“Artyom, have you seen my earrings with red stones? The ones in the shape of drops?” Rita was sorting through the contents of her jewelry box, laying out bracelets, rings, and chains on the dressing table.
– Look in the top drawer of the dresser. I think I saw them there, – Artem was fastening the cufflinks on his shirt, standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom. – Only… Maybe you shouldn’t wear them today?
Rita turned around, raising an eyebrow in surprise:
– Why is that? They match the dress perfectly.
– It’s just, – Artyom hesitated, avoiding her gaze, – you know my mother. These earrings are quite… Noticeable. And the dress is so bright. Maybe you should wear something more subdued? At least for tonight.
Rita slowly straightened up, her face reflecting understanding. She glanced around the room, stopping at the red dress neatly laid out on the bed. The dress she had bought especially for her father-in-law’s anniversary – elegant, with an asymmetrical neckline, it emphasized her figure, but remained within the bounds of decency. At least, that’s what Rita thought.
“Here we go again,” she said, shaking her head. “Artyom, we’ve been married for two years. Two years! And all this time your mother finds something to find fault with. Either the skirt is too short, or the heels are too high, or the makeup is too bright. I am a designer, after all! How should I look? Like an elementary school teacher?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Artem winced. “Mom is just old-fashioned in these matters. A certain amount of decorum is important to her, especially at family events. You could show respect by just toning down your… style a little.”
Rita went to the mirror and began trying on the earrings that she had finally found in the box. The dark red stones beautifully set off her fair skin and chestnut hair.
“Why do I always have to give in?” she asked, looking at her husband’s reflection. “Why can’t your mother accept me for who I am? Why can’t you protect me?”
Artyom sighed:
– Rita, let’s not start this conversation again. It’s just… It’s just that today is Dad’s birthday. His seventieth birthday, by the way. Let’s not create any problems, okay? Put on a more modest dress. This one. – He took another dress out of the closet. – It’s also beautiful, and Mom approved of it last time.
— Approved? — Rita turned around abruptly. — Seriously? I need your mother’s approval to dress up for a night out? What next? Send her photos of my wardrobe for approval? “Excuse me, Zinaida Petrovna, can I wear these shoes today or do you think they’re too provocative for the supermarket?”
“You’re exaggerating,” Artem began to get irritated. “I just want the evening to pass peacefully. Without these… Looks and comments of yours.”
– Ours? – Rita threw up her hands. – Ours? Artyom, it’s your mother who constantly makes comments to me, not the other way around! I’m always polite to her, always! Even when she says that my design projects are “a pastime, not real work.” Even when she asks if it’s time for me to “settle down and have a child, instead of running around these exhibitions of yours.”
Artyom pursed his lips but said nothing. He knew his wife was right. His mother really did not miss a chance to prick Rita. But admitting it out loud would mean betraying his own mother. And he couldn’t allow himself to do that.
“It’s just that today is a special day,” he said conciliatorily. “It’s just that today…”
– I don’t give a damn about your mommy, my dear! She’s a complete stranger to me, and her opinion means absolutely nothing to me!
Artyom froze with his mouth half open. In the silence that followed, the ticking of the clock on the bedside table could be heard.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” he finally said in a quiet but firm voice.
– How can I talk about her? – Rita came closer. – How can I talk about a woman who, from the moment we met, made it clear to me that I was not good enough for her son? That I was too bright, too loud, too independent? That my profession was frivolous, that my clothes were vulgar, that my views on life were wrong?
Artyom was silent, and in his silence Rita saw what she always saw – an unwillingness to take anyone’s side. An unwillingness to choose between his mother and his wife.
“I’m going to wear this red dress,” she said firmly. “And these earrings. Because I want to. Because this is me. And if you can’t accept that, then…” She didn’t finish the sentence, leaving it hanging in the air as a threat.
Artyom ran his hand over his face:
– Okay. Wear whatever you want. But when Mom starts making comments, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Rita answered coldly. “I haven’t expected anything from you for a long time now.”
The road to Artyom’s parents passed in tense silence. Rita looked out the window at the houses and trees floating by, occasionally adjusting an unruly lock of hair. The red dress effectively hugged her figure, and the massive earrings swayed with every turn of her head.
