“Where are the cutlets? I fried a whole basin full yesterday evening, at least twenty of them!” Irina stared in disbelief at the empty enamel bowl sitting all alone on the middle shelf of the fridge.
She turned her gaze to the man sitting at the kitchen table. Gennady, her husband’s brother, was lazily picking his teeth with a toothpick, his empty plate pushed aside—all that remained were a few crumbs from the breading and a greasy streak of mayonnaise. He hadn’t even bothered to put his dishes in the sink, even though he was home all day.
“I ate them,” the brother-in-law replied indifferently, not looking up from his phone. “They turned out tasty. Juicy, too. Just needed a bit more salt—next time, add some more. And there was no side dish, so I just had them with bread.”
Irina felt a slow, heavy wave of frustration rising inside her. She had returned from work just fifteen minutes ago. Her legs ached after a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, her back was sore, and the only thing on her mind was to quickly eat dinner and go to bed. Last night, she’d spent two hours at the stove, sacrificing her own rest to make sure the family would have meals for a couple of days. She’d truly hoped not to have to cook today.
“Gena, that dinner was meant for everyone. For three days,” Irina said slowly, trying not to raise her voice. “There are three of us in this apartment. You ate twenty cutlets in one day?”
“What’s the big deal?” Gennady asked in genuine surprise, finally looking up at her. His eyes were clear, innocent—completely lacking any guilt, almost childlike. “I’m a big guy, I need calories. My body demands it. It’s not my fault your portions are so…diet-conscious.”
“Diet-conscious?” Irina slammed the fridge door so hard the little magnets rattled. “Two kilos of ground meat is a diet portion? Do you even realize how much it costs? Or the time I spent?”
“Here we go again,” Gennady grimaced as if he had a toothache. “Ira, don’t be petty. Food’s just food. When Oleg comes home, tell him to buy some dumplings if you’re too lazy to cook. I’m easy to please, I can eat dumplings—as long as they’re real, not those soy ones.”
Irina silently left the kitchen. She needed a moment to cool off—otherwise, an argument was inevitable, and she hated fighting. She went to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and covered her face with her hands.
Gennady had been living with them for three months already. “It’s just temporary,” her husband Oleg had said when he brought his brother home from the train station. Something bad had happened to Gennady in his hometown—maybe trouble at work, maybe a fight with his wife—the situation was murky. He’d come to the regional center to “look for new opportunities.” But he wasn’t exactly looking eagerly. Mostly, Gennady just laid on the couch in the living room, watched TV, and chatted endlessly on social networks. He never went to job interviews, claiming, “There just aren’t any decent offers yet, and I’m not about to slave away for peanuts.”
Oleg, Irina’s husband, felt guilty but didn’t know what to do. “He’s my brother, Irina. My own blood. I can’t just kick him out on the street. Just bear with it a little longer, he’ll find a job, get a place, and move out.” Irina endured it. She was a kind and resourceful woman. She didn’t mind sharing a bowl of soup. But the situation was getting out of control.
I stopped cooking for my husband’s brother, who was living with us for free.
That ‘bowl of soup’ turned into completely supporting a healthy forty-year-old man. Gennady never bought groceries. Not even a loaf of bread or a box of tea. He thought that since he was living with his brother, his brother had to feed him. And, of course, it should be his brother’s wife who did all the cooking—because it’s a ‘woman’s job.’
In the evening, Oleg came home. He looked tired, his face grey. He worked as a foreman at a factory, the shifts were tough, and now it was the busy season too.
“Hi, honey,” he said and kissed Irina on the cheek. “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.”
Irina silently pointed at the empty stove.
“No, Oleg. There’s no food.”
“What do you mean?” her husband was surprised. “You said yesterday you made some cutlets…”
“Your brother ate them. All of them. And the side dish I made this morning, he ate that too. And the sausage I was saving for breakfast. All that’s left in the fridge is a jar of mustard and half a pack of margarine.”
Oleg sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Again? I asked him to leave some for us.”
