“My daughter will sleep here, and you can go sleep on the rug,” my mother-in-law commanded. I silently gathered all her things and threw them out the window from the eighth floor.
Galina Sergeyevna did not enter the apartment. She drilled herself into it, carrying a huge duffel bag in front of her like a battering ram.
Behind her, lazily dragging her feet in worn-out sneakers, trailed Veronika, loaded down with three backpacks and a folding hula hoop.
“Lenochka, my joy, we’re only here for a couple of weeks. Veronichka’s pipes burst in her apartment, it flooded all the way down to the basement!” my mother-in-law wailed, not even taking off her boots in the hallway.
More details
to the window
Mattresses
windows
I froze in the kitchen doorway, clutching a mug of very strong and very bitter coffee, which was my only protection from reality.
Oleg emerged from the room, fussily taking one of the backpacks from his sister and avoiding my eyes.
I could see him trying to merge with the coat rack just so he would not have to meet my gaze.
“Oleg, you said they were just stopping by for tea,” my voice sounded suspiciously calm, like the hum of a transformer box before an accident.
“Well, Lena, it really is an emergency. They can’t sleep at the train station,” my husband mumbled, backing deeper into the hallway.
Meanwhile, Galina Sergeyevna was already opening the hallway closet like she owned the place, shamelessly pushing my coats into the corner.
She pulled some unimaginable robe covered in hideous roses out of her bag and began changing right there on the spot.
“Veronika needs peace and quiet. She has only just started recovering after that traitor artist,” my mother-in-law proclaimed, paying no attention to my frozen expression.
At that moment, Veronika had already found the fruit bowl and was loudly munching on an apple, leaving sticky marks on the polished surface of the table.
Three hours passed, during which my cozy fortress turned into a branch of a flea market.
Tubes of Veronika’s ointments, her dirty socks, and piles of glossy magazines about “finding feminine power” were lying everywhere.
Galina Sergeyevna had managed to rearrange all the spice jars in the kitchen, saying that “this way was more rational for digestion.”
I sat in the armchair, watching as my mother-in-law businesslike inspected our bedroom, where my new orthopedic mattress stood, the one I had been paying for for three months.
“All right, Olezha, bring the pillows here,” she commanded, patting my side of the bed with her palm. “My daughter will sleep here, and you can go sleep on the rug.”
I felt something heavy turn inside me, like a huge cast-iron flywheel.
Oleg froze in the doorway with an armful of bedding, looking at me with a silent plea that said, “Please endure it. She’s my mother.”
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bed
pillows
Doors and windows
“Galina Sergeyevna, I believe you have the wrong room,” I said, slowly rising, feeling the floor beneath my feet become strangely vibrating. “This is our bedroom, and my husband and I sleep here.”
My mother-in-law did not even turn around. She was already shaking an entire battery of Veronika’s little bottles from her cosmetics bag directly onto my bedspread.
“My daughter’s back is as delicate as a sugar thread. She needs a firm, expensive mattress,” she snapped.
“And you, Lenochka, are young and healthy. Sleeping on the sofa in the living room will even be good for your posture.”
Veronika nodded in agreement, wiping her hands on my decorative pillows, and began pulling off her jeans.
I looked at Oleg, waiting for him to at least now raise his voice and remind them about boundaries.
But my husband only sighed heavily and began spreading out the sheet, trying not to look in my direction.
At that moment, I realized that three years of mortgage payments and married life had only been a long prelude to this finale.
I walked over to the wardrobe, where my mother-in-law had already managed to evict my things onto the floor, replacing them with Veronika’s clothes.
“So my daughter will sleep here?” my voice became so even that Oleg flinched.
“Of course, Lenochka. Don’t be so greedy. Family is supposed to help each other,” Galina Sergeyevna smiled sweetly, showing her porcelain teeth.
I did not argue. I simply picked up Veronika’s huge, plump suitcase, the one she had not yet had time to fully unpack.
The handles settled comfortably in my palms, and I felt the pleasant weight of quality hardware.
