— But I paid for the banquet, I clarified.
— Lena, did you really want to invite yourself? — Irka looked at me as if I had asked her for a kidney.
I was standing on the threshold of La Kash, a box of biscuits in my hand and a silly smile on my lips.
I was just checking in on her in advance for her birthday.
My sister-in-law will be fifty years old tomorrow.
— But Ir, we're from the same family…
— From the same family? — she winked at me.
— You mean nothing to me.
— This banquet is for MY family.
— For the real one.
The door slammed shut in front of me.
I found myself standing on the stairs, a box of "Pticsje moloko" biscuits in my hand and a ball of dough stuck in my throat.
We've been together for twenty-three years at most.
And then, Ira, the others didn't like me from our first meeting. I came from a modest family, with no connections or future prospects.
Ira thought she was a queen: two degrees, a husband who was a director, and an apartment right in the city center.
Admittedly, she was a simple accountant in a clinic and had inherited her parents' apartment.
But these are just minor details.
When she mentioned her wedding anniversary six months ago, I offered to help her organize it.
— You know, Lenochka, I would do it with pleasure, but I am in the middle of renovations… — sighed my sister-in-law, sipping her tea.
— All the money went into the Italian tiles.
— I'm going to have to celebrate my birthday more modestly.
Maxim intervened immediately:
— Ira, don't worry.
— We'll help you.
— Isn't that right, Len?
I agreed.