Artyom sat behind the wheel, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Pieces of a recent argument, barbed phrases thrown out in the heat of the moment, were spinning around in his head. “An outsider.” How could Rita say that about his mother? But somewhere deep in his soul, the thought was scratching unpleasantly – was she wrong?
“You know,” Rita finally broke the silence, “I tried to be friends with her. For the first six months after our wedding, I sincerely tried to please her.
Artyom glanced at her briefly and focused on the road again.
“Remember how I made her that three-tiered cake for her birthday?” Rita continued. “I spent three days messing around and found the old recipe you mentioned. And she just said that in her youth, girls knew how to cook without any “Internets.”
“She’s just not used to expressing gratitude, she doesn’t know how to do it,” Artyom muttered.
– Do you remember how I gave her a handmade scarf? I knitted it myself, by the way. I sat up with it at night when you were already asleep. And she said that it was simply “disgusting” for her, and put it away in a far drawer. I never saw her wear it.
Artyom sighed. He remembered. He remembered how upset Rita was then, although she tried not to show it.
– Do you remember that New Year when she declared in front of everyone that there was constant chaos at our house? After I spent three days preparing a festive dinner for your whole family and cleaning the entire apartment.
The car pulled up to a traffic light, and Artyom stopped, looking at the red light, as if it could contain the answers to all questions.
“Mom just… She’s always been like this,” he tried to explain. “A certain way of life is important to her. She was brought up in strictness, not seeing anything good, so she became like this, and then my grandmother, my dad’s mother, remade her for herself even more.”
– And that’s why she has the right to humiliate me every time we meet? – Rita turned her whole body towards him. – Artyom, understand, it’s not about the generation gap and how she was raised and what happened to her. It’s about basic respect for another person. Your mother never tried to get to know me. She immediately decided that I was not right for you, and since then she’s been constantly trying to prove it. And you… You always take the position of an outside observer.
———————————————————
The traffic light turned green, and Artyom started moving. Rita was right, and this realization was painful. He remembered all those times when his mother criticized his wife, and he kept silent or changed the subject. He remembered how Rita looked at him at such moments – with hope, which was replaced by disappointment.
“I didn’t want to come between you,” he said quietly. “I thought that with time everything would work out. That you would get used to each other.”
– In two years? – Rita smiled bitterly. – Artyom, it’s not a question of getting used to. Your mother doesn’t want to accept me as I am. She wants to remake me to fit her ideal of a daughter-in-law – quiet, modest, agreeing with her mother-in-law in everything. But I’m not like that. And I never will be.
Artyom was silent, thinking about her words. The car smoothly turned onto a quiet street, where the evening light was already turning on in the windows of private houses.
“You’re right about one thing,” Rita said suddenly, softer. “Today is a special day for your father. I don’t want to ruin his celebration. I’ll be polite to your mother. But I won’t apologize for who I am. And I won’t tolerate humiliation, even if it’s disguised as small talk.”
Artyom parked the car near his parents’ neat two-story house. The lights were on in the windows, and there were already several cars parked at the entrance – guests were starting to arrive.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to change your outfit,” he finally admitted, turning off the engine. “You look great. And you’re right… Too often I just ignore my mother’s complaints instead of standing up for you.”
Rita looked at him in surprise, not expecting such a confession.
“Today everything will be different,” Artem said decisively, taking her hand. “I promise.”
Rita squeezed his hand in response, and for the first time that evening a slight smile appeared on her face.
“Let’s go congratulate your father,” she said. “He, unlike your mother, has always been kind to me.”
They got out of the car and headed towards the house, where the inevitable conflict that had been brewing all these years was already waiting for them.
The door was opened by Artem’s father, Viktor Semenovich, a strong man with gray temples and a friendly smile. Despite his seventy years, he retained his military bearing and a lively gleam in his eyes.
“Here come the newlyweds!” he exclaimed joyfully, although Rita and Artem had been married for two years already. “Come in quickly, everyone is already here!”
He hugged his son in a fatherly way and kissed Rita on the cheek, completely ignoring her bright outfit.
“Happy birthday, Viktor Semyonovich,” Rita handed the birthday boy a neatly packed box. “This is from both of us. I hope you like it.”
– Oh, come on, you shouldn’t have! – the man was genuinely embarrassed, accepting the gift. – The main thing is that you came. Zinaida was already starting to worry.
