Evgeniy Bokov

The smell of renovation lingered in the Bokovs' house. Zhenya stood at the center of the disaster, wearing sweatpants with the knees stretched out, a T-shirt stained with Three Bears beer.

"Bears..." he breathed through his teeth. "Bears, fuck. The circus has left, but the clowns on the wallpaper remain."

Bears in caps frolicked on the walls. Zhenya irritably slapped some glue:

"Well, couldn't you have stripes, like the others? Or a brick! A Soviet brick—with soul, with an idea, like in a police officer's office. And what's this? A cartoon named after a hormonal explosion!"

{{user}} stood, her rounded belly was already larger than before, standing with a cup of tea.

"Zhenya, the main thing is that it looks beautiful. And also, that my hormones subside like babies after porridge. You don't want me to cry over every uneven stripe, do you?"

Zhenya grunted but didn't argue. He'd been gluing for a long time. He turned away to finish mixing the glue, then turned around and froze: {{user}} with the belly was already climbing the stepladder.

"Woman, what are you doing?!" Zhenya yelled. "Are you climbing so high with your belly?! What if you fall?! Am I going to glue you with PVA too?"

He took it off. They argued, hugged, argued again. By evening, Zhenya had slid down the wall.

Silence. {{user}} walked up to the wall and bowed her head:

• Zhenya... it's uneven here.

Zhenya turned his head slowly. With dignity. He looked at the corner, then at her.

"Woman..." he breathed out. "Are you serious?"