Liz, we wont take much. Just pack us your famous pie and a couple of jars of jam for the road, Gleb drawled with a lazy smile stretching across his face.
Liz stared at him, disbelief prickling under her skin. How could he ask so shamelessly?
Her mind racedthe hours shed spent perfecting that pie, scrubbing the cottage spotless before their arrival. And now here was Gleb, who hadnt lifted a finger all week, lounging in the shade and demanding treats like some entitled guest.
She glanced at Arthur, who seemed oblivious to his brothers behavior.
“Gleb, dont you think thats a bit much?” Liz asked, forcing calm into her voice.
“Oh, come off it, Liz!” He waved a hand without even turning. “Were familysupposed to share. Youve got plenty!”
A slow burn of resentment coiled in her chest.
This lakeside cottage, bought three years ago, had been their sanctuary. Summers meant dawn startsweeding, berry picking, tending the chickens, preserving for winter. Every helping hand mattered.
Thats why Glebs request felt like a slap. He hadnt seenor chosen not to seethe labor behind it. To him, this place was just a free holiday, and she and Arthur were the staff.
It had started three weeks ago when Gleb called, announcing theyd “pop by to help out and enjoy the countryside.” The words had stunned her. Gleb and his wife, Olivia, were city through and throughcocktail bars, weekend brunches, shopping sprees.
“Help?” Liz had echoed skeptically.
But Gleb barreled on: “Course! Were family! Fresh airll do us good. Fancy picking some raspberries, firing up the sauna…”
After hanging up, Liz sat on the porch, absently twisting her apron strings. She knew Glebfull of promises, short on delivery. Yet Arthur had brightened: “Maybe theyll lend a hand with the berries. Or the fence.”
The following days were a whirlwind of preparationfresh linens, stocked pantry, marinated meats. “Maybe itll be fine,” she told herself, hanging towels. “If they help even a little, its something.”
When Gleb and Olivia finally arrived, Liz plastered on a smile, ignoring the gnawing doubt. They looked relaxed, as if stepping off a spa retreat.
“Here we are!” Gleb boomed, arms wide.
Liz ushered them to the tablesalads, warm pastries, iced lemonade. The first hour passed cheerfully, until Arthur gently outlined the next days tasks: “Haymaking first, then the berries. Plenty to do, but well manage together.”
“Of course,” Olivia nodded, but her eyes flickered with confusion, as if “haymaking” were a foreign concept.
Liz caught that looka silent alarm ringing in her chest.
Day one was all laughter and leisure. Gleb held court with jokes, spitting sunflower seeds, declaring how “sick of the city” he was. Olivia posed by the lake at sunset, Instagram-ready. Arthur smiled, hopeful.
By day two, the illusion crumbled.
Liz rose at dawn to feed the chickens, dew soaking her boots. The guest room curtains stayed drawn. By eight, shed weeded the vegetable patch and hauled water.
“Theyve gone to town,” Arthur said over tea. “Urgent errands.”
They returned at dusk, laden with crisps and Prosecco. “Liz, this place is paradise!” Gleb sighed, flopping onto a lounger. “Everything just… happens!”
Day three, the strain showed. Liz scythed the meadow alone, scrubbed floors, cooked meals. Gleb napped in the hammock, complaining of a headache. Olivia sunbathed, captioning photos: #CountryLife #SimplePleasures.
By day five, Lizs patience frayed. She worked the garden to the soundtrack of Olivias laughter from the patio.
When Arthur returned, sweat-streaked from the fields, she met him with steel in her voice. “I cant do this. They wont even wash a plate. Olivia called breakfast pedestrian.”
That evening, they broached the neglected tasks: Gleb would help Arthur mend the fence; Olivia would weed the strawberries.
“Gleb, were fixing the fence tomorrow,” Arthur said over supper. “You in?”
“Sure, sure,” Gleb mumbled, eyes glued to his phone.
At sunrise, Arthur gathered tools, brewed strong tea. Knocked on the guest roomsilence. The bed was empty. A note on the nightstand: *Gone to town. BBQ tonight!*
They returned at dusk with gourmet meats and more Prosecco, laughing about “horrid traffic.” Liz, swaying with exhaustion, stood on the porch.
“We agreed on work today,” she said.
“Right, right,” Gleb shrugged, waving a steak. “Tomorrow for sure!”
But come morning, he announced: “Weve got to dash. Pity we couldnt help!” Then, grinning: “Liz, pack us that famous pie. And some raspberry jamits divine!”
The dam broke.
“Youre getting nothing,” Liz said, voice quivering. “Youve done nothing but take.”
Glebs face purpled. “Youre joking! Wheres your hospitality? We came with open hearts!”
“Open hearts?” Liz snapped. “You treated us like servants!”
Arthur stood beside her. “You offered to help, Gleb. Instead, you ate, drank, and complained.”
“Family doesnt keep score!” Gleb shouted, stepping closer.
Olivia sighed theatrically, flouncing to the car. “Lets go, Gleb. They dont appreciate us.”
With a final glare, Gleb slammed the door. “Keep your bloody pie!” he yelled as they peeled away.
Silence settled. Arthur exhaled on the porch steps. “Lesson learned. No more freeloaders.”
That evening, they walked their landthe unmended fence, the choked strawberry patch. The weariness felt cleaner now, earned.
In the saunas glow, sipping tea with the very jam Gleb had coveted, Liz watched the lake ripple.
“Next guests,” she said, “better bring work gloves.” Arthur laughed, and the cottage felt like theirs again.
