“No, there’s nothing to say when she thinks she’s being so heroic. I did try hinting that having another person around in our crowded apartment might put extra pressure on Dovid. But she was so offended by the very thought that I had to spend the next half hour pacifying her.” Bracha had shaken her head, mimicking her mother. “‘You don’t understand. I’m coming to help! It’ll be like having a live-in maid!’” She’d put her head in her hands. “Just what I need, huh?”

Ayala had frowned. Dealing with her mother’s emotional baggage was the last thing Bracha needed right now.

Bracha had looked up, her mouth twisted ironically. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? Your mother wants you to be her parent, and my mother smothers me with her need to be useful. Which one is worse?”

Startled by the comparison, Ayala hadn’t answered. After a moment, Bracha had continued, “But you’re right, I know this really isn’t Dini’s fault. And now she’s quit and the campaign is in two weeks.” Her eyes had suddenly twinkled. “I guess this is your chance to run the fundraiser Ayala-style. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Ayala had felt her chest tighten once more. Was it? If so, she’d been incredibly stupid. She didn’t know the first thing about running a campaign.

“Bracha, don’t you dare make fun of me. I’m in serious trouble!”

Bracha had closed her eyes, and Ayala had instantly felt terrible. What kind of friend was she to dump her problems on Bracha, when she was currently facing much worse than the prospect of mortifying failure?

“What about that consultant lady?”

Ayala had looked up. “Huh?”

Bracha had opened her eyes. “That NPO consultant Dini’s always talking about, I forget her name. She can tell you what to do.”

“Temima,” Ayala had said slowly. “It’s an idea. But—” She’d stopped, reddening.

Bracha had nodded understandingly. “But the lady’s expensive and there’s no Dini to pay.”

“No!” Ayala had gasped and then winced as the force of the statement hit her. Dini quitting meant no more relying on her to foot sudden bills like cabs or cleaning help or a pick-me-up gift for a patient who’d just received bad news. It also meant no more easy access to mega-wealthy donors. As much as Ayala had been annoyed by Dini’s nonchalant attitude toward money, it was only now that she appreciated how much she’d benefited from her generosity.

Blinking away the disquieting revelation, Ayala had quickly said, “That’s not what I’d been about to say. It’s just… laugh at me if you want, but the lady terrifies me.”

Bracha did laugh. “Bet you a thousand dollars it’s not Temima who scares you, but her field. You don’t know anything about marketing, and you hate feeling ignorant.”

Ayala had made a face at her. “Okay, I’ll make the appointment, just to save my dignity. But, big shot, you’re coming with me.”

Now, as they sat across from Temima, Ayala’s fingers drawing rapid circles on her knee, she wondered if she should address the elephant in the room or wait for Temima to bring it up.

Bracha did.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, with a pleasant nod at Temima. “I’m filling in for Dini, who had to take a temporary leave of absence from the campaign.”

“Oh? I hope everything’s okay.”

“B’ezras Hashem it will be,” Bracha, bless her, replied smoothly. “But right now we need a crash course in fundraising to learn how to take over her role.”

“I see.” Temima leaned forward. “I’m glad two of you came because, frankly, Dini was doing the job of at least two people. More, probably. She has this amazing mix of pep and charisma and also administrative capabilities. She’s pretty unique, but I’m sure you know that already.”

She looked at Ayala, who, swallowing hard, nodded. “Yeah, she’s very talented. We— we hope she’ll get back to working soon. But in the meantime, the campaign is in two weeks and I don’t know….” She waved her hands in the air, contemplating what it was she didn’t know. How to find donors. How to reach out to them. Whether they had a campaign website. How online donations worked. How to upload the music video onto their page and what, exactly, they were supposed to do with it. How to spread the word on social media when she didn’t have a single social media account. What in the world she was supposed to do with Dini’s volunteer ambassadors.

She closed her eyes, as the sheer weight of her cluelessness hit her.

“I don’t know anything, really,” she finished lamely, hating how unprofessional she sounded.

Temima smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it. It’s not rocket science. Take out a pen and notepad and let’s get started.”

Ayala’s head was spinning by the time she and Bracha left the office building. Bracha broke the silence.

“So what’s the next step, boss?”

Ayala rubbed her temple. “Well, I guess we follow Temima’s suggestion and call a meeting of the CT volunteers to make sure they’ll still be on board even without Dini.” She squinted in the sunlight. “Why do I have a funny feeling that they won’t?”

Bracha looked at her. “Do you want me to tell you that you’re wrong, that they’re ready to give their all to Chesed Tzirel no matter what, and that of course they’ll love you, too?”

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

Bracha opened her mouth.

“Actually, no, I don’t.” Ayala sighed. “I need to try anyway. I’ll call a meeting for tomorrow night.” She shot Bracha a glance. “You’ll come for moral support?”

