Olga was at the store when her neighbor called.
“Olechka, hello. There’s some woman making a fuss outside your door, saying she came to visit, but you’re not opening.”
“Hello, Nina Timofeyevna. We weren’t expecting guests — that’s strange. Please tell her I’ll be home soon.”
On the way back, Olga wracked her brain trying to figure out who it could be. Guests didn’t come to them often, and if they did, they always let them know in advance.
When she stepped out of the elevator with two shopping bags, she saw an unfamiliar woman standing by her door — about sixty, short, plump, in a colorful dress. Next to her stood a thin, tall young man in glasses. A bulky bag rested on the floor.
“Hello. Are you here to see us?”
“So that’s how you greet guests, is it? Yes, we’re here for you. Tamara Petrovna gave us the address and said Igor would help this scatterbrain.”
The woman waved toward the young man.
“Tamara Petrovna never mentioned you,” Olga said.
“She probably told Igor. He’s her son, after all. And you’re the daughter-in-law.”
“Actually, we live here together,” Olga replied. “Well… come in.”
She opened the door; the woman nudged the boy forward and followed him inside. Olga felt lost. Igor was at work — what was she supposed to do with these people?
“My name is Valentina Nikolaevna, I’m Igor’s godmother. You can just call me Aunt Valya. And this is my grandson Stasik. And you’re Olga, I take it? Tamarochka often talks about you. She’s hurt you didn’t invite her to the wedding — how could you treat your mother like that?”
“We didn’t have a wedding,” Olga explained. “We just signed the papers, that’s all — we didn’t invite anyone.”
“Ah, in our day that wasn’t done. So, where’s your bathroom?”
Olga showed her to the bathroom, then returned to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. The boy sat shyly on a chair.
“Sorry about this,” he said quietly. “Grandma said you were expecting us…”
“It’s certainly an odd situation,” Olga admitted.
She didn’t know how to behave around these people. Stepping out onto the balcony, she called her husband.
“Igor, there’s some Aunt Valya here with her grandson. She says your mom was supposed to warn us. And she says she’s your godmother. Were you aware of this?…”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Mom’s up to her usual tricks. I’ve never even met my godmother, but I remember the name — I think Mom keeps in touch with her. They moved away from our village when I was little. I’ll call Mom now and figure it out.”
“All right, I’ll wait for you at home.”
When Olga came back to the kitchen, she saw Aunt Valya busily arranging cups and pouring water into the kettle.
“We’re hungry after the trip — at least let us have some tea?”
“I’m about to start dinner. Pilaf. Just wait a little.”
“We’ll wait, of course. But tea first. So, tell me, how’s life in the big city? Tamara said Igor makes millions here. IT is a profitable profession. That’s why she decided to set Stas up — Tamara said Igor would take him on as a programmer, or whatever it’s called…”
Olga looked at the woman in astonishment. That was news… Tamara Petrovna had everything figured out. And Igor didn’t even know.
“Grandma, you said Igor would help me get a job as a cook in a restaurant! What’s this about IT?” Stas jumped up from his chair.
“Calm down, Stas. Forget about being a cook — that’s nonsense. You won’t make millions. Igor will teach you everything, then you’ll have your own car, your own apartment, and still something left for Grandma.”
The guest burst out laughing, her whole body shaking.
“You see, I came because Grandma promised they’d help me find work. There’s nothing where I live — I’ve always dreamed of living in the city. My parents are alcoholics, Grandma raised me. I finished trade school, trained as a cook — that’s my calling, not writing programs.”
“You don’t know anything! Listen to your Grandma! Look at how people live here: an apartment downtown, plenty of money, trips abroad. Do cooks live like that? Olga, why don’t you have kids yet? Time’s ticking, you know…”
Just then Igor came in.
“Oh, godson, you’ve grown so big and stout! I remember you tiny! Do you remember Aunt Valya, your second mom?”
“Hello. I’m afraid I don’t remember you. I called Mom — she said she didn’t warn me about your visit, wanted to surprise me. And surprise me you did. But the thing is, I can’t help your grandson. We don’t hire people without experience or education.”
“I didn’t know, forgive me. I came here looking for work as a cook. Grandma said you’d help. Grandma, let’s go…”
“Go where? It’s the middle of the night! We’ll stay over, and tomorrow we’ll see. They’ve got two rooms, we’ll fit somehow. They won’t turn away a godmother. Olga was just about to make pilaf…”
Olga stepped into the conversation.
“Here’s what I suggest: have dinner, and I’ll help you find a short-term rental — there are a few in our building. But you won’t be staying with us. We sleep in the bedroom, and the couch in the living room doesn’t fold out.”
“How much is it to spend the night in that apartment? Must be expensive — I didn’t plan for extra expenses. I still have to get home, and Stas will need money here.”
“It’s not expensive, don’t worry. Igor and I will pay, but only for one night. Given the situation, Tamara Petrovna acted unfairly, to be honest…”
“I can make the pilaf — I’m good at it. You two can rest while I cook, and then we’ll go,” Stas suddenly offered.
Olga agreed. She didn’t like cooking anyway, and the boy was a trained chef — let him show his skills. She gave him the ingredients, and they left for the living room while Stas started cooking.
“Igorek, don’t be upset. We’re simple village folk — that’s how we do things, we welcome everyone. Tamara praised you so much, said you’re smart, though you rarely visit home, settled in the city for good. We talk on the phone often, send postcards on WhatsApp.”
“It turned out silly, of course. Mom shouldn’t have decided such things behind my back. But your grandson’s a good kid.”
“Oh, his mother drinks, his father left — I’ve been raising the boy on my own. I just wanted him to become somebody…”
(Author — Notes of an Optimist)
After finishing the pilaf, Stas invited everyone to the kitchen. Olga set the table, sliced pickles, and cut bread. The pilaf turned out delicious.
“Stas, you really have talent. Thank you — it’s very tasty.”
Stas blushed.
“You know what, I’ll call an acquaintance — he runs an Uzbek restaurant. I’ll ask if they need help.”
Igor left the room and returned a few minutes later.
“Stas, you’re in luck. They need someone — a cook’s assistant. And they’ll find you a room in the dormitory.”
“Thank you so much! I’m so happy…”
After dinner, Olga escorted Aunt Valya and Stas to a rental apartment, having called the owner beforehand. Luckily, it was free.
The next day Igor took Stas to the restaurant and introduced him to his friend. The man liked Stas and promised to help him. Igor was glad to lend a hand.
He then drove Aunt Valya to the station, and she went home satisfied. Igor breathed a sigh of relief — unexpected guests aren’t always a joy. But he felt sorry for the boy.
“Hi, Mom. I want to ask you not to send anyone to us anymore. Please. I don’t like surprises like that.”
“Son, Valya called me — she said you helped her grandson, and they were welcomed warmly. She was very pleased. You didn’t let me down.”
“But you let me down. You can’t do things like that, understand? Guests should be a pleasure, not… this. I can’t help everyone, and I don’t want to. Stas is an exception. So no more surprises.”
“All right, son, don’t be angry. I couldn’t say no to Valya…”
His mother kept her word — there were no more uninvited guests.
Stas proved himself at work, and in time became a head chef. Sometimes Igor and Olga would visit the restaurant where he worked, and he would treat them at his own expense — a token of gratitude.
