“Who Are You to Teach Me?” the Mother-in-Law Screamed, Sitting Down at the Festive Table as If She Were the Hostess
Elena woke up early, even though the alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Dawn was barely breaking outside the window, but she could no longer sleep. Today Maxim was turning thirty-five, and she had been preparing for this day for almost a week. Shopping lists, the menu, the furniture arrangement — everything had been thought through down to the smallest detail.
She quietly slipped out of bed so as not to wake her husband, threw on her robe, and went to the kitchen. The refrigerator was packed with food. The evening before, she had already made aspic, prepared several salads, and marinated the chicken. Today all that remained was to finish everything and arrange it beautifully.
Maxim appeared in the kitchen around nine, sleepy and tousled.
“Good morning, birthday boy,” Elena smiled, pouring him coffee.
“Morning,” he stretched and yawned. “Listen, are you sure you’re not tired? Maybe we should just order something ready-made? Why put yourself through all this trouble?”
“It’s no trouble,” Elena waved it off. “I want everything to be homemade. Real. Not from a restaurant, but from the heart.”
Maxim hugged her from behind, burying his nose in her neck.
“You’re the best.”
Elena closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. Moments like this had become increasingly rare. Work, everyday chores, exhaustion — all of it gradually pushed out simple joys. She wanted this evening to be special. She wanted them to remember what it felt like simply to be together, without fuss and tension.
“Who did you end up inviting?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“Andryukha and Ira, Olya, your Svetka and Igor, and Lyokha. Just our people. About eight of us.”
Elena nodded. It was a good, trusted group. Andrey was Maxim’s old friend, Ira a calm and pleasant woman. Olya was his younger sister, cheerful and kind-hearted. Svetka was Elena’s university friend, the kind of person who never meddled in other people’s business. Igor, her husband, was a quiet engineer who listened more than he spoke. Lyokha was Maxim’s colleague, a joker and the life of the party.
“And did you invite your mother?” Elena asked carefully, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables.
Maxim hesitated. He rubbed the back of his head, as he always did when he was nervous.
“No. I decided it would be better without her this time.”
Elena exhaled. Something inside her relaxed. She didn’t ask for the reasons, didn’t press him. Maxim himself knew why it was better not to invite his mother.
Vera Nikolayevna. A woman with the character of a steel rod and the firm conviction that the entire world was obliged to revolve around her. The last time, at New Year’s, she had caused a scandal because Elena had chopped the Olivier salad too coarsely. Then she accused her of “stealing a son from his mother” and of “not knowing how to cook properly.” Maxim had stayed silent then, and the guests had left early. The atmosphere had been ruined.
Since then, Elena had tried to keep her distance from her mother-in-law. Not out of spite, but out of self-preservation.
“All right,” she said briefly. “Then it’ll be a peaceful evening.”
The day flew by unnoticed. Elena spun around the kitchen like a squirrel in a wheel. She baked the chicken, finished the salads, sliced appetizers, and prepared sauces. By six in the evening, the apartment smelled delicious. The table was set, the dishes arranged, the glasses sparkling.
Maxim took a shower and changed into a clean shirt and jeans. Elena also managed to freshen up — she put on her favorite dress, touched up her lipstick, and pinned up her hair.
“Beautiful,” Maxim said as he passed by. “How do you manage everything?”
“Talent,” Elena smirked, placing the last plates on the table.
At exactly seven, the doorbell rang. Andrey and Ira were the first to arrive. Andrey was large, loud, bearded, and always smiling. Ira was a fragile blonde, always a little shy.
“Happy birthday, brother!” Andrey shouted, hugging Maxim. “Thirty-five! Practically an old man already!”
“You’re the old man,” Maxim laughed.
Ira handed Elena a bouquet.
“Here, for the hostess. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Thank you,” Elena said, putting the flowers in a vase.
The others arrived soon after. Olya came with a cake — huge, chocolate, with the inscription “Happy Birthday, Brother!” Svetka and Igor brought a bottle of cognac. Lyokha burst in with his traditional vodka and jokes about how “life only begins after thirty-five, if you drink properly.”
Everyone sat down at the table. Maxim took the central seat, and Elena sat beside him. The atmosphere was light and relaxed. Conversations flowed naturally, jokes came one after another.
Elena poured everyone a glass, and Andrey made the first toast.
“To the birthday boy! To Max! May luck always be on your side, may your home always be warm, and may work be easy!”
Everyone drank and had a bite to eat. Elena served dishes, added appetizers, and made sure no one sat with an empty plate. The guests praised the food, Svetka admired the aspic, and Ira asked for the chicken recipe.