At the mention of her mother-in-law, Rita felt Artyom tense up. He squeezed her hand slightly, either wanting to support her or calling for restraint.
The guests had already gathered in the spacious living room – mostly relatives and old friends of the family. Zinaida Petrovna was bustling around the table, setting out snacks and checking that everything was in order. Noticing the people who entered, she straightened up, and her gaze instantly stopped on Rita’s red dress.
“Finally!” she exclaimed with a forced smile. “We thought you’d be late.”
She walked up to her son, hugged him, and then turned to Rita. Her mother-in-law’s eyes slid over her outfit, her massive earrings, her bright lips. There was clear disapproval in that look.
“Hello, Zinaida Petrovna,” Rita said politely, trying not to react to the appraising look.
“Hello, Rita,” the mother-in-law answered, and those very notes that Rita recognized from the first second appeared in her voice. “What a… Unusual dress. I think I told you that we don’t wear red here?”
– Mom! – Artem said warningly. – It’s a holiday!
“Of course, a holiday,” Zinaida Petrovna quickly agreed. “I just thought that for a family celebration they usually choose something more… Modest.”
Rita felt the familiar irritation boiling inside her, but she took a deep breath. She promised herself not to ruin her father-in-law’s holiday.
“Rita looks great,” Artem said unexpectedly firmly. “And the dress is wonderful.”
Zinaida Petrovna looked at her son in surprise. He usually didn’t interfere in their squabbles.
“Of course,” she said after a pause. “Come to the table, everyone is waiting just for you.”
At the table, Rita and Artyom were given seats opposite Zinaida Petrovna, which did not bode well for a quiet evening. Next to the birthday boy sat his sister Anna Semyonovna with her husband, and further on were cousins, old friends of the family.
The conversation at the table flowed unhurriedly, the guests recalled funny stories from the life of Viktor Semenovich, raised toasts. Rita tried to keep up the conversation, but constantly caught her mother-in-law’s appraising glances.
“And Rita is a designer,” Zinaida Petrovna suddenly said loudly, addressing the elderly couple opposite. “Modern art, you know. Not like when we studied at a teacher training college, and then taught children for forty years. But now… Young people have different priorities.
“Design is interesting,” the woman responded politely. “What direction?”
Before Rita had time to answer, Zinaida Petrovna intervened again:
– Yes, different things. You know, abstract. Not understandable to everyone, – she laughed, as if she had said something funny. – Although for family life, of course, it would be more useful to have something more… Practical.
“Rita is a talented interior designer,” Artem intervened. “She has her own studio and many regular clients. Last month, her project was published in a magazine.
Zinaida Petrovna pursed her lips:
– Of course, son. I’m not arguing. It’s just that wouldn’t it be better for a young woman to think more about her family than her career?
“Does one interfere with the other?” Rita asked, trying to maintain a calm tone.
– Well, how can I tell you… – the mother-in-law drawled, cutting off a piece of meat. – When a woman is busy with work, the home usually gets less attention. And it’s time to think about children. You’ve been married for two years now, and still…
“Mom,” Artem cut her off harshly. “This is not a topic for discussion at the holiday table.”
– What about me? I’m fine, – Zinaida Petrovna feigned surprise. – I’m just worried about you. Time is running out.
Rita felt her cheeks burn. The topic of children was a painful one – she and Artyom had not yet been able to come to a common decision. But discussing it in front of everyone?
“Zinaida, let’s talk about something else,” Viktor Semyonovich suggested softly, noticing the tension. “It’s a holiday today!”
– That’s exactly it, – Rita supported him. – Let’s drink to the birthday boy! To your health, Viktor Semyonovich!
Everyone raised their glasses. Zinaida Petrovna gave Rita a displeased look, but said nothing. However, the tension in the air only grew thicker, and Rita understood that the real storm was still ahead.
The evening went on, and with each passing minute the tension grew, like a cloud before a thunderstorm. After the main courses, it was time for dessert, and Zinaida Petrovna, cutting the cake, again took the initiative into her own hands.
“But Sveta,” she nodded toward a middle-aged blonde, a distant relative, “her daughter got married last year, and now she has a granddaughter. She gave birth at twenty-five, as expected.”
Rita mentally counted to ten. This was already the third such remark that evening.
