Lisa had been tense around Yesenia and Ildar, and I hoped that sharing a meal together might ease the tension. When we climbed into the car at the parking lot, Lisa agreed to drop them off at their cabin first—so they wouldn't have to bring their shaggy dog along to the restaurant. Svetozar didn't seem to appreciate the plan. He resisted every attempt to get him into the car, ignoring Yesenia's gentle coaxing and even Ildar's eventual effort to lift him bodily inside. When they finally managed to push him in, the dog bared his teeth and growled, pressing himself against the seat as though desperate to stay as far as possible from the only person in the car he truly feared—Lisa. Judging by the look on her face, the feeling was mutual.
"I've never liked dogs," she said, shrugging from behind the wheel as if the prospect of a hundred-pound ball of fur leaping onto her throat were of no concern. "I guess he can sense that."
Ildar held the dog by the collar, trying to wedge himself close enough to act as a living barrier between Svetozar and Lisa.
"He's not usually like this, I swear," he said with an apologetic smile, though confusion flickered behind his expression. I wondered whether he was telling us the truth—or just lying as easily as he had to Elena when trying to leave the dog in her care.
Once Yesenia had climbed into the back seat beside Ildar and was softly whispering to calm the animal, I shut the door for them and circled around to take my place in the passenger seat next to Lisa. She backed out of the parking lot a little too sharply, and soon we were speeding along a dirt road through the forest. I thought about suggesting she slow down—these roads could ruin a car's suspension—but decided against it. Between the choice of wrecking the undercarriage or getting Svetozar out of her car faster, Lisa had clearly made her decision.
"What street are you two staying on?" she asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"We already figured out it's the same one as yours," Ildar replied. "Ours is just a bit farther down. I'll tell you when to stop."
Lisa nodded and pressed harder on the accelerator, showing no mercy to either her passengers or her suspension.
Once Svetozar was safely dropped off, the four of us headed toward the family restaurant Ildar and Yesenia had mentioned. Ildar passed his phone forward, the navigation app glowing on the screen, and I set it into the holder beside the dashboard so Lisa could follow the route more easily. It really wasn't far—surprisingly close, in fact. On our way to the glamping park earlier, I could've sworn I hadn't seen any turnoffs or intersections at all. The road had seemed endless then, winding like a living artery through the silent forest, bridging the gap between the busy highway and the nearest suburban town. But the map now insisted otherwise, proving how deceptive first impressions could be.
The scenery outside mesmerized in its monotony of green. Autumn's colors hadn't yet touched these woods, nor had the rains arrived—something I guessed from the brittle-dry branches of the roadside firs.
Lisa turned on the radio softly, but only static filled the cabin.
"Try another station?" she asked, nodding toward the digital display. I did as she asked, cycling through every familiar frequency I could think of. Static, static, and more static. Eventually, my persistence outlasted her patience; she reached over and switched the radio off.
"Not even decent radio in this backwater," she muttered, tapping the steering wheel in irritation. "No good coffee, no people—what a dead place."
"Any place feels dead after Moscow," Yesenia said from the back seat. I thought I heard a touch of sympathy in her tone. "It's good to get away sometimes. It makes you see your city with fresh eyes when you come back."
"We never appreciate what we have until it's gone!" Ildar declared.
The line was so reminiscent of the inspirational quotes people used to post on VKontakte that I couldn't help but stifle a laugh. I didn't want to offend him, but even so, the earnestness was funny. Lisa, however, didn't find it amusing. Her brows drew together.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, think about it," Ildar began in a deliberate, thoughtful tone. "When you live in Moscow, you get used to everything being easy. Need breakfast? Yandex.Lavka delivers in half an hour. Commute to work? Hop on the metro—open a book, blink, and you're there. Forgot to buy something? Marketplace express delivery will bring it to your door right now. After work, there's no need to rush home: theater shows, exhibitions, concerts, fitness clubs, bars for loud nights out, cozy restaurants for quiet evenings for two. Almost everything runs twenty-four seven. Big cities train you out of planning ahead or thinking about how to organize your life. There's only the moment, the impulse—tomorrow hardly exists at all."
