“I Won’t Come to Your Birthday, but My Family Will Come Over to Eat, So Set the Table,” My Fiancé Told Me
My heart was pounding wildly as I stared at my phone screen. We had had a huge argument yesterday, but I never imagined he would go this far.
“I’ll introduce you to my parents on your birthday. They’re already on their way to your place. Sorry, I won’t be able to stay with you—I have tickets to a concert.”
Seriously?
Three dry lines in a message, and suddenly there was a lump in my throat. I squeezed the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
This was it—the point of no return.
“Vera, how about going skydiving this weekend?” Kirill stunned me with the suggestion over dinner. “We’ll get an adrenaline rush, huh? My friends say it’s an unbelievable feeling…”
I nearly choked on my sandwich.
“Why don’t we just fly to Mars while we’re at it? Or climb Mount Elbrus? To me, those things are about equally realistic.”
“Come on, it’ll be awesome, Vera, let’s do it!” he insisted. “You’re always sitting around with your knitting like an old lady. You need to live life to the fullest!”
“I’ve asked you a million times not to distort my name. I’m not ‘Verunya,’ I’m Vera,” I frowned. “And what happened? Did you suddenly become rich? How much does something like that even cost?”
“Here’s the deal,” Kirill began. “A basic tandem jump with an instructor costs twelve thousand. That includes insurance and equipment. If you want a video as a souvenir, that’s another four thousand.”
“When did you become a millionaire?” I said sarcastically. “You can live for half a month on sixteen thousand rubles—buy groceries, pay bills—and you want to throw it away on… How long does the jump even last?”
“One minute of free fall and another two minutes under the parachute,” Kirill reported eagerly. “Three minutes altogether.”
I grabbed my phone, opened the calculator, quickly did the math, and showed him the result.
“Five thousand three hundred and thirty-three rubles per minute! Is your father secretly Abramovich or something?”
“I wasn’t planning to spend my own money,” he muttered when he realized his arguments weren’t working. “You got a bonus…”
Wonderful.
So he intended to go skydiving with my hard-earned money too.
I went on the offensive.
“Kirill, do you know why I got a bonus and you didn’t? Because I got a proper education, and you didn’t. What did you even study at your vocational school?”
“Well… I trained as a lathe operator,” Kirill mumbled. “But I only went there because all the guys from my neighborhood went there too…”
“And you never worked a single day at a factory, right?” I prompted. “You’re constantly drifting between questionable little companies, trying to find your place in the world…”
“I don’t want to end up like my father, bent over a machine for my whole life!” he snapped. “I belong in an office!”
“To work in an office, you need an education,” I shot back. “What exactly do you imagine yourself doing there? Being a gamer?”
I often teased him about his obsession with the online game “Battlegrounds,” and he always got offended as though I had insulted his dignity.
“Why does it have to be gaming?” Kirill tensed. “I could work in an office…”
He fell silent for a long time, apparently going through possible careers in his head.
Judging by his expression, none of them seemed realistic.
“Get a university degree. It’s not too late,” I advised. “Then you’ll have a stable income. Or go work at a factory, at least. Right now, we’re only dating. But what happens if we get married and have children? What will you be able to provide for us?”
“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered. “Thanks. I’m full.”
Kirill went into the other room, and soon I heard him talking to someone on the phone.
“Lyokha, what’s up? Got plans tonight? Where, Phoenix? I’ll be there in half an hour!”
He stuck his head into the kitchen, told me not to wait up for him, and rushed out.
I finished washing the dishes, curled up on the sofa, and burst into tears.
But really, who was to blame except me?
I had known exactly what kind of person Kirill was. My parents and friends had all told me the same thing: he was lazy and irresponsible.
“Is he going to feed you fairy tales for the rest of his life?” my mother would complain. “One look at that scatterbrain is enough to understand what kind of man he is. What do you even see in him?”
To be honest, I didn’t really understand it myself.
He was handsome, cheerful, and almost excessively carefree.
We met at a festival in the park that took place every August in our city.
“Can’t see Max Barskih?” a tall, handsome guy asked with a wink. “I can help. Climb onto my shoulders!”
