Tziporah knew Benny was disappointed at her practicality. This party was so vital to him, it had become an obsession

“Hamavdil bein kodesh l’chol.” Benny’s tenor rang out into the quiet apartment. His Havdalah was warm and musical as usual — but was that crisp finale a sign of nervousness? Tziporah wasn’t sure about Benny, but her stomach had definitely been hurting the entire afternoon.

Of course, Benny had to make his grand Melaveh Malkah on the latest possible Shabbos of the year. The guys wouldn’t mind a 10 p.m. start time, Tziporah knew. They had probably slept most of the afternoon and would arrive wide awake, with full appetites, ready to party.

Not like her. She couldn’t even think about eating. After staying up most of Thursday night cooking, then schlepping tables and chairs with Benny half of Friday, she was so finished. The afternoon had gone on and on, the clock barely crawling forward as she shepherded the kids to, then from the park, all the while running through her mental list of all the things that had to happen before the guys arrived. Set the tables, heat up the food, buy the bagels, prepare the pizza toppings…

She had put the kids to sleep long before Havdalah and tried to rest on the couch during that last quiet hour, but the queasiness in her stomach didn’t let her relax.

Now Shabbos was over and they could actually start setting up.

“Here, Tzip, help me out with the tables,” Benny called her. “We said we’re doing the buffet here, against this wall, right? And then the tables with the chairs will be over there.”

They worked together quickly, efficiently, Benny whistling some super-perky, garish version of Hamavdil, with the rhythm all wrong.

“Okay, now the tablecloths, right? Where are they?”

“In my office,” Tziporah said, hurrying to bring the bags she’d gotten from the neighborhood simchah gemach. She had decided to go with light green — not too heavy or formal — and had spent a fortune on coordinated paper goods.

Benny helped her spread the tablecloths.

“Hmmm,” he said, eyeing the room critically. “You think we should put out candles? Or some sort of centerpiece?”

Tziporah tried to mask her irritation. “I don’t think your guys are expecting anything like that. You want warm, friendly, happy, right? Not stiff and fancy.”