Her father gave her every luxury, but nothing that filled her

"Hey. I was almost worried.”

Baruch stops to see if Chani is serious. The furrow between her brows is his answer. “Fischer kept me for the last 15 minutes.”

She ducks her head into the freezer and removes a popsicle tray. “Again? I thought you figured out an escape plan already.”

“Thought so too. I did try escaping before he got to the mailbox, but he was faster than me.”

“Well I guess we’re lucky our landlord woes aren’t any bigger.” She punches out deep purple pops — blueberry this time — from the white silicon mold and arranges four pieces on the rectangular plate in front of her. “Aren’t we?”

Baruch reaches for a popsicle. The stark white plate suddenly looks messy, with an imprint of berry residue.

She looks at Baruch and notices the embossed Yeshivas Hayesod brochure he’s holding, then quickly looks away.

“Um…” Baruch says. Two bites later his popsicle is already history. He wipes his stained hands with a napkin, and his now-free fingers fold the glossy paper in half, then press the left side over the right. “You know we have something to discuss.”

Chani focuses on the envelopes on the table, straightens them into a neat pile. Invitations, more invitations, and letters from five different credit card companies with irresistible offers of sky-high credit limits. “Honestly, Baruch, the dinner is like four weeks away. I get that my father is being honored, but do we really need to think about it already?”

Her iciness is like the draft that slithers in through their bedroom window without warning. Whenever the dinner is mentioned, she frosts up. It’s not difficult to discern the pattern. Anything daddy-related does that to her. “Chan, six weeks ago you sang the exact same song. Only the four and six were swapped.”

“Too many deadlines.”

He fans himself with the brochure. “Did you ask your boss yet?”

She clears her throat. “Even if my boss gives me the go-ahead, I’m not even sure I’m going.”

He hesitates. He’d love to tell Chani to just be open with him. It’s not like he’s blind — or stupid, for that matter.