“That would be awkward,” I said shyly. “I’ll be too heavy.”
“What’s awkward is coming to see Max Barskih perform and not being able to see him,” he laughed. “That’s like looking at candy through a shop window. No pleasure at all.”
I didn’t hesitate for long and climbed onto Kirill’s shoulders—that was how the stranger introduced himself.
I really wanted to see my favorite singer.
After the concert, he offered to walk me home, and I agreed.
He seemed pleasant and witty. He knew dozens of funny stories and jokes.
“Nah, Barskih isn’t really my thing,” Kirill admitted. “I came to the festival to hang out with my friends. I’m more into rock—Bi-2, Splean, Mumiy Troll, Night Snipers. I even play guitar myself in a band called Dark Forces.”
He was so unlike any man I had ever known that I suddenly felt something that resembled love at first sight.
At the entrance to my apartment building, Kirill awkwardly kissed me on the cheek and asked for my phone number “just in case.”
Secretly, I hoped he would call that very evening.
I had completely lost my head over him.
But Kirill only called the next day.
“Hi, Vera! Listen, you are unbelievably lucky!”
“Hi, Kirill,” I replied. “And what exactly am I so lucky about, if I may ask?”
“Our band is performing at Confetti tonight. Will you come listen?” he rattled off. “We start at eight!”
To be perfectly honest, the music of Dark Forces was beyond my comprehension.
Perhaps you needed a very particular kind of mind to appreciate compositions like that.
But Kirill looked completely natural onstage, as though he had been born with a guitar in his hands.
Then, at the end of the performance, something unbelievable happened.
Kirill cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.
“Friends, I have an important announcement! Literally yesterday, fate brought me together with a girl without whom I can no longer imagine my life. She’s here with us tonight. Her name is Vera. Vera, please stand up!”
The entire bar began chanting:
“Vera! Vera! Vera!”
I had no choice but to stand, turning scarlet with embarrassment.
In front of the entire room, Kirill announced that we were future husband and wife and that our wedding wasn’t far away.
I had never seen such extravagant behavior in my life.
“What can I say? It’s my deepest wish for you to become my wife,” he explained later.
I was stunned, frightened, and thrilled all at once.
Soon afterward, we decided to move in together, which meant we needed to rent an apartment.
I handled everything.
Kirill contributed a guitar and two pairs of jeans.
But back then, it didn’t bother me at all.
I had simply fallen madly in love with this strange but incredibly charming man.
“The old folks have invited us over on Saturday for an inspection,” Kirill told me one day. “They’re dying to see what kind of girl managed to put a ring around my neck. Those are Mom’s words, not mine.”
I prepared carefully for my first meeting with his parents.
I bought flowers and pastries and even went to a beauty salon.
All that effort turned out to be pointless.
“So you’re the one Kirill chose?” his mother, Galina Sergeyevna, asked me bluntly.
“Looks that way, since I’m here,” I tried to joke. “By the way, these flowers are for you, and I brought dessert for tea.”
“You shouldn’t have wasted your money,” Galina grumbled. “What good are flowers? They’re here today, and tomorrow you throw them away. Money gone for nothing. You’re one of those, aren’t you?”
Galina snapped her fingers, trying to remember the word.
“Office workers,” Kirill prompted.
“Exactly!” his mother nodded. “One of those soft-handed office people. At our textile factory, the office staff are always cutting ahead of us in the cafeteria. Arrogant as anything! You’re not like that, are you?”
“Vera is completely different,” Kirill defended me. “She’s very modest and thoughtful.”
A large, heavyset man appeared in the hallway.
Apparently, this was his father.
“Viktor Stepanych,” he introduced himself, holding out an enormous hand. “Galya is setting the table, but the scatterbrain forgot the most important thing. So I ran over to VinLab.”
“Thank you, but I’d prefer juice or water,” I smiled. “I’m not really used to drinking.”
“Did you hear that, Vitya? She’s not used to it!” Galina chuckled. “Well, we’ll have a little drink. It’s not every day we marry off our son.”
