it every time? More precisely, you. Every birthday of mine, you invite a crowd of your relatives, and there’s no room for my guests.
‘You could have celebrated with yours later,’—my husband clumsily parried.
‘So your guests take up all the time! I clean up after them, cook for them, set the table, and serve them all evening. Tired. All!’
‘How could you? What, am I supposed to pay for their hotel and food? They wanted to stay with us,’—my husband whined, fully convinced I was bluffing.
‘Show the ticket,’—the pretty conductor stopped in front of me.
I gladly took out the rustling paper from my pocket and handed it under the punch in the girl’s hand:
‘Please.’
Igor was silent for a while, trying to figure out what to do in such a complex situation. For the first time, his wife didn’t want to dance to his tune!
‘You really just left?’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you all this time.’
Igor started to bleat something, but I had long since disconnected and listened to the intermittent beeps. I didn’t care so much it was even funny. Why do I need such a husband if he can’t think about his wife? I will never endure it again. If I see an egotist, I’ll say goodbye right away.
I spent the weekend wonderfully. My parents were very glad to finally see me, took me to restaurants and shopping centers, making me feel like the most loved daughter. I haven’t yet told them that I separated from Igor, but I sent the papers to my husband. Upon returning to the apartment, I packed his things and put them outside the door—he’ll pick them up himself.
I finally breathed deeply. I devoted time to myself, spent the holidays with my relatives. They, by the way, never allowed me to cook on my birthday, and we all cut salads together on other holidays. Life became much easier.