She blew a sheitel strand out of her face and then, when she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she resorted to the oldest trick in the book: getting the other parent involved. “Deena, go upstairs. I need to talk to Tatty.”

She waited until she heard the required slam of Deena’s door, and then sank back onto the couch. Fabulous. Just what everyone needed now.

She leaned back against the cushion and closed her eyes. Kesser Torah was supposed to be different!

It was different. But Deena wasn’t any different than she had been before.

She let out a little moan. Things were too complicated. It wasn’t fair.

“What are you doing?”

She cracked open an eyelid to find Akiva staring down at her in concern. She thought of his GoFundMe page for his sister-in-law, the hours spent working on the house flip, the way he’d sat with her and sifted through endless import guidelines from China for her budding business.

She wanted to protect him, she realized, a brand-new emotion for her. They didn’t have that dynamic in their relationship, one where she looked out for him. Their life hadn’t been set up like that.

In the beginning, she was Cinderella, and Akiva had taken care of her like a damsel in distress. And as they’d matured, or, you know, aged, she’d caught up with him, and they had lived a calm, non-dramatic life.

They cared for each other and respected one another, but the little things were able to be outsourced, for better or for worse. And by having the dozens of little needs met by chefs, maids, and a limitless credit card, they’d never really needed to look out for each other too much. The occasional, “Oh, shame you missed dinner, Vanessa set you up something on the warming tray,” and “You must be exhausted from traveling, you nap, I’ll take the kids down to the game room,” was as far as they got most days.

And yet here she was, fiercely wanting to protect her husband from any added stress or pain.

“Libby, you’re scaring me! What is going on?”

She sat up primly and smoothed down her dress. And then, because he was looking at her with such concern, she told him.

“A little juvenile delinquent,” he said, falling onto the couch opposite her, when she finished the whole sorry tale. “How she got the whole class to follow her to the roof is beyond me.”

Libby looked at him severely. “Akiva Frankel, it is not funny. She served them lunch! That she hijacked from the cafeteria! She set up a picnic on the roof! And during science lab. Who? Who does that?”

Akiva laughed again. “Our daughter, that’s who.”

He’d been riding a wave of emotions today, but the crest he was on right now was amusement, even if he should be upset at her misbehavior. Deena. Chip off somebody’s block. Maybe his?

Libby hung up the phone slowly. That hadn’t just happened. Did it? She looked around the hosiery store. Did anyone else realize what had just happened? It didn’t seem so. The shop was empty, which was nice, because she really had no patience for a repeat of the grocery store: “Libby Frankel, you have fallen off of the map. How on earth are you?”

But here she was, with no witnesses. She looked at her phone. Yup, proof right there.

Bubby Frankel, two minutes, 36 seconds. Okay, so there you had it. Bubby really had just called to invite them for Shabbos. Just them. Akiva and co. No one else.

They’ve had Shabbosim at Zeidy and Bubby before. Grand, convention-like gatherings, with entertainment and choirs for zemiros and candy rooms. Not this, a personal invite on Wednesday afternoon.

She’d said yes without checking with Akiva, mainly because, well, it was an unprecedented occurrence. She just hoped it would be okay with him, because there was a zero percent chance she would commit the faux pas of canceling on Bubby. She would sooner escape to Australia and live the rest of her days alongside the kangaroos.

Thankfully, Akiva was on board.

Shabbos was, surprisingly, beautiful. And not at all as intimidating as Libby had imagined. The kids had their Rosh Hashanah clothing, and nothing was quite as validating as hearing Bubby compliment her department store finds.

Akiva had said proudly, “Bubby, at the end, the stores owed her money!” And Libby had actually wanted to sink into the floor, but Bubby had just looked interested and asked for an explanation of how coupons work, which was adorable.

Bubby served gorgeous hot mushroom salad. She loved mushrooms. Zeidy started a spirited Askinu seudasa, and Akiva joined in with gusto. He had a great voice, Akiva. No Ishay Ribo, but strong and clear and pleasant to listen to. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening, when she became aware of another sound. With every end note, “seudaSA, menuSA, sheleimaSA, chedvaSA, kadiSHA,” there was an added beat. Oh, gosh, Deena, not here.

But yup, there was Deena, enthusiastically beating a staccato on Bubby and Zeidy’s twenty-foot oak dining table.

Wonderful.

Zeidy stopped singing. “What are you doing, Deenale?”

She looked startled, then a familiar stubborn look flashed across her delicate features.

“I’m drumming, Zeidy. I take drum lessons at my new school and I love it. Of course, not right now, because I’m sus—”

“Studying,” Akiva said hurriedly. “She’s studying. But after studying, right back to drums she goes. Isn’t she great?”

Bubby and Zeidy looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Did you know,” he said hurriedly, “I used to take drum lessons as well? In Eretz Yisrael, in a bomb shelter. Mhmm, true story.” He smiled widely at nobody. “Pass the cholent?”

Libby was ready for the kangaroos now.

But all in all, Shabbos was a success. Zeidy got a huge kick out of Deena, the two went on a long walk together, and when they came back, they were both laughing. Akiva had heard his grandfather laugh out loud maybe twice in his life.

“… and then the teacher found us, and I was teaching everyone how to properly pronounce the word ‘croissant,’ ” Deena was saying triumphantly.

Libby looked up from her glass of tea. “Guess that cat’s out of the bag,” she murmured to Akiva.

He nodded, eyes on the unlikely pair. “I’m just confused as to who that is and what they’ve done with my grandfather.”

But even after all the goodbye kisses and thank-yous, Libby couldn’t help wondering if Akiva’s grandparents were secretly horrified that they allowed Deena to play the drums. After all, Frankels don’t play drums. She wondered this right up until there was a knock on the door Sunday morning.

She opened it to find a giant man standing behind a giant, hot-pink drum set.

“Where you want them?” he asked.

His nametag said Larry.

“That’s a great question, Larry,” she said weakly. “A really great question.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 987)