The present

Ksyusha

- So, you, daughter, as a true wife of the Decembrist, followed your husband first to the States, and then, when he decided to come back, you packed your things and jumped on the plane?

“Mom, don’t exaggerate,” I look with a chuckle at my mother, who is pacing around our kitchen with Gleb in a bright fuchsia dress and in full dress. – I am a good designer and will quickly collect a new client base. And for Gleb's business, this is a big step forward. Change is always for the better. Plus, I'll finally be next to you and Romka! How's that bastard?

- Your brother, as usual, quarrels with his father. He runs to me, and I remind him that during the divorce, he chose to live with him, even if he lives.

She says this without offense, I know that she herself was glad to fuse her seven-year-old son to her second husband. No, she's not a bad mother, just a very eccentric one.

- Okay, Mom. Tell me, why are you suddenly so smart? And the view is so mysterious.

- You won't guess at all! Mom says, sitting down on a bar stool near the kitchen island, crosses her legs and smiles slyly.

“Mom, I won’t even guess,” I sigh, looking at the damn recipe on my phone again.

What is memory? I remember all the colors on the layout, all the articles and accessories to the last nail, but I can’t put a simple pizza recipe in my head. Cooking is clearly not mine! What's there first? Tomato paste for dough or onions? And why does it always turn out so dry for me? Mom is in no hurry to help, well, she has nails, what are we talking about?

"Won't you even try?" my mother teases, watching me with keen interest.

– Cooking courses? Detox program? Kayaking? Participation in a talk show? - I strain my memory and give out all sorts of options that fit perfectly into my mother's lifestyle.

“Say that too,” she snorts, wincing as I rattle the pan. - I'm getting married!

And the pan almost slips out of my hands.

- For your father! - Mom continues to amaze me, so much so that I completely forget about pizza.

"Mom, are you kidding me?"

- Who jokes about such a topic?

“But…” “I don't understand anything. – How did it happen?

My mother divorced my father in my childhood, after that she changed three husbands, and, it turns out, the first will be the fourth? Sounds like a joke!

- Well, it’s even convenient, Ksyushenka, you won’t have to change your last name.

“And as if you changed her with three husbands,” I say in confusion, sitting on the edge of a chair.

The news was unsettling. I don't quite understand how to deal with this. We communicated with dad rather rarely, he is not a fan of Skype and other technology, so we could not keep in touch in America, as with my modern mother.

- Oh, Ksyusha, I thought you would be happy. Still, dad and mom are together, - she says a little offended, and then indulges in revelations: - I didn’t expect from myself. It was lonely, I decided to call your father to tell you that you were coming, and he made some stupid joke from our past life, and you know, I have never been so sentimental, but for some reason I reacted too emotionally, hung up the phone. And he took it and came to ask for forgiveness ... And so it began to spin.

“So are you serious, mom?” I'm trying to figure it out carefully.

I don’t want to offend my mother, but my father is also dear to me. He will believe in her serious intentions, and she is just playing, satisfying her next whim.

- I always do everything seriously, daughter! - returns to his former cheerfulness, looking at me with some pretension in his eyes: - So now we will wait for grandchildren, Ksyushenka. Of course, I never wanted to be called grandmother, but there is no family without children, my dear.

Grandchildren ... Confused by my mother's words and her news, I take a break. But my mother is waiting for an answer and will not let me down if I do not give her a full report. She always managed to find out the most cherished things from me.

- We do not plan children, mothers, we never planned.

Is it me or does my words really sound bitter? When did my strong childfree attitude change into a desperate desire to hold my own child in my arms? I don’t know for sure, but at some point I realized that I react sharply to any child who happened to be nearby. I want to cuddle, pat my cheeks, hear a sweet voice and, like any mother who used to make me laugh, lisp some nonsense.

“You can’t speak seriously, Xenia,” Mom frowns, drawing her eyebrows together on the bridge of her nose. - It is nonsense. I thought you forgot about her a long time ago.

“It's not stupid, mom. Gleb and I live a full life, everything suits us, and we don’t want children ...

- Nonsense! She rises from her chair and walks over to me, looking into my eyes. “Tell me the truth, are you barren?”

- What?! I... Mom, no!

- Then Gleb? Was he checked?

- Mom, enough! So unfair, - I start to defend myself, perhaps too aggressively. - You decided to become a progressive young grandmother and demand grandchildren from me? Indeed?

- Ksyusha, what does the progressive grandmother have to do with it? I think about you.

“Something imperceptibly, mom, nothing was said about me here,” I snap and immediately regret it, but I don’t want to apologize, because my mother, without knowing it, touched on a sore subject.

- You thought. I want you to have a complete family. I understand that there, in the States, and at forty, they only think about children, adopt them if they cannot give birth, or simply decide to live for themselves, but this is not about you?

- Mom, there is no me, there is Gleb and I, and we decided, and from the very beginning, that we would not have children. And you knew it.

- Ksyusha, you yourself do not believe in what you say. This is all nonsense and foreign whim. There it is the norm, but here the norm is full-fledged families.

Are you saying that two are not family? I ask with a tremor in my voice, not understanding why my mother suddenly presses like that. Why such an ardent desire to have grandchildren?

“Any normal man wants to continue his family,” he does not leave attempts to convince me.