A weakness came over her limbs. This was ridiculous. The two of them had the same goal with Shaya, and arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere. “I had a very rough morning,” she said quietly. “I… I lost it with him.”

Amram nodded, and immediately, Leebie felt better. No matter his opinion, her husband got her, he respected her struggles, and that made all the ugly guilt somewhat more digestible.

Leebie turned her attention to the chargers on the display and changed the topic. “Tziporah Schiffman has a simchah this Shabbos, and I offered to cover for her at Akeres.”

Amram turned around, a gold charger in his hand. “But we’re having Sruly and Yehudis eat with us this week.”

“Are we?” How come she had no idea about that plan? As far as she was aware, the couple was going to the Manns for Shabbos.

“Yes, we are. Sruly’s parents won’t be home for Shabbos, so I told Yehudis to come to us instead.”

A store worker with a red apron came down the aisle with a wagon overflowing with water toys. Leebie shrank into herself as he passed, her mind whirring.

Sure, it would be nice to have the new couple come, all sweet and shy and everything. It would also have been nice if Amram had run this plan by her, when she was the one who’d be expected to do the actual hosting. Shabbos at Akeres was a job, but it was also an off-Shabbos for her, a time when she didn’t have to cook and serve and clean, and instead got to relax a little in the presence of deliciously smelling newborns and their recuperating mothers.

Besides, she’d told Tziporah she’d do it. She couldn’t back out now.

“Why didn’t you ask me before agreeing?” Amram pressed.

“I didn’t think of it, okay? You’re usually okay with my going — it’s nice to earn the extra money, right? — and besides, Tziporah was in a bind, she was relying on me to make it work.”

The look he gave her was worse than all his arguments. It stated the obvious: You made Shabbos plans without consulting me, why are you upset if I invited Yehudis without consulting you?

It made no sense at all, but somehow, the way it played out, Amram was, of course, right. Once again.

Leebie watched him inspect the gold chargers and a strange panic gripped her. “No, way, Amram, not this charger. It’s like, hello, remember Tante Malka’s awful custard pies? She used to serve them on this very same charger!”

Amram burst out laughing. “Oh, my, don’t remind me of those pies. I can gag just thinking about them.”

He put the gold charger back on the display and picked up a decent-ish glass one instead. Leebie whistled a quick, “Phew,” then returned to the Shabbos issue. Weakly, she went for damage control. “Uh, maybe… I mean, we can simply invite them to join us at the heim….”

“Hmm…” Amram said. “Maybe. Yes, let’s do that, I guess.”

Leebie caught herself quickly. “Nah, of course not. Yehudis will never agree. She always hated coming, remember?”

Amram replaced the sample glass charger, and to Leebie’s horror, started filling their wagon with boxes of the gold ones. “Of course she’ll agree,” he said. “It’ll be a beautiful experience, trust me.”

She didn’t trust him. Not with the plan to host Yehudis in the heim. And — she noted dismally — not with his hideous choice of chargers.

She groaned. “Amram….” He gave a little laugh. “I know, I know. I guess it’s fond memories, of Tante Malka, if not of her food.”

The Shabbos issue was left hanging. But to Leebie’s relief, he put those boxes back.

F

our plates (appetizer and main, naturally), two bowls (what’s a meal without soup?), two glasses (way too soon in the game for plastic), flatware, two martini glasses (how else do you serve cubed-melon dessert to a brand-new husband?), and a salad bowl. That, plus the pots and cutting boards and utensils involved in creating all those elaborate dishes, filled up a whole sink.

They were only two people, and she had at least an hour’s cleanup ahead of her in the kitchen.

“Any plans for tonight?” Sruly asked.

Yehudis suppressed a smirk. He felt guilty leaving her alone when he went to night seder. So cute.

Well, her immediate plan was to get those dishes washed, but if he was asking….

“I need to go to my parents’ house to use their computer,” she said. “My Halachah final needs to be in by tomorrow, and it’s nowhere near ready.”

I also need to fold that pile of laundry on my bed. And clean this apartment for Shabbos. And talk to G.O. about closing assembly. And go to Shoe Box to exchange those sadly-unused-for-sheva-brachos taupe heels for a smaller size before the return window closes.

They were only two people, and somehow, she felt like she was running the largest household.

“I’ll drive you over,” Sruly offered. “Are you ready to leave now?”

Oh! No, she totally wasn’t ready — just take a look at this kitchen!

“Nah,” she said. “It’s fine. I’ll walk.”

He was already putting on his jacket. “Just come. You’ll get there much faster.”

Husbands, Yehudis was coming to learn, loved driving their wives places. Even if the place was her parents’ house and it was a ten-minute walk, total.

She protested, he insisted, and, laughing over their epic chodesh rishonah argument, they got into the car.

The kitchen and the laundry would have to wait.

“I’ll come in to say hello when I pick you up,” Sruly said apologetically when he pulled up in front of the Herzogs’ house. “I don’t want to keep Brunner waiting.”

He didn’t have to come in to say hello. She was only there to work. Oh, well. She grinned and