Dovid cleared his throat. Yonah paused. Had he made his father emotional? Naaaah. “Anyway, Dad, can I give them your number?”

Lately, he’d found himself whispering in his own home. With Estee feeling so miserable, it felt wrong to walk around chattering loudly. But she was actually out of the apartment for a doctor’s appointment, so he allowed himself to put his father on speakerphone while he polished his Shabbos shoes.

“Yonah, how are you? How’s the zeman going?”

Yonah tried not to choke on the fumes, but still ended up coughing. “Sorry, Daddy! Baruch Hashem, going well. How’s the packing?”

“Going well, too. Baruch Hashem.” His father sounded tired.

There was a slight awkward pause. His father was many things, but a phone person was not one of them.

“So, Dad, I was thinking. When you move to Lakewood—” He stopped, took a breath — not too deep, he’d learned that lesson. This was harder than he thought it would be.

He loved Kol Habanim. What would happen if his father joined? Nothing would be the same. But he also loved his father, and wanted him to be happy. “I started volunteering at this fantastic program I think you’d love. More than that, I think they’d love you.”

“Yeah? A bikur cholim?” Dovid sounded a bit more interested.

Yonah gave his right shoe a little pat and started on the left one. “Nah. It’s actually a mentoring program for struggling boys. You’d be amazing at it. We boys didn’t struggle in that sense, but we were all handfuls and you were so amazing with us.”

Dovid cleared his throat. Yonah paused. Had he made his father emotional? Naaaah. “Anyway, Dad, can I give them your number?”

“Why not?”

Yonah smiled to himself. Those simple two words spoke volumes in Dovid Rosen vocabulary.

“Great, Dad. I’ll send you the number.”

“Sure. Have a great day, Yonah.”

Yonah hung up the phone with a smile. Maybe he was finally getting the hang of this growing up thing.