“Lena, you’re a magician,” Olya said, serving herself salad. “I could never do this.”
“Of course you could,” Elena waved it off. “You just need time.”
Everything was going perfectly. Exactly as she had planned. Warm, cozy, without tension.
And then the doorbell rang.
Maxim raised his eyebrows in surprise. Elena froze. All the guests were already here. Who else could it be?
“I’ll get it,” Maxim said and went into the hallway.
Elena heard the lock click. Then a loud, painfully familiar voice rang out.
“Maximushka! My son! Happy birthday!”
Elena’s heart sank. Vera Nikolayevna.
Her mother-in-law flew into the apartment like a hurricane. She wore a bright pink dress, her hair teased high, heavy makeup on her face. In her hands she carried an enormous bag with bottles and various boxes sticking out of it.
“Mom?” Maxim muttered, confused. “But I… I didn’t invite you…”
“Oh, come now, darling!” Vera Nikolayevna waved him off as if brushing away an annoying fly. “Can a mother really miss her own son’s birthday? I would have found out anyway! Olya let it slip yesterday.”
Elena glanced at Olya. She shrugged guiltily and turned away.
Vera Nikolayevna walked past Elena without even greeting her. She merely nodded in her direction, like a queen acknowledging a servant. Then she headed into the room where the guests were sitting.
“Oh! Andryusha! Irochka! How long it’s been!” she kissed everyone in turn, as if this were her celebration.
The guests greeted her awkwardly. The atmosphere instantly became tense. Everyone knew about the difficult relationship between Elena and Vera Nikolayevna.
Her mother-in-law looked over the table with a critical eye.
“Well then, you’ve already started without me? Never mind, never mind, I’ll fix everything now.”
She approached the table and, without asking, sat down in the central seat — the very one where Maxim had been sitting. She placed her handbag on the neighboring chair, spread a napkin in front of herself, and looked around at everyone like a general inspecting soldiers before a parade.
“The eldest in the family should sit in the center,” she announced loudly. “That’s how it has been since time immemorial.”
Maxim opened his mouth, but said nothing. He simply stood up and moved to the empty seat on the side. Olya lowered her eyes to her plate. Andrey coughed awkwardly.
Elena stood by the window and watched the scene. Everything inside her was boiling, but she kept herself under control. Not now. Not in front of the guests.
Vera Nikolayevna turned around and began giving orders.
“Andryusha, move closer to me. Sveta, pour me some compote, please. Irochka, pass the salad bowl. And where’s the hot dish? Maxim, don’t you teach your wife anything? A woman must know how to set a table!”
Elena clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. The guests exchanged glances. Sveta froze with the pitcher in her hands, not knowing what to do.
Elena slowly approached the table. She tried to speak evenly, without emotion.
“Vera Nikolayevna, I prepared everything in advance. I’ll serve the hot dish in a few minutes. Please sit here,” she indicated an empty place at the side. “It’s more comfortable there, and there’s more room.”
Her mother-in-law raised her eyes to her. There was contempt in that look, mixed with surprise.
“Who are you to teach me?!” she shouted so loudly that everyone at the table flinched.
The spoon in her hand struck the edge of a plate — the ringing sound spread through the room like breaking glass. Olya covered her mouth with her hand, and Andrey froze with his glass halfway to his lips.
“This is my son! My family! And you?” Vera Nikolayevna jabbed a finger at Elena. “You came from who knows where, latched onto him, and now you’re giving orders here?!”
She grabbed the wineglass in front of her and sharply waved her hand. The glass overturned, and dark red liquid spread across the snow-white tablecloth, soaking into the fabric and dripping onto the floor.
“There!” Vera Nikolayevna screamed, jumping up. “That’s what happens when no one respects their elders! My son was unlucky with his wife! A bitch and an upstart! She thinks she’s the mistress here!”
Maxim raised his eyes. His face showed confusion, but no resolve. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but not a single word came out. He simply sat there and stared at his plate, as though hoping to find some magic button there that would fix everything.
Elena stood motionless. Something clicked inside her. She saw Maxim staying silent. Again. As he always did when it came to his mother. She saw the frightened faces of the guests. She saw her mother-in-law’s angry, triumphant face, already anticipating victory.
And suddenly everything became crystal clear.
Elena straightened her back. The tension that had been building for months poured out into icy calm. She frowned, tilted her head slightly, and slowly looked around at everyone present. Then, without saying a word, she turned and walked to the front door.
She flung it wide open. Cold air from the stairwell rushed into the apartment, carrying with it the smell of the landing and dampness from outside.
