The call from her mother-in-law threw Raya off-track. She mechanically moved her cup to the other side of the table, trying to collect her thoughts. The spring sun was flooding the city, but inside, Lyudmila Borisovna’s words still echoed. “Petenka,” the woman’s voice, cloying as always, poured over the speakerphone, “there’s a family dinner this weekend. I’m waiting for you! And tell your…” the pause hung like the blade of a guillotine, “wife to dress appropriately. We do have decent society, after all. Three years of marriage had not softened her mother-in-law’s attitude. “Orphanage slob,” “lowlife” – these words, overheard in her conversations with her friends, dug like needles under her skin.
“Darling, don’t worry about it,” Pyotr hugged her shoulders. – Mom just hasn’t seen what you really are yet. – Time only complicates everything, – his wife smiled sadly. – Even Marina looks through me. The man darkened. His wife was right. His family – a hereditary industrial elite – could not come to terms with the choice of an heir. Especially his mother, who for years cherished the dream of a daughter-in-law from a banking dynasty. – Maybe we should skip this time? – Raya’s voice flashed with hope. – No. We’ll come and show that we have nothing to be ashamed of, – Peter’s voice rang with steel. – You graduated from university with flying colors, and are building a career. But the main thing is that you are an amazing person. And I love you just like that.
Raya clung to her husband. Only next to him did the coldness of other people’s gazes disappear. Memory helpfully threw up their first meeting: she was a waitress in a cafe, he was a random customer, spilled coffee and… a fairy tale that was still hard to believe.
The phone cut through the silence again. “Lyudmila Borisovna.”
– Yes, Mom.
– Son, remind your faithful wife about the gift. I hope she at least knows etiquette, – condescending laughter scratched her ears.
– Mom, stop it! – the son’s voice was filled with anger. – You’re going too far!
– Oh, I’ll keep quiet. We’ll see you on Saturday at six!
Raya sank down on the sofa. The upcoming visit to the country mansion seemed like an ascent to the scaffold. But she would cope. For them and Peter.
The woman furtively wiped away a tear and forced a smile:
“Tomorrow I’ll stop by that shop on Nevsky where your mother buys porcelain. I’ll pick out something special.”
Pyotr looked at his wife with admiration. That’s why he fell in love with her: for her strength to remain herself, for her ability to give warmth even to those who are burning with cold.
“You’re incredible!” her husband whispered, kissing her hair. “And I won’t let anyone, not even your mother, hurt you.”
***
The apple orchard around Lyudmila Borisovna’s mansion resembled a wedding dress: white, airy, fragrant. Raya froze for a moment, admiring this beauty and clutching the bundle with the Limoges vase to her chest.
“Finally!” the sharp voice of her mother-in-law destroyed the charm of the moment. “Petenka, darling!”
Lyudmila Borisovna, dressed in a silk dress the color of burgundy wine, rushed to her son. The woman gave her daughter-in-law only a fleeting glance, as if she were an interior item.
Behind her, like a shadow, loomed Marina, dressed as if for a royal reception.
“This is for you,” Raya held out a vase, but her mother-in-law waved her hand carelessly:
“Put it somewhere. Petenka, you won’t believe it!” Everyone had gathered: Verochka with her husband, and Aunt Zoya from St. Petersburg…
***
The spacious courtyard resembled a miniature social event. A dozen and a half relatives seated at the table seemed like actors in exquisite scenery: starched tablecloths, crystal, silverware. Every detail screamed about the hostess’s status.
“Raechka! How glad I am to see you!” — Vera, the only sincere person in this theater of the absurd, embraced her. — How you’ve blossomed! A new dress?
— Yes, — a smile finally touched Raya’s lips.
— Well, the orphans are now stocking up in boutiques, — the poisonous whisper of her sister-in-law sounded like the blow of a whip.
Her cheeks burned with a blush. Vera was about to intercede, but Lyudmila Borisovna was already commanding the seating arrangements:
— Petenka, sit next to me! Marinochka, on the other side. And you… — she casually glanced at her daughter-in-law — make yourself comfortable somewhere.
Raya managed to intercept her husband’s fingers, which had turned white with anger:
— Everything is fine. I’ll be with Vera. No need for scandals!
The dinner turned into a benefit performance for her mother-in-law.
She flitted from topic to topic: a European tour, new company projects, the engagement of some niece to an oil magnate. Each pause was filled with “hairpins” addressed to her daughter-in-law, which Marina met with a malicious giggle.
“Raechka, were there any holidays in the orphanage?” the mother-in-law’s ingratiating voice oozed with false sympathy. “Or did you get by somehow?”
“Mom!” every muscle on Pyotr’s face was tense.
“Oh, God, what did I ask?” Lyudmila Borisovna clasped her hands dramatically. “I’m just interested in the life of… a loved one.”
A spasm constricted her throat. Raya stood up, fighting back tears:
“Excuse me… I need… Can I go into the house?”
“Of course, of course,” the mother-in-law’s voice rang with poorly concealed triumph. – Take a rest, darling. The house is big, you’ll find somewhere to stay.
Feeling malicious glances on her back, Raya hurried to the house. If only she wouldn’t burst into tears. If only she could survive this evening with dignity…