I wanted to object that it was far too early to talk about marriage, but Kirill subtly squeezed my hand, signaling that I shouldn’t bother.
If his parents wanted to think that way, let them.
I didn’t enjoy the meeting at all.
However, Kirill’s parents seemed to like me, especially after Galina Sergeyevna discovered that knitting was my hobby.
“Really? Could you knit a sweater?” her eyes lit up.
“A coat, mittens, anything you want, as long as there’s yarn,” I replied.
Galina Sergeyevna promised to “bury me in orders,” and with that, our meeting came to an end.
“So, what do you think of my folks?” Kirill asked on the way home.
“They’re quite… distinctive,” I answered diplomatically. “Simple, good people.”
“Yeah, factory workers for generations,” he said contemptuously. “They’ve never seen anything in life except machines and conveyor belts.”
“My parents are teachers,” I objected. “They haven’t seen much besides notebooks and textbooks either.”
“Then we’re improved versions of them!” Kirill burst out laughing. “Will you introduce me to yours?”
“Of course,” I nodded. “Next week.”
And that was what we decided.
Kirill didn’t make much of an impression on my parents.
My father quietly told me that my chosen man still hadn’t figured out what he wanted from life.
“He’s got nothing but wind in his head,” Dad said.
My mother called him a “complete clown,” apparently because of the endless stream of jokes he told throughout the evening.
“Either way, we’re the ones who are going to live together, and I’m happy with Kirill!” I told my parents after he stepped onto the balcony to take a phone call.
They didn’t argue.
They only sighed heavily.
And Kirill continued surprising me with his eccentric ideas.
Once, while we were walking through the city, he suggested going into a tattoo parlor.
“Why?” I asked in horror. “A tattoo is permanent…”
“That’s the whole point,” he nodded. “I’ll get the letter ‘V’ surrounded by flames, and you’ll get a ‘K.’”
I refused and told him I wasn’t ready for something like that.
As later events proved, thank God I refused.
Kirill showed me his true face on my birthday.
“Kirill, I know money is tight for you right now, so I’m not expecting an expensive present,” I told him beforehand. “I only have one request. Can we have a romantic dinner together? Just the two of us? I’ll make something special, and we can spend the evening alone. Okay?”
“Of course, baby,” he agreed immediately. “It’ll be your best birthday ever, I promise.”
But on the day of my birthday, Kirill stunned me with a phone call.
“Listen, this legendary band called Nuclear Explosion is coming to town. The guys and I decided to go. The concert starts at eight tonight.”
“But… it’s my birthday!” I said, dumbfounded.
His answer left me speechless.
“I won’t come to your birthday, but my family will come over to eat, so set the table,” my fiancé told me.
I was so confused that all I could manage was:
“I don’t want your parents at my birthday, especially since you promised…”
“Baby, birthdays happen every year, but a band like this comes here once in a lifetime!” Kirill cut me off. “They’re already on their way, so get moving, birthday girl!”
At that moment, I remembered my mother’s words.
Kirill really was nothing more than a clown.
He couldn’t even keep a simple promise.
He had traded me for some band.
I estimated how long it would take his parents to reach our apartment and realized I had about twenty minutes to get ready and leave.
I had absolutely no intention of ruining my birthday by spending it in their company.
Unfortunately, my parents had gone to visit my grandmother in the countryside, so there was no point going to their place.
“Lena, are you home?” I called my best friend.
“I’m home,” she answered in surprise. “Why are you calling me? Aren’t you supposed to be having your romantic evening right now?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said hurriedly. “Expect company!”
Half an hour later, Lena and I were drinking tea together and analyzing what had happened.
Then my mother called.
“Hi, sweetheart! Happy birthday again! How are you celebrating? Everything going well? Did you get our present?”
Mom had transferred a decent amount of money to my bank card so I could choose a present for myself.
“Everything’s fine now, Mom,” I replied. “Come back soon. I miss you.”
Kirill and I broke up rather coldly.
He genuinely didn’t understand why.
Well, perhaps one day he’ll figure it out when he finally grows up.
Maybe in ten years.
Certainly not any sooner.