Elena turned and looked directly at Vera Nikolayevna. Her voice was even, but there was steel in it.
“I am the hostess here.”
Everyone at the table froze. Vera Nikolayevna flushed so deeply that her face turned almost purple. She choked with outrage, her eyes bulging.
“You… how dare you?!” she wheezed, jumping up from her chair.
“I dare,” Elena replied calmly. “Because this is my apartment. My table. My celebration. My time and my effort. And if you cannot behave respectfully, I ask you to leave my home. Right now.”
Vera Nikolayevna opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She grabbed her handbag, muttering something unintelligible under her breath. Her face twisted with rage.
She rushed toward the door, shoving a chair on the way. It fell to the floor with a crash. At the threshold she turned around and pointed a finger at Maxim.
“Remember this day, son! Remember how your wife threw out your own mother! How she humiliated me in front of strangers! You’ll regret ever getting involved with this…”
“Goodbye, Vera Nikolayevna,” Elena interrupted and closed the door.
Silence.
A long, heavy, ringing silence.
Then Sveta quietly snorted. Then she laughed louder. Ira joined her, covering her mouth with her hand. Andrey burst out laughing, and Lyokha even started clapping.
“Damn, Lena, that was epic!” Lyokha breathed out. “I thought you were going to carry her out in your arms!”
“Elena, you did well,” Ira said, raising her voice for the first time that evening. “Really. I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”
Olya stood up and came over to Elena. She hugged her tightly.
“Forgive me. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have told her. She just called and asked whether there would be a celebration, and I… Forgive me.”
Elena exhaled and felt the tension slowly releasing. She closed the door, picked up the fallen chair, and turned around. Everyone was looking at her with approval and even admiration. Everyone except Maxim.
He sat pale, with an absent look. His lips were pressed tightly together, his hands lay on the table, but his fingers nervously drummed on the tablecloth.
Elena came over and sat beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Max,” she said quietly. “Look at me.”
He slowly raised his eyes.
“I didn’t want to cause a scandal,” Elena said. “But I can no longer tolerate disrespect in my own home. From anyone. Not even from your mother.”
Maxim nodded, but in his eyes Elena saw guilt mixed with confusion.
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have intervened earlier. I should have said something to her. But I… I didn’t know how.”
“You should have,” Elena agreed. “But you stayed silent. The way you always stay silent when it concerns her.”
He lowered his head.
Andrey cleared his throat and raised his glass, trying to ease the atmosphere.
“All right, enough gloom! This is a celebration! To the birthday boy! To Max! And to Elena, who knows how to stand up for herself and her home!”
Everyone joined the toast. The atmosphere gradually warmed again. The jokes resumed, conversations flowed easily. Elena stood up, brought the hot dish, poured drinks, and smiled at the guests. Svetka helped wipe the wine stain from the tablecloth, Ira poured more compote, and Lyokha told jokes.
The celebration continued. But inside Elena there was still heaviness. She saw Maxim sitting quietly, barely taking part in the conversations. He smiled when people addressed him, but the smile never reached his eyes.
When the guests began to leave, already after midnight, Olya came over to Elena again.
“Thank you. Truly. Someone had to put Mom in her place. Maxim will never dare. And I… it’s easier for me to stay silent. I’m a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Elena said. “Sometimes it’s just easier to avoid conflict than to face it.”
“Maybe,” Olya sighed. “But today you did the right thing. Believe me.”
When everyone had left, Elena and Maxim were alone. He silently helped clear the table, stacking plates and wiping crumbs. Elena washed the dishes, looking out the window at the night city.
“She’ll call tomorrow,” Maxim said quietly. “And she’ll blame me for everything. She’ll say I’m a bad son. That I betrayed her.”
“Let her call,” Elena replied without turning around. “But she will not enter this home again without an invitation. And that is not up for discussion.”
Maxim sighed.
“She’s my mother.”
“I am your wife,” Elena objected, turning around and looking him in the eyes. “And this is our home. Ours. Not hers. I am not against your mother. I am against the way she behaves. And I am against the fact that you stay silent when she humiliates me.”
He lowered his eyes and crossed his arms.
“It’s hard for me to argue with her. You don’t understand. She’s always been like that. Since childhood. If you contradict her, she throws hysterics, gets offended, and doesn’t speak for weeks.”
“You don’t need to argue,” Elena said. “You need to choose. Who is more important to you — a mother who does not respect your family, or a wife who is trying to preserve that family?”