“Lena, what are you planning?” Oleg tried to block my way, but I pushed him aside with my shoulder so hard that he flew back against the wall.
I walked over to the bedroom window and, with one sharp movement, threw it open, letting the noise of the evening city into the room.
“It is time for a major inventory check, my dears,” I said, lifting the suitcase over the windowsill.
Veronika shrieked when she saw her bright pink belongings disappear into the darkness from the eighth floor.
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bedding
Sofas
on the sofa
A dull, juicy thud came from below, followed by a ringing sound. Apparently, that was the collection of souvenir plates inside.
Galina Sergeyevna froze with her mouth open, her face turning from crimson to an earthy gray.
“What… what have you done?!” she screamed, rushing to the window so fast she nearly fell out after it.
Meanwhile, I had already picked up the second duffel bag, which, judging by the sound, contained all of Veronika’s creams and her curling iron.
“Lena, stop!” Oleg grabbed my elbow, but I looked at him in such a way that he immediately released his fingers.
The second load went flying, beautifully tumbling in the light of the streetlamps and scattering some advertising leaflets along the way.
“There’s a lawn down there, Verochka,” I turned to my sister-in-law, who was now in full hysterics. “Your things are now on the rug, just like you wanted.”
My mother-in-law tried to claw at my face with her manicured nails, but I simply held a laundry basin in front of me.
She ran straight into it, making a sound like a deflating air mattress.
“You have exactly two minutes to leave my apartment through the door,” I said, picking up Veronika’s backpack from the floor. “Otherwise, I will test how well your boots and that horrible robe can fly.”
Veronika, still howling, rushed into the hallway, trying to pull on one sneaker as she went.
Galina Sergeyevna stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and looking at me with undisguised hatred.
“We will not leave this like this! Olezha, do something!” she squealed, hoping for the last reserve of her power.
But Oleg was standing by the window, looking down at the things scattered across the lawn, and in his eyes there was absolute, paralyzing horror.
I took a step toward my mother-in-law, and she, unable to withstand my gaze, backed into the hallway, stumbling over her own bags.
“Leave,” I said quietly, but it seemed that even the dust in the room stopped moving at the sound of that word.
The front door slammed with such a crash that the crystal in the sideboard rang, the same crystal Galina Sergeyevna had once given us for our wedding.
I returned to the bedroom, closed the window, and sat down on the bed, feeling the mattress perfectly accept the shape of my body.
Oleg entered the room ten minutes later. He was pale and smelled of cold street air. Apparently, he had gone out to check on the “victims.”
He sat down on the rug beside the bed, wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared at his socks for a long time.
“They called a taxi,” he finally said without raising his head. “Mom said she curses the day I met you.”
“Then that day was truly a successful one,” I leaned back on the pillows and closed my eyes.
“Lena, what if someone had been walking down there?” he tried to regain the voice of moral authority.
“There is a fenced-off lawn down there, Oleg, and the only thing that could have been injured was your sister’s pride.”
I heard him tossing and turning on the floor, trying to get comfortable on the very rug that had been meant for me.
The apartment no longer smelled of someone else’s presence, only the freshness from the open window and my bitter coffee.
The silence in this home now had a very specific price, and I was ready to pay it every evening.
In the morning, I woke up to Oleg quietly gathering the remaining things Veronika had forgotten under the table in her haste.
“I’ll take these to them at the hotel,” he said, not looking me in the eye. “They’re staying there for a week.”
“Good,” I smiled, stretching in my own bed. “And don’t forget to tell Veronika that her sugar-thread back is now the hotel administration’s personal problem.”
He left, and I got up, walked over to the window, and saw that a bright yellow scarf was still hanging on the tree beneath our windows.
It had caught on a branch and was fluttering cheerfully in the wind, reminding every passerby that gravity is a harsh thing.
I did not take it down. Let it hang there as a reminder of where other people’s shamelessness ends and my life begins.
Sometimes, in order to finally be heard, you simply have to let other people’s belongings experience the freedom of falling.