Ari stalked back to Dassi. “Is that not the most outrageous thing you’ve ever seen? It took a lot of time and work to make this night special"

Mrs. Fried sat gingerly on the edge of Chayala and Dassi’s brand-new West Elm tweed couch. “Oatmeal colored?” She sniffed. “Well, I guess you don’t need to buy practical furniture at this stage of your life.”

Chayala stared, incredulous. “You said it was urgent. Did you need to urgently insult my new house?”

The expression on her mother’s carefully blank face dropped for a second, and Chayala regretted indulging her instinct to lash out. She saw the stress lines etched into the face most familiar to her, and her heart hurt for the burden she couldn’t help her parents carry.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” she muttered, and got up from the oversized armchair she’d been curled up in and crossed the room to sit next to her mother. Some things were easier to say when you weren’t face-to-face.

“What’s going on, Ma?” Chayala asked softly.

Her mother sighed, long and low. She looked away and scrubbed a hand over tired eyes. “This is really hard for me to say. Things with Tatty are very serious, and I just need to talk about it. Don’t tell him I’m here, okay, Chay?”

Chayala sat very still, bracing herself for a conversation she desperately didn’t want to have.