December crashed down on the city unexpectedly early—already in the first days the shop windows of the malls lit up with garlands, and the air smelled of pine needles and tangerines. Marina was walking through the passageway between office buildings, and that pre–New Year bustle felt like a mockery. In her bag lay the payroll statement, and the numbers on it were surprisingly generous—a yearly bonus, a thirteenth paycheck, an extra allowance for a difficult project. All together it was an amount that should have made her happy. If not for one “but.”
At home, in their two-room apartment, that “but” was sitting on the sofa with a laptop on his knees, pretending to work. Andrey—her husband, whom she’d loved for eight years, with whom she had endured the agony of a startup, the birth and collapse of several business ideas, the move to this city. Andrey, who for the last three months had carefully avoided conversations about money.
“Hi,” Marina tossed out, kicking off her boots in the entryway. “Want dinner?”
“Hi, Marin. Yeah, make something light. I’m just finishing up a report.”
She went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and pulled yesterday’s cutlets from the fridge. A report. Always some report, presentation, meeting. Only there were no more bonuses, and the expression on Andrey’s face grew more strained with every week.
It had all started in September. The company where Andrey worked—a major player in logistics software—was hit by a wave of “optimization.” First they cut the marketing department. Then half the developers. Andrey came home pale that day, poured himself whiskey—something he normally didn’t do on weekdays—and said:
“They fired Slavka. And Lyokha. All the guys from our department except me and Pasha.”
“They kept you?” Marina let out a breath of relief then.
“Yeah. Правда, they cut bonuses completely and froze the base salary. But it’s nothing—what matters is they didn’t toss me out.”
Marina hugged him, and they drank to having dodged it. Only later—after a week, then two, then a month—she began to notice Andrey avoiding money talk. When she asked how work was going, he answered evasively: “Fine, tons of tasks.” When she suggested setting some money aside for a vacation, he nodded, then shifted the conversation.
And then came the calls from his mother.
“Andryusha,” the phone would chirp when Marina was nearby and the quiet of the apartment made every word audible. “I saw the most wonderful coffee machine in the store—DeLonghi, you know, like Svetlana Petrovna’s. Dad has been dreaming of one for ages. You’ll give it to us for New Year’s, right?”
Marina said nothing then, but something inside her twitched. A DeLonghi coffee machine was at least twenty thousand rubles. Maybe more.
Now, in mid-December, with a little over two weeks left until the holidays, they were sitting in a newly opened shopping gallery where the rows of stores seemed endless. Marina suggested going for gifts on Saturday, and Andrey agreed with a kind of relief—as if he was glad to get out of the apartment.
“Let’s start with my parents,” Marina suggested, turning toward a home textiles shop. “I want to buy Mom a good throw—she’s always complaining it’s cold at the dacha in winter. And for Dad—a sauna set. He’s an avid banya guy.”
Andrey walked beside her, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His face had that vacant, absent look.
“Okay,” he muttered.
Marina chose the throw for a long time—sorting through colors, feeling the fabric, checking price tags. In the end she settled on a warm wool throw the color of milk chocolate—four thousand rubles.
“Perfect,” she smiled. “And for Dad I saw a set over there—hat, scrub mitts, eucalyptus oil. A bit over a thousand.”
Andrey nodded, but it was obvious his thoughts were far away.
When they left the store with two beautifully wrapped bags, Marina asked:
“So—your parents now?”
“Yes,” Andrey perked up. “By the way, I was thinking…”
“About the coffee machine?” Marina cut in, tension audible in her voice.
Andrey hesitated.
“Well… Mom really dreams of it. And you know, Dad loves fresh coffee too. Every morning they each drink a cup—it’s a practical gift.”
Marina stopped in the middle of the gallery, somewhere between a jewelry store and an Italian shoe boutique. People flowed around them like water around stones, but she didn’t notice.
“Andrey, we talked about this. Forty thousand for a coffee machine is too much.”
“Marin, why is it too much? We can afford it. I want to do something nice for my parents.”
“We can afford it?” Marina’s voice got quieter, but harder. “With what money, Andrey?”
“With our money,” he tried to smile, but it came out strained. “We’re not starving.”
“Your salary is a third less than it was in summer. You said so yourself.”
“So what?” Andrey raised his voice, and a few passersby turned. He took a step closer and lowered his tone. “I still earn fine. And besides—they’re my parents.”
“And that’s why you want to spend ten times more on them than I’m spending on mine?” Marina felt the irritation inside her boil—irritation that had been building for months. “Andrey, let’s be honest: how much are you making now?”