Ildar's speech flowed hypnotically, looping into new ideas like a river taking unexpected turns. I hadn't expected that from him. At first glance, he seemed like the easygoing type—simple, lighthearted, the kind of guy whose company made you loosen up without thinking too hard about anything. And yet here he was, talking like a philosopher.
"Don't all the comforts of civilization come down to a single gesture—just a swipe of a card?" Lisa said, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror. "If you have money, you can get breakfast delivered anywhere, from anywhere, in thirty minutes. The only real question is: how much are you willing to pay for that kind of speed?"
"You're right, in a way," Ildar shot back with a hint of irony, "but money won't help you much on the final climb to Everest."
His words carried a sharpness that pricked at me too. It was one thing to argue with Lisa, and quite another to mock her line of thought. I didn't like when people did that to her—and though I knew she could hold her own in any verbal sparring, it still bothered me. I decided to step in before the tension thickened any further. The last thing I wanted was for a friendly lunch to turn into an awkward wake. And truth be told, I actually liked the guy. If Yesenia had already gotten along with Lisa—which I suspected from her earlier offer of help—then the least I could do was keep our "philosophical" discussion from turning into a full-blown argument.
"You know," I began evenly, "you can reach Everest's peak by lowering a ladder from a helicopter. But would that make the achievement the same for you? Probably not—because there's no real climb, no struggle to overcome.
"Imagine a wealthy man who dreams of standing at the summit but doesn't want to risk his life—or maybe physically can't make the climb. Still, the dream burns in him, eats away at his mind until it becomes an obsession. Money lets him make it happen—no frostbite, no danger, no effort. Whether others devalue that act or not doesn't really matter in the end. What matters is that he chooses the limits within which his dream becomes real."
When I finished, silence settled thick and heavy over the car. The only sound was the soft hiss of tires rolling over asphalt.
"Touche," Ildar said at last, then turned toward the window with a thoughtful look. Svetozar seemed to have finally accepted Lisa's presence; he sprawled across the seat more comfortably now. His eyes drooped shut, though he kept cracking them open every few seconds to glance suspiciously at our lovely driver—as if expecting her to do something at any moment. Lisa, for her part, was focused on the road, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel.
"Mark has a talent for ruining all the fun, doesn't he?" Lisa said with a short laugh.
"And for killing the mood," Ildar added. "Now I can't stop thinking about some imaginary billionaire snapping his fingers and having Everest laid at his feet. Makes me sick, honestly."
"What, struck a nerve?" Lisa teased. "You secretly dream of climbing Everest yourself?"
I was already bracing for the need to apologize, but Ildar's next words let me breathe easier.
"I've never been drawn to mountains," he said with a shrug. "Or money, to be honest. But the thought that someone could cheapen such an incredible feat—just by lowering themselves onto the summit from a helicopter—yeah, that grates on me." A visible shudder passed through him.
"The only people who aren't drawn to money," Yesenia said in a measured tone, "are those who've never known what it's like to live without it." She cast a strange look at Ildar—part reproach, part sorrow. When she finished, her lips pressed tightly together, as if she regretted the words the moment they escaped. But sometimes, what's unfiltered finds its way into the open before we even realize it.
"You don't choose your family," Ildar said finally, ignoring the sting in her comment. "The people who raised me were well known in our city—left behind a business, a legacy that still brings in income. I'm grateful to them for how they took care of me and my siblings. We never lacked for anything growing up. And I don't think the opposite situation should be considered normal either. I don't think I turned out spoiled—so I'd say that's a decent balance."
If Yesenia had something more to say, she kept it to herself—at least in front of Lisa and me. Still, I could have sworn, from the flicker in her eyes, that she had a few objections left unspoken.