“You asked?” Irina crossed her arms. “Oleg, asking doesn’t work. We both work, we’re paying off the mortgage and utilities, and now we’re also feeding a grown man who hasn’t lifted a finger. I checked our expenses from last month. We spent one and a half times more on groceries than usual. That’s my new boots, by the way, the ones we decided to put off.”
“Irina, please, don’t get upset. I’ll talk to him. Seriously, I’ll have a real talk. Let me run to the store now, I’ll get some sausages and we can cook up some pasta?”
Irina looked at her husband. She felt sorry for him. He was torn between his responsibility to his family and his love for his brother. But sympathy isn’t helpful when someone’s taking advantage of you.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to eat sausages. And I’m not cooking anymore tonight. I’m tired. I’m ordering delivery for myself. Salad and chicken breast. Do you want some?”
“Yeah,” Oleg nodded helplessly.
When the food delivery arrived, Gennady instantly showed up in the hallway, sniffing the delicious smells coming from the paper bag.
“Oh, what a feast!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “No wonder the kitchen’s been so quiet. You’re having a home restaurant night? Nice, you have to treat yourselves sometimes. What is it, pizza? Sushi?”
Irina quietly walked past him into the kitchen, took out two containers and two forks.
“This is for me and Oleg,” she said calmly as she opened a plastic lid.
Gennady froze in the doorway, the smile fading from his face.
“What do you mean? What about me?”
“There’s nothing for you, Gena,” Irina answered without looking at him. “You already had dinner—twenty cutlets. I think that’s enough to last you until tomorrow.”
“Are you serious?” Gennady looked at his brother. “Oleg, are you going to let this happen? Your wife is denying your brother food? We’re family!”
Oleg, who had already started eating, froze with his fork mid-air. He felt awkward. The scene was uncomfortable.
Gen, seriously… You ate everything that Ira made. We just got back from work and we’re hungry. Those were individual portions, and we ordered just enough for two.
“You could’ve ordered for three, it’s not like you’d go broke!” Gennady scoffed. “So stingy. Couldn’t spare any for your own brother. Fine, I’ll go have some tea—unless that’s locked up too, of course.”
He made a show of pouring himself some tea, banging the mug loudly, and then stomped off to his room, slamming the door behind him.
“Maybe you were a little too harsh,” Oleg said quietly. “He’s upset.”
“Let him be upset,” Irina replied in the same soft voice. “Oleg, I’ve made up my mind. I’m done cooking for three people. From now on, I’ll make food just for us. Or maybe I’ll stop cooking altogether—we’ll eat at work and just have snacks at home. I didn’t sign up to be your brother’s personal chef.”
“Ir, how is that supposed to work? We all live in the same apartment. Are we going to start hiding the pots now?”
“No need to hide anything. I just won’t cook extra portions for him. If he wants to eat, he can go to the store, buy his own groceries, and make his own food. He’s got two hands, two feet, and a working brain.”
The next morning, Irina got up early and made breakfast: exactly two cheese sandwiches and two cups of coffee. When Gennady shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and scratching, there was nothing on the table but crumbs.
“Where’s breakfast?” he asked, looking in the empty fridge. “There were eggs in here, I saw them.”
“Yes, there were,” Irina confirmed, finishing her coffee. “Two eggs. I boiled them for Oleg and myself.”
“Ir, what’s with this?” her brother-in-law’s voice grew annoyed. “Yesterday, fine, you were angry. But today? Am I supposed to starve?”
“Gena,” Irina said as she started getting ready for work, “the Pyaterochka supermarket is in the next building. It opens at eight. Eggs are 100 rubles a dozen. You can get butter, bread, sausage—everything is there. The stove works. The pans are in the bottom drawer. Bon appétit.”
“I don’t have any money,” Gennady muttered. “I’m still looking for a job.”
“That’s your problem,” Irina said firmly. “You’re a grown man. You live here for free, don’t pay a cent in utilities, use our water, electricity, internet, even laundry detergent. Feeding you is not my responsibility.”
