I’m trying to be calm. “Just a reminder I need to leave at three thirty,” I say in my most “I’m a professional” voice

B

eep beep beep.

I sit up and then immediately lie back down. No sitting. Sitting bad. Must. Lie. Down.

Malkie comes into my room sounding like a small hurricane. “Mooooommmmy, come give me cereal.”

Shhhh. Shhhh!

“I don’t feel well, sweetie, take on your own, okay?” I rasp out.

I’ll be paying for that one later.

Nachi comes in, tallis bag slung over one shoulder, whistling.

“Are you still sleeping?” he asks, his tone surprised.

“Don’t feel well.”

He’s silent, and then, “’Kay, I’ll get the kids out, I guess.”

My head hurts too much for me to process this at a deeper level. “Thank you.”

Wait, no, I can definitely process that. Why did he hesitate? Why does he “guess?” Why can’t he just be sympathetic? And why is everything with him always, no matter what, tense? WHY??

He pops his head back in. “Didn’t you have a photo shoot booked for today?”

I roll my eyes with tremendous effort. Was this his way of poking fun? That I’d be able to stay home, sick, if only I didn’t indulge in my silly photography hobby? Nachi wishes for nothing but to say that I stay home all day doing nothing. Instead, according to him, I let my sport take over my life.

But wait, he’s right. I lie in bed, dozing, knowing I must call Avigail Rotberg ASAP. I wish Nachi could be the kind of husband who would help his wife, and cancel on her client because she has the flu, but then again, I wish Nachi was the kind of husband who did a lot of things that he’ll never do. I cough and then call Avigail, my throat protesting with every word.

“Avigail? Penina Mandelbaum. I’m so, so sorry, I won’t be able to do the photos today, I think I have the flu.”