He looked away.
“Enough.”
“How much?”
The pause dragged on. Somewhere overhead New Year music played—a jazzy “Jingle Bells,” nagging and falsely cheerful.
“Ninety thousand,” Andrey finally forced out.
Marina blinked.
“Ninety? But you said it was one-fifty, and they only cut the bonuses…”
“They cut the base salary too. In October. I… I didn’t want to upset you.”
Silence. Then Marina exhaled slowly.
“So you kept quiet for two months that you now make less than I do?”
“There you go again!” Andrey flared up. “Who earns more, whose bonus is fatter—this isn’t a competition!”
“Andrey, that’s not what I’m talking about!” Marina felt a lump rise in her throat. “I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t tell me. We’re a family. We’re supposed to plan the budget together.”
“We do plan it.”
“What planning is that if you’re hiding what you earn?!”
He turned away again, staring at a display of Christmas ornaments. Glass balls glittered there—red, gold, silver. Perfect, cold, beautiful.
“I’m ashamed,” he finally said. “Do you understand? I’m ashamed to admit I earn less than you now. That all my colleagues were fired and I was kept only because I agreed to these terms. That now I’m working for two and getting paid like an intern.”
Marina stepped closer and touched his arm.
“Andryush…”
“Don’t,” he pulled away. “I know what you’ll say. That it’s normal, that the important thing is I didn’t lose my job, that everything will be fine. But that doesn’t make it easier.”
“Did you tell your parents?”
The question hung in the air. Andrey slowly shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want them to know. You get it? Mom is used to me… to me building a career, being successful. Providing for the family, giving gifts, helping them. Dad was always proud of me. And now what? I come and say, ‘Sorry, there won’t be a coffee machine, I can barely make ends meet myself’?”
Marina felt her anger give way to exhaustion and a heavy kind of pity.
“Let’s go sit,” she nodded toward a café. “Let’s talk properly.”
They sat at a table by the window and ordered coffee. Andrey absentmindedly twisted a paper napkin in his hands, tearing it into tiny pieces.
“I understand how you feel,” Marina began, trying to keep her voice calm. “Honestly. But you can’t pretend for long that everything is great if it isn’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because it’s not true. And because you’re driving us into debt.”
Andrey looked up.
“What debt?”
“Andrey, we’re living beyond our means. You go to restaurants as if you still make one-fifty. You bought new sneakers for twelve thousand recently, even though the old ones were fine. You want to buy your parents a coffee machine for fifty thousand when our credit cards have been in the red for ages…”
“How much?” he cut in.
“I figured we’d pay it all off with the next paycheck. If you buy the coffee machine—and more gifts for your sister—she’s already hinted she wants a bag, by the way—we’ll have nothing left to live on. For a month and a half.”
Andrey was silent. The waitress brought the coffee—two espressos in white cups. Marina took a sip and grimaced. Bitter.
“And what does your sister want?” she asked.
“A Coach bag. Saw it on a friend’s page.”
“How much is that?”
“Thirty thousand, probably.”
Marina closed her eyes.
“Andrey, do you hear yourself? Eighty thousand on gifts. That’s almost your whole salary.”
“So what?!” he slapped his palm on the table, and the coffee splashed onto the saucer. “I want to give gifts to my family! Is that a crime?”
“No,” Marina replied, her voice turning cold. “The crime is lying to me. Lying to yourself. Lying to your parents.”
“I’m not lying to anyone!”
“You are. You’re creating an illusion of well-being that doesn’t exist. You’re afraid to admit you have problems at work because you’re ashamed. But you know what? It’s hard for everyone right now. Your parents too. And they’ll understand.”
“How do you know?” Andrey snapped. “You don’t know my parents like I do.”
“Maybe I don’t. But I do know that close relationships are built on honesty. And if you can’t be honest with the people closest to you, then what kind of relationship is that?”
Andrey took a sip of coffee and turned to the window. Outside, snow was falling—light, almost weightless, like in a movie.
“I just… I just wanted everything to be like it was before,” he finally said. “So I could afford gifts without counting every kopeck. At least before New Year’s. So I wouldn’t feel like… a loser.”
Marina reached her hand across the table and covered his with hers.
“You’re not a loser. You’re just in a hard situation. Like millions of other people. And you know what matters most? You have me. You have a job. You have a roof over your head. The coffee machines can wait.”
He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw a tiredness so deep it made her afraid.
