Sasha always did this when her mother was on the warpath: she went into furniture imitation mode.
“Shared, you say?” Lena asked quietly.
– And what exactly does the term “shared” mean, Margarita Stepanovna?
“My bonuses too?”
“Or just the base salary?”
“Everything, dear.”
— To the last kopeck.
“I’ll keep the ledger and give you and Sasha money for the trip and lunch.”
– We are collecting for an extension, haven’t you forgotten?
“Or do you want us to languish in this ‘two-room’ until we grow old?”
Margarita Stepanovna’s face beamed.
He loved order.
In his world, order smelled of chlorine and required strict accountability.
“Okay,” Lena suddenly smiled, and her husband finally looked up at her in horror.
– I agree.
– But on one condition: “common” means absolutely everything.
— All income belonging to family members, all secret reserves and all accounts.
— If we’re going to build communism in a single apartment, let’s be honest to the end.
The first week passed in a strange calm.
Margarita Stepanovna took out a thick, linen-bound notebook.
He happily described Sasha’s salary as an engineer and Lena’s income as a marketer.
“Well, there you go,” he preached over dinner, “we saved three hundred rubles today.”
– We didn’t buy that… “almond milk raffle”.
“That’s nine thousand in one month.”
– Which, by the way, makes up three square centimeters of the new apartment!
Lena nodded silently and poked the slightly dry meatball with her fork.
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