“And she always dresses so elegantly,” Zinaida Petrovna continued, smiling at Rita. “Modestly, but tastefully. No flashy colors. Her husband works in a bank, a decent man, he demands an appropriate appearance.”
“Mom,” Artem said tensely, “let’s not do this?”
– What, we won’t? – the mother-in-law feigned surprise. – I’m just saying that some girls understand the importance of family values, and don’t chase after these fashionable trends. At my age…
“At your age, women had no voice or choice, that’s the feeling,” Rita suddenly said clearly, carefully placing her fork on the table. An awkward silence reigned in the living room.
Zinaida Petrovna straightened up, as if she had swallowed a stick:
– So, do you think I’m that old? Or are you implying that I have no rights?
“I just want to say that times are changing, Zinaida Petrovna,” Rita answered calmly. “And ideas about how a woman should look and behave are changing, too. I respect you as Artyom’s mother, but I can’t constantly adjust to your expectations.
“Disrespect is what I see,” the mother-in-law snapped. “Only a disrespectful daughter-in-law would come to a family dinner in such a provocative outfit. Only a selfish woman would put some of her designer amusements above her family.”
– Mom, stop! – Artyom slammed his palm on the table, making the glasses jump. Everyone froze, looking at him in amazement. – You disliked Rita from the very beginning, and nothing she did could change that. She tried to please you – I saw how hard she tried! And you were just looking for something to find fault with.
Zinaida Petrovna turned pale:
– How do you talk to your mother? Did she turn you against me? – She turned her gaze to Rita. – Do you see what she did? She turned her son against his own mother!
“Nobody set me up,” Artem answered harshly. “I just finally saw how things really are. Rita is my wife, and I love her the way she is. With her red dress, with her career, with her independent character. And if you can’t accept that, that’s your problem, not ours.
The guests looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Viktor Semenovich tried to defuse the situation:
– Let’s not spoil the holiday…
“What kind of holiday is this?” Zinaida Petrovna said bitterly. “When your own son prefers some…”
“Don’t you dare!” Artem interrupted her, his voice ringing with tension. “Don’t you dare talk about her in that tone. Rita is my wife, and I won’t allow anyone, not even you, to insult her.
Zinaida Petrovna stood up from the table, trembling with anger:
– So that’s how it is? You choose her? This woman who doesn’t even respect your mother? Who dares to come to my house like this?
“She respects you as much as you deserve, Mom! And yes, I choose our family – me and Rita,” Artem said firmly, also getting up. “And if you can’t accept that, then I’m very sorry.”
Rita, shocked by her husband’s sudden support, silently watched the unfolding drama.
“Then get out of here,” Zinaida Petrovna squeezed out, pointing to the door. “Both of you. I don’t want to see you. Not in this house, not in my life, as long as this woman is next to you.”
– Zina! – exclaimed Viktor Semyonovich. – Come to your senses!
“Shut up!” she snapped at her husband. “You’ve always been too soft. That’s why you raised a son who can talk to his own mother like that!”
– Sorry, dad – Artem turned to his father. – I didn’t want to ruin your holiday.
The father spread his hands helplessly:
– Son, stay… Mother will cool down…
“I won’t cool down!” Zinaida Petrovna snapped. “Let them get out right now!”
Artyom silently extended his hand to Rita, and she rose from the table. Without saying a word, they left the living room, followed by the shocked looks of the guests.
In the hallway, Artem helped his wife put on her coat. His hands were shaking slightly, but his gaze was determined.
– Artyom! – Viktor Semyonovich’s voice came from the depths of the house. – Wait!
Father appeared in the hallway door, confused and upset.
– Son, don’t leave like that. Your mother got carried away. You know her character…
– I know, dad. I know too well, – Artem answered quietly. – That’s why we’re leaving. Sorry. Happy birthday.
He hugged his father, who patted him helplessly on the back.
Already in the car, when they drove away from their parents’ house, Rita broke the silence:
– This is the first time you’ve taken my side.
Artyom took a deep breath:
— I should have done this a long time ago.
Rita placed her hand on his palm, which was lying on the steering wheel:
– What will happen now?
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But whatever happens, we’ll cope together.”
The car slowly dissolved into the evening twilight, carrying them away from the house where broken family ties and unfulfilled hopes for reconciliation remained. But inside this small car, something new was being born – a real family, in which two people finally became one…