Irina left for work, leaving her brother-in-law completely bewildered. He couldn’t believe she was serious, thought it was just a mood swing that would pass by evening. But that night, he was in for a surprise.
Instead of coming home with her usual full bags, Irina arrived with just a small purse. She walked into the kitchen, where Gennady was already waiting for dinner.
“Hey there, chef!” he tried to lighten the mood. “I’m absolutely starving. I’ve had nothing but tea all day. So, what’s on the menu? Borscht? Pilaf?”
“Nothing,” Irina replied. “I had dinner at a café with my friend after work. And Oleg is eating at his mom’s—he dropped by to fix her faucet.”
Gennady’s face fell.
“And what about me?”
“And you, Gena, I hope you found a job today? Or at least some side work? There are plenty of openings for movers, couriers, taxi drivers. You had all day to make enough for a pack of dumplings.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Gennady jumped up from his chair. “I am a specialist with a university degree! I’m an engineer! I’m not going to haul boxes!”
“Well then, I guess this engineer is going to go hungry,” Irina shrugged and headed to the bathroom.
Half an hour later, her mother-in-law, Nina Petrovna, called her. Irina took a deep breath and answered.
“Irochka, hello,” her mother-in-law’s voice was anxious. “Genochka just called… He says you have nothing to eat? Says you’re starving him? How could this be, dear? He’s a guest, after all.”
“Nina Petrovna,” Irina replied calmly. “Gena is not a guest. Guests come for three days with a cake. Gena has been living with us for three months. He doesn’t work, he doesn’t help around the house, and he’s eating through our entire budget. Oleg and I have a mortgage. We can’t support a grown man.”
“Oh, what extra costs can there be for one person? A bowl of soup…” her mother-in-law wailed. “He’s going through a tough time, he needs support. You’re a woman, you should be wiser, kinder.”
“Nina Petrovna, I work twelve-hour shifts on my feet. I don’t have the energy to be a wise cook for an idler. If you feel sorry for him, send him money for groceries. Or take him in yourself.”
Her mother-in-law fell silent, offended, then said a curt goodbye and hung up. She had no intention of taking Gennady in—she knew all too well about his temperament. Loving her son from a distance was much more convenient.
A week passed. Tension in the apartment was at its peak. Irina held the line firmly. She bought groceries only for one meal, cooked exactly two portions, and immediately served them on plates. If anything was left over, she packed it in a container, labeling it with tape: “Oleg’s Lunch” or “Irina’s Lunch.”
Gennady was furious. He tried to play on Irina’s sympathy, started arguments, and accused her of being cold-hearted. He complained to his brother, but Oleg, seeing his wife’s determination and honestly tired of the freeloader himself, just shrugged: “Gena, Irina’s right. Get a job. Anywhere.”
One evening, Irina came home to find the kitchen in total chaos. A pile of dirty dishes in the sink, greasy stains on the stove, flour scattered across the floor. In the middle of the table sat a frying pan with something burnt and shapeless in it.
“What happened here?” she asked, stepping over a puddle of oil.
Gennady came out of his room, chewing a piece of bread.
“Decided to cook for myself since you’re playing at going on strike,” he snapped. “Found some flour and eggs in the cupboard. Tried to make pancakes. Everything burned to a crisp, your frying pan is rubbish, the coating is worn off.”
Irina walked over to the stove. Her favorite non-stick frying pan was completely ruined—it looked like Gennady had scraped it with a metal fork trying to get off the burnt batter.
“You ruined the cookware,” Irina said quietly. “You used up the last eggs I bought for breakfast. And you left this mess. Who’s going to clean it up?”
“You’ll clean it up yourself, it won’t kill you!” Gennady barked. “You’ve driven me to this! I’m starving here, and all you care about is your frying pan!”
At that moment, Oleg appeared in the doorway. He’d heard his brother’s last words. His face darkened.
“Gena,” he said very quietly, but in a way that made his brother instantly fall silent. “How are you talking to my wife?”
“What about her?!” Gennady yelled. “She doesn’t feed me, now she’s complaining about cleaning up!”
