She can almost hear Rivky’s voice in her head. You’re making excuses. Like it or not, Chana has to extend some tough love now

The fettuccine alfredo is set down in front of Chana, creamy-white, its mouthwatering scent wafting through the air. Chana is about to take a bite when there’s a long, protracted cry from upstairs, a bellowing, “Mommy!” that is unmistakably Ari.

Chana looks mournfully at her fettuccine. “Would I be a terrible mother if I ignored him for five minutes and ate this plate of pasta?”

Naftali laughs from his spot beside the stove. They’ve taken to eating a late meal after he gets home, just the two of them, with an occasional teenage daughter. Naftali’s always been the gourmet chef — Chana had served the kids fish sticks and mashed potatoes that night — but he’s usually too busy now to cook. Today had been a special treat, and it’s about to get cold.

“I’ll take care of Ari,” Naftali offers. “You enjoy.” He twirls a fork in the fettuccine, takes a bite straight from the saucepan, and heads upstairs.

Chana idly checks her phone as she eats. Rivky has sent her two identical photos of her dining room table with a dark gray tablecloth across it and ??? as the caption. Rivky must be prepping for the future Ohr Gershon mothers’ dinner tomorrow night. Chana sends back the second one as though she knows anything about style, then closes her eyes, savoring the fettuccine.

When she opens them again, there’s a new message from Rivky — wait, I sent you the same pic twice — and Naftali is carrying Ari into the kitchen, murmuring soothingly to him. “We forgot to do his kriah homework,” he says ruefully. “He was too upset to fall sleep.”

He props Ari up on his lap, one arm holding him tight as Ari reads the alef-beis. When Ari is done, he curls against Naftali, drowsy again, and Naftali takes him back upstairs.

Chana contemplates her fettuccine, then sees another message from Rivky.

Rivky. Rivky is waiting for her to speak to Naftali about a new job, and Chana is dizzy with trepidation. Tonight is perfect for that discussion. But she can’t think of a good way to start the conversation. “So, did you ever think of going back to school?” would be far too direct; an attack instead of a suggestion. “Hey, did you know that Masha Sklar’s husband is back in school? I think he’s going for business,” would go right over Naftali’s head.

She can almost hear Rivky’s voice in her head. You’re making excuses. Like it or not, Chana has to extend some tough love now.