Maxim fell silent. Elena saw how he was suffering. She saw the struggle on his face. But she no longer cared. She was tired of being understanding. Tired of enduring. Tired of staying silent.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.
Elena nodded and returned to the sink.
That night she could not fall asleep for a long time. She lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening in her mind. Her mother-in-law’s face, full of rage. Maxim’s silence. The guests’ support. The feeling of being right, mixed with exhaustion.
Maxim slept beside her, turned toward the wall. Elena knew he wasn’t asleep. But neither of them spoke first.
The next day, at exactly ten in the morning, Vera Nikolayevna called. Elena saw her name on the screen and handed the phone to Maxim.
“Mom, wait… No, listen to me… Mom, that was wrong… You can’t behave like that… No, I’m not on her side, but…”
Maxim spoke for about twenty minutes. Elena could hear shouting from the phone. Vera Nikolayevna’s voice was so loud that it could be heard even from a distance. When Maxim hung up, his face was gray.
“She demands that you apologize. Publicly. In front of all the guests. Otherwise she… she said she won’t speak to me anymore.”
Elena smirked.
“She’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Lena…”
“No, Max. I will not apologize for defending my home and my dignity. If you want peace with your mother, explain to her that I set the rules here. That this is my home. And if she wants to visit, let her learn basic respect.”
Maxim rubbed his face with his hands, running his palms through his hair.
“You’re forcing me to choose.”
“No,” Elena replied calmly. “You made your choice yesterday when you stayed silent. I just want you to realize it and decide what matters more to you.”
He stood up, went into another room, and closed the door. He didn’t slam it, just quietly pulled it shut. Elena remained alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, poured herself tea, and looked out the window.
But for the first time in a long while, she did not feel guilty. She did not feel that she had to justify herself. She simply sat there, drank her tea, and thought that perhaps it was time not only to protect her boundaries, but also to reconsider with whom she was sharing those boundaries.
Maxim came out an hour later. His eyes were red, and he looked exhausted. He silently approached and hugged her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was wrong. I should have taken your side. I should have done it long ago.”
Elena did not answer. She simply pressed herself against him. The words were good. But she knew the real test was still ahead. Because Vera Nikolayevna was not the kind of person who gives up after one defeat.
But in that moment, when she had stood by the open door with her face calm and her voice firm, Elena had truly felt like the mistress of the house. Not a guest in her own life. Not a shadow beside her husband. Not a daughter-in-law who had to please everyone. But the mistress of her home, her life, her boundaries.
And even if difficult conversations, resentment, and perhaps even a break with part of the family lay ahead, Elena was no longer afraid. She had made a choice. And that choice was in her own favor.
A few days later, Vera Nikolayevna called again. This time Elena answered the phone herself.
“Vera Nikolayevna, I’m listening.”
“You… you still dare to call me?!” her mother-in-law’s voice trembled with barely restrained fury.
“You called me,” Elena calmly reminded her.
“I demand an apology!”
“You won’t get one.”
“You… you threw me out! Humiliated me! In front of everyone!”
“I asked you to leave my home after you insulted me,” Elena replied evenly. “Those are different things.”
“I am Maxim’s mother!”
“And I am Maxim’s wife. But that does not give you the right to behave the way you do. Vera Nikolayevna, if you want to see your son — please, meet him anywhere you like. But you will enter my home only when you learn respect.”
Vera Nikolayevna gasped on the other end of the line.
“You… I’ll tell everyone! The whole family! You’ll regret this!”
“Tell them,” Elena said. “Just tell the truth. That you came without an invitation, took someone else’s seat, insulted the hostess of the home, and spilled wine. And that you were asked to leave. That’s all.”
She hung up without waiting for an answer.
Maxim looked at her with wide eyes.
“You… you spoke to her like that?”
“Yes,” Elena nodded. “And I will speak to her like that every time. Because I’m tired of being humiliated. Tired of enduring. Tired of being guilty for things I’m not guilty of.”
Maxim was silent. Then he slowly nodded.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Not maybe,” Elena corrected him. “I am right. And you know it. You’re just afraid to admit it.”
He sighed and hugged her.
That evening they talked for a long time. About boundaries. About family. About what it means to be both a husband and a son at the same time. About the fact that respect is not a one-way road.
Elena did not know how it would all end. Maybe Vera Nikolayevna really would stop communicating with them. Maybe she would cause another scandal. Maybe she would try to turn the whole family against them.
But that night, standing by the festive table with the door wide open and her voice firm, Elena did the most important thing — she reclaimed her right to be the hostess. And that was only the beginning of a new life, one in which she would no longer allow others to decide how she should live.