“Pack your things,” Oleg said.
“What?” Gennady couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re kicking me out? Over a frying pan?”
“No. Because of your rudeness. And because you’ve been freeloading off us. I put up with you lying on the couch all day, but I will not allow you to yell at Ira in my house. She works herself to the bone, and you can’t even wash your own dish.”
“Where am I supposed to go?! It’s night outside!”
“It’s only seven in the evening. The buses to Mom’s run until ten. I’ll give you money for a ticket. Pack your things.”
“I’ll call my mother!” Gennady threatened as he pulled out his phone.
“Go ahead and call,” Oleg replied indifferently. “Let her welcome you. Or she can come and clean up your mess in the kitchen herself.”
Gennady realized his bluff hadn’t worked. The usually soft Oleg—who for years had gone along with anything—had suddenly turned into stone. Apparently, Irina really did have a huge influence on him. Or maybe he’d just finally had enough.
The packing was loud. Gennady hurled things into his bag, slammed closet doors, cursed under his breath. He yelled that he’d never set foot here again, that his brother was whipped, and Irina was a witch who’d torn his family apart.
“You’ll just buy a new frying pan!” he shouted from the hallway, tugging on his shoes. “Maybe when your conscience finally wakes up!”
“Our conscience is clear,” Irina replied, handing him a bag of his things he had left in the bathroom. “And please close the door behind you. Leave the keys on the table.”
Once the door closed behind her brother-in-law, a ringing silence filled the apartment. It felt like even the walls breathed a sigh of relief. The smell of cheap tobacco was gone (Gennady had smoked on the balcony, but the smell always seeped in), the constant tension lifted, the sense of an unfriendly presence finally disappeared.
Irina looked at her husband. Oleg was sitting on the ottoman by the hallway, head bowed.
“I’m sorry, Irisha,” he said quietly. “I should have done this sooner. I just kept hoping…”
“It’s okay,” she said, coming over and hugging his shoulders. “The important thing is it’s finally over. You did the right thing.”
“Mom will be upset now. For a long time.”
“We’ll get through it. She’s your mom—she’ll nag for a bit, then forgive you. At least now our home will feel like a home again, not a hostel.”
They went to the kitchen. Together, they scrubbed the mountain of dishes, cleaned the stove and the floor. They threw out the ruined frying pan—it was a bit sad, but it had become a symbol of their freedom.
“Hungry?” Irina asked once the kitchen sparkled with cleanliness.
“Starving,” Oleg admitted. “But I don’t have the energy to cook.”
“How about we fry up some potatoes? Just simple fried potatoes with onions. On the old cast-iron skillet from my grandma—nothing can ruin that one.”
“Let’s do it!” Oleg’s eyes lit up. “And let’s open some pickles too.”
They had dinner close to ten at night. Simple food tasted like the best meal in the world. They laughed, talked about little things, made weekend plans. For the first time in three months, they were alone. And it was pure happiness.
Gennady really did leave to stay with his mother. A couple of days later, Nina Petrovna called Oleg and informed him in a dry tone that Gena was ‘in a deep depression’ because of his brother’s betrayal, lying in his old room and ‘regaining his emotional strength.’ Irina just smirked—’regaining strength’ basically meant her brother-in-law was now eating his retired mother out of house and home. But hey, that was Nina Petrovna’s choice.
A month later, rumors started reaching them: Gennady’s mother had blown up at him in a huge scandal after she got the utilities bill and saw how much food was disappearing into his bottomless stomach. Turns out, loving your lazy son on a pension is a lot harder than lecturing your daughter-in-law over the phone. In the end, Gennady finally had to get a job—as a supermarket security guard. Not exactly a high-flying career, but at least it covered his dumpling habit.
As for Irina, she went out and bought herself a brand new frying pan. Expensive, high quality, with a thick base. Every time she made dinner for her beloved husband in it, she savored the thought that this meal was just for the two of them. She’d learned her lesson: helping family is noble, but only until it turns into freeloading. Your kitchen, just like your life, is better kept free of unnecessary guests.
