Marina watched her son, Ilya, trying on his new suit. He was tall and well – built, with dark hair. It was hard to believe that tomorrow, her little boy was getting married.
Ilya checked himself out in the mirror. He turned around, looking satisfied. “This suit’s really stylish, Mom,” he said. “And the color’s great. It looks expensive.”
Marina thought, “It sure is,” but all she said was, “I’m glad you like it. I’ll probably cry when I see you all dressed up at the wedding.”
Ilya finally looked away from the mirror. “Mom, are you really coming to the wedding? We said you wouldn’t.”
“We did? I thought you were kidding,” Marina replied.
“Not at all,” Ilya said, pacing the room nervously. “You know what Vika’s parents are like. The wedding will be full of rich and important people.
You’ll feel out of place, like a poor relative. I’ll be worried about you. Mom, you don’t want to ruin my big day, do you?”
He sat down next to Marina on the couch, took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Mom, just think. You’ll look so out of place among those fancy ladies.
It would break my heart to see you embarrassed. And think about how you’d feel. We can come visit you the day after, okay? We can have some tea or champagne. You can give us your gift then.”