Bracha gritted her teeth. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Completely wrung out from her late-night conversation with Shuki, Dini sleepwalked through her day. She checked her emails: Videographer wanted to know if the final version was approved and invoice attached. Her fingers automatically began to type a reply before she stopped herself. Not her problem anymore. She started to forward the email to Ayala, but her finger wavered over the keyboard.

Ayala would have a panic attack when she saw the bill.

Dini set her teeth. Ayala had made her choice. She could have called Dini to apologize, to tell her how badly she was needed. Clearly, she wasn’t.

She pressed send.

As the afternoon dragged on, her headache became worse. Shuki’s words kept replaying in her mind. I think you’re making a big mistake. Don’t you think it makes more sense to see the campaign through successfully? And her father: Who would’ve believed Dini could be such a leader?

Really, she should be offended by Ta’s surprise. After all, she’d been Color War Captain in camp and Dance Head in Production. But those types of leadership roles hadn’t meant much to Ta. Chief Marketer of a successful NPO did.

And now she was about to blow it.

But was that a reason to allow herself to become a doormat? She’d been taken for granted for far too long; she’d brought real value to the organization, and she deserved to be appreciated for it.

By the evening, her head was splitting. Chaviva had muttered, “Takeout again?” when the poppers and fries were delivered, but after a quick glance at her mother, she’d been smart enough to refrain from saying more.

The supper debris was still on the table and the younger kids just starting to head to their bedrooms when the doorbell rang.

Sarale. Holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Dini!” The girl rushed inside, thrust the flowers into Dini’s hands, and grabbed her in a fierce hug. “I’m so, so, so sorry!”

Dini patted Sarale on the back and carefully extricated herself from the hug, feeling Chaviva’s and Binny’s astonished gazes from behind her.

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured.

“I feel awful!” Sarale was in tears. Dini closed the front door, hoping none of her neighbors had witnessed the emotional scene, and led her to the couch, gesturing to her kids to leave the room. “I got the message today from Ayala and I— I knew it was because of me!” she sobbed.

Dini stiffened. “What message?”

“That she wanted to meet with us tomorrow to discuss the campaign.” She sniffed. “Well, it was weird. Like, out of the blue she wants to meet with us? I mean, no, that part wasn’t weird,” she amended. “What was weird was that she was the one sending the email when until now you’d always coordinated everything. So I asked her why, and she said that, for personal reasons, you were stepping back a bit from the campaign. That’s when I realized it was because of what I’d done!” Dini watched as Sarale covered her face with her hands. A part of her was snarling, You bet it was because of you! Your total lack of judgment has made everyone furious at me!

But as she listened to the girl’s sobs, her anger melted. If she was honest, this wasn’t really about an overheard conversation and a secret revealed. It was a buildup of months and months of resentment and miscommunication and two friends working at continual cross-purposes even though they both ultimately wanted the same goal.

Frowning, Dini stood up and slowly paced around the room, as the thoughts that had been swirling in her head all day came to the fore. Should she listen to Shuki, swallow her pride and tell Ayala she’s coming back?

Maybe Ayala didn’t even want her back. Maybe she was looking forward to running the show herself. To being the new, cool CT Volunteer head.

No, that wasn’t Ayala. She didn’t do things for kavod. Certainly not for the coolness factor.

But she did like to do things her way.

Yet this time, Dini was convinced, Ayala’s way was wrong. Oh, they’re making a much bigger mistake, Shuki had said. And Shuki was always right. Look how Ayala had messed up with Schiller. She ought to have realized that when it came to marketing, she didn’t know what she was doing.

Was Dini supposed to sit back and let Ayala ruin a fabulous opportunity for an organization they both believed in?

Sarale had lifted her head and was staring at her, eyes wide. Catching her anxious look, Dini flashed her a smile.

“It’s okay,” she said, sitting back down. “You made a mistake. I won’t pretend it wasn’t a bad one, because it hurt someone badly — but that someone wasn’t me. And I already apologized to Bracha for you.”

Sarale nodded. “Should I apologize, too? So that she doesn’t think it was you?”

“She knows it wasn’t me. But I didn’t tell her which volunteer it was. And I’m not sure it’s necessary for her to know.”

“She might find out,” Sarale said. “From her sister.”

“She might.” Dini looked at her. “What do you think you should do?”

Sarale twisted her hands in her lap. She took a breath. “I think… I think that part of being an adult is having the courage to apologize.” She gave Dini a small wink. “A very wise mentor once told me that.”

Dini winked back, feeling a surge of pride. And suddenly, she came to a decision.

“Sarale, when and where is this volunteer meeting tomorrow night?”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 910)