It was hot outside. Too hot to be standing around waiting for someone to cut a ribbon. But the crowds had turned out for the new birthing center donated by the Frankel family, to be built by the Frankel construction company.

Akiva rolled his eyes at Libby. She didn’t notice, she was deep in conversation with Dassi and Meira; they all coordinated flawlessly in neutrals, while the kids were in mauve and cream.

“Right now, I would have been in the Mir, listening to mussar seder,” Menashe said in his ear.

Akiva swiveled to look at his baby brother. “Yeah, you look all cut up,” he said dryly, taking in the new custom suit and Italian dress shoes.

Menashe shrugged. “Hey, if Daddy wants to buy his way out of feeling guilty, I’m not going to stop him.”

Akiva clapped his brother on the shoulder. “So you remember how to play the game, huh.”

Menashe opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. His ears turned bright red, a telltale sign that he was highly uncomfortable. Akiva followed his gaze… it was Baruch.

He walked over briskly and gave his friend a hug.

“Good to see you, man,” he said loudly.

“You’re nuts,” he whispered in his ear.

Baruch pulled him close. “Maybe. Or maybe my new marketing strategist thought it would be good for me to be seen with the Frankel dynasty.”

“Your new marketing stra—”

“Hi, I’m Shai.” A smooth-faced blond held out a hand.

Akiva took it gingerly; it was a good shake. He hated him already.

He dropped Shai’s hand and looked around for his friend.

“Baruch. What are you doing?”

Baruch slammed his hand down on his coffee table, so the backgammon pieces went flying.

“Smooth,” Akiva said. And he’d almost won, too. Oh well.

He’d come over for a quick game and also to tell Baruch he was going too far. He hadn’t gotten to that part yet.

“Just join us,” Baruch said, his voice soft, yet demanding. “I need you, Akiva. You’re good, did you know that? You’re very, very good at what you do. We appreciate that at Abrams Architecture.”

Akiva pulled his hair; the pressure felt good, it kept him from being swept away in Baruch’s frenzy.

“Baruch, you know I can’t. Drop it, ’kay?”

Baruch stopped mentioning it, but his eyes told a different story.

Libby handed him a scoop of ice cream and passed the container back to Vanessa. “C’mon, Keevs, it can’t have been that bad.”

Akiva shuddered, remembering. “No, Libby, it really was. I felt this huge rift open between us that’s only going to get bigger as he becomes more involved with his company.”

Libby tsked sympathetically. “So what are you going to do now?”

Akiva shrugged, swirling his spoon around the bowl. Globs of cookie dough stuck to the spoon. “Join his firm?”

Libby dropped the ice cream scooper with a clang. “What?”

“I’m kidding! Kidding,” he reassured his wife. “It’s just… he seems so free suddenly.”

Libby snorts in a very un-Libbyish manner. “That’s not freedom, that’s called debt,” she said.

And maybe that was the case. But Akiva couldn’t help feeling that Baruch Abrams was lucky in ways that he would never be.

It was suddenly terribly important to him that Libby understood. “Being a part of my family is a lot,” he said slowly. “Now that Baruch is free of that… What can I say? I’m jealous of him.”

“You can say you’re nuts,” Libby said lightly.

Akiva could tell he was irking her.

“Libby, it’s like the Frankels… we do everything together, always. We know everything about each other. It’s a bit much, no?”

Both their phones pinged in unison.

It was a message from Ma.

Hello darlings, I saw Deena at school when I was visiting the board. Her hair is getting a bit long; I made her an appointment with Madelaine. Love you.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 973)