“If You Bring Your Mother, I’ll Bring Mine”

“Sasha, did you talk to your mother again about moving in with us?”
Vera stood by the window, arms crossed, her tone calm but tight. Rain tapped lightly on the glass as her husband busied himself with papers at the table.

Sasha hesitated for a second, then continued sorting the documents as though nothing had been said.
“Nothing serious. I just asked how she’s doing, that’s all.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” Vera said, stepping closer. Her hands rested firmly on the edge of the table, eyes locked on him. “I heard the call. You promised her you’d think about it.”

Sasha looked up, clearly annoyed at being confronted.
“What’s wrong with that? She’s alone out there in the village, and she’s not getting any younger. The house is falling apart, it’s freezing in the winter. Don’t you remember last year? The leaking roof? I had to fix the stove three times.”

Vera exhaled slowly. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. It was the same dance — guilt, duty, and evasion.

“We’ve already talked about this,” she said, voice steady. “This is a two-room apartment. Where exactly is she going to stay? In the living room? And what about privacy? Our life?”

Sasha shrugged. “We can add a partition. Make zones. People make it work.”

“It’s not about space!” Vera snapped, her voice rising for the first time. “It’s about us! And don’t pretend you’ve forgotten how she’s treated me since day one!”

He winced. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. Zinaida Ivanovna had been openly hostile the moment she met Vera — no warm welcomes, no kind words. She hadn’t even spoken to him for two weeks after he told her he was getting married.

“She’s old-fashioned,” Sasha said, sounding unconvinced even to himself. “That was five years ago. She’s come around.”

Vera’s laugh was dry. “Came around? At New Year’s, she called me Lena three times — your ex! And each time she added how Lena was such a ‘real woman.’ Coincidence?”

He rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“Look, I get it, Ver. But she’s in bad shape. Her back is a mess after all those years on the farm, her heart isn’t doing great, and there’s barely a medical outpost in that village.”

Vera turned away, staring at the streaming rain outside. She understood Sasha’s worry. His mother had raised him alone, worked herself into the ground. But sympathy didn’t erase memory — years of disapproval, cold glances, subtle digs.

“Why don’t we consider other options?” she suggested. “Rent her a small place nearby? Even a room?”

“With what money?” Sasha said flatly. “We just paid off the mortgage. Besides, she needs more than proximity. She needs care.”

“So it’s about caregiving now?” Vera turned back, arms folded again. “Sasha, I work. Full time. I’m not quitting to look after your mother.”

“She can handle most things. Just help once in a while.”

Vera didn’t reply. They both knew what “once in a while” meant. She’d be the one running errands, cooking separate meals, fielding constant passive-aggressive commentary. It would become her full-time burden, not his.

“You know what I think?” she said finally. “Your mother is doing just fine on her own. She’s lonely, sure. But what she wants isn’t help — it’s control.”

“That’s not fair,” Sasha said, visibly upset. “She raised me alone. Worked herself to the bone.”

“I respect her for that. But it doesn’t mean she gets to move in and rule over our life.”

Silence followed. The tension between them stretched like a taut string. Finally, Sasha moved around the table, placing his hands gently on Vera’s shoulders.

“Listen, Ver. I’ve already decided. I’m going next weekend. She’s going to sell the house. The money can help us too. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Vera looked up, expression unreadable.
“You’ve decided? Without me?”

“I knew you’d say no. But she’s my mother. I can’t abandon her.”

She stepped back, removing his hands. Her tone was icy.

“If you bring your mother here, I’ll bring mine. And then let’s see how ‘fine’ our life becomes.”

Sasha chuckled nervously. “Your mom hates me.”

“Exactly,” Vera said, stone-faced. “Just like your mother hates me. So let’s make it even.”

He looked stunned.
“You’re not serious.”

“I’m absolutely serious,” she said, heading for the door. “Next time you make a decision for both of us, think again.”

---

The week passed in a quiet standoff. Sasha didn’t mention his mother again. Vera pretended to believe he had dropped the subject. But tension hovered like storm clouds.

Then, early Saturday morning, Vera heard the front door close. Sasha was gone. A note on the table read: “Helping Mom with the barn. Back tonight.” She crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

She called her own mother.

“Mom? Got a minute?”
Tatyana Alekseevna’s voice was alert. “What’s going on?”

“He left for the village. Said it’s just for the barn, but I know he’s planning something.”

“And what will you do?”

“I told him. If he brings his mom here, I’ll bring you.”

A pause.

“Vera, sweetheart… you know that’s not a solution.”

“I know, but I need him to see what he’s asking.”

---

That night, the doorbell rang at 10 p.m. Sasha stood there with a suitcase. Beside him, Zinaida Ivanovna, stiffly dignified with a small travel bag.

“Ver…” Sasha began, avoiding her eyes. “The roof— it got worse. She can’t stay there. It’s temporary.”

“Temporary?” Vera said, looking at the oversized suitcase. “Sure. One night, right?”

Zinaida spoke for the first time, her tone syrupy sweet.
“You wouldn’t leave an old woman in the cold, would you?”

Vera stepped aside. “Come in. Make yourselves at home. I’ll call my mother.”

Sasha froze. “Ver…”

“You remember what I said.”

---

Tatyana Alekseevna arrived the next day, breezing in with two suitcases. Sasha looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon.

“Tatyana Alekseevna,” he mumbled. “This is unexpected…”

“Well, dear, my daughter said we’re all family now. I didn’t want to be left out!”

Dinner that evening was a silent war. Every smile, every word — a shot fired. Zinaida criticized the food. Tatyana praised it to the heavens. Sparks flew when it came time to assign sleeping arrangements.

“No one’s sleeping in the kitchen,” Vera said firmly. “Sasha, explain this isn’t working.”

Under pressure, Sasha finally mumbled, “Maybe we can find you a room nearby, Mom…”

Zinaida was livid. “So the mother-in-law gets space, and I don’t?”

“Exactly!” Tatyana said. “Either both mothers stay, or both live separately.”

---

Eventually, the mothers agreed — grudgingly — to rent a small apartment nearby. They moved in together, surprising everyone. It was awkward at first, but something strange happened.

They bonded.

They walked in the mornings. Shopped together. Even watched old films. Vera visited often. One afternoon, while peeling potatoes, Zinaida looked at her and asked:

“Are you happy now, driving me away?”

Vera put down the knife. “I didn’t drive you away. I protected my family.”

Zinaida looked at her for a long moment.

“No one is ever good enough for your child. Especially when you raised him alone. But... maybe I was wrong about you.”

Later, when Vera told Sasha, he was stunned.

“She said that?”
“She did. And she’s trying, Sasha. So am I.”

---

Three months later, things were better. Still prickly, still tense at times — but manageable. One Sunday, they visited the mothers and found them laughing together, baking cookies.

“You were right,” Sasha whispered.

“No,” Vera said. “We were right. We just had to find the right way. Together.”