“I’m afraid to disappoint them,” he said quietly.
“You’ll disappoint them more if money problems start and you keep quiet again. Or if you take out a loan to buy that damn coffee machine.”
“I wasn’t going to take a loan,” Andrey protested.
“No? Then how were you going to buy it?”
He fell silent.
“Exactly,” Marina sighed. “Listen, let’s do this. You’ll call your parents today. Tell them things have changed at work and you need to revise the budget. You don’t have to go into detail, you don’t have to justify yourself. Just be honest.”
“And the gifts?”
“We’ll do gifts. But reasonable ones. For your mom we can pick something for the home—a nice set of dishes, a throw like my mom’s. For your dad—a good thermos, fishing lures—he’s a fisherman. For your sister—maybe a gift certificate to her favorite store for five thousand. That’s a gift too.”
Andrey shook his head.
“They’ll be offended.”
“Why would they be offended that you’re honest with them?”
“Because… because I’ve always been the one who helps. The one who solves problems. And now I’m the problem.”
“Andryush,” Marina squeezed his hand harder. “You’re not a problem. You’re a person. And your parents won’t stop loving you if you don’t buy them a coffee machine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if they loved you for coffee machines, they wouldn’t be parents—they’d be extortionists,” she smirked.
He finally smiled—weakly, but still.
“Okay,” he exhaled. “I’ll call. Just not today. Tomorrow.”
“Today,” Marina insisted. “The longer you drag it out, the harder it’ll be.”
That evening, when they got home, Andrey sat on the sofa for a long time with his phone in his hands. Marina chopped salad in the kitchen, listening with half an ear.
“Mom, hi. Yeah, I’m okay. Listen, I wanted to talk to you… about gifts. No, not about what to give. About… in general, things changed at work. Yeah, everything’s fine, I wasn’t fired, but… they cut my salary. A lot. So I won’t be able to buy the coffee machine. Mom, it’s fifty thousand! Yeah, I get that Dad dreams of it, but… Mom, I can’t, you understand? I just don’t have that kind of money right now.”
Marina peeked out from the kitchen. Andrey sat hunched over, staring at the floor. His face was tense.
“No, Mom, it’s not my fault. It just happened. Yeah, I understand. Okay, thanks. I’ll think what I can give instead. Yeah. Love you. Bye.”
He hung up and sank back against the sofa.
“Well?” Marina asked, walking over and sitting beside him.
“She said it’s okay. That the main thing is that I’m healthy. That the coffee machine can wait.”
“See?”
“But she was disappointed. I could hear it in her voice.”
“Of course she was. But not because you won’t buy the coffee machine—because you’re having problems. That’s normal.”
Andrey was quiet, then suddenly asked:
“And you—are you upset that I make less than you?”
Marina looked at him for a long moment.
“No. I’m upset you didn’t trust me. That you kept quiet for two months. That you tried to play Superman when you could’ve just been honest.”
“I thought you’d think I was weak.”
“Being honest is strength,” Marina said. “Especially when you’re scared.”
He looked at her and finally smiled—truly, warmly.
“You know… thank you. I already feel better.”
“See,” she kissed him on the cheek. “Now call your sister and tell her she’ll get the Coach bag for her birthday. Or next New Year’s, when things settle down.”
“She’ll kill me.”
“She’ll survive. She’s a grown girl.”
A week later they went back to the mall—on the last pre-holiday weekend. This time Andrey chose the gifts himself: a warm wool throw for his mom (the same one Marina had picked for her own mother—four thousand), a premium thermos-mug for his dad, and a set of fishing lures (five thousand), and a five-thousand certificate for his sister to her favorite cosmetics shop.
“Is it okay?” he asked as they stood at the register.
“Perfect,” Marina smiled.
As they walked out of the store, a couple about their age was coming toward them. The woman was speaking heatedly, waving her hands:
“And did you earn enough to buy gifts like that for your family?” she shouted at her husband, who was carrying a huge box with a DeLonghi coffee machine.
Marina and Andrey looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“See?” Marina said. “It could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah,” Andrey agreed, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Good thing I’ve got a smart wife.”
“And an honest husband,” she added.
They stepped outside, where snow swirled and holiday lights glowed. Ahead lay New Year’s, January frosts, new problems and new joys. But they were walking together, hand in hand—and that was what mattered.
Because close relationships aren’t built on coffee machines or Coach bags. They’re built on honesty, trust, and the willingness to be there—both in success and in failure.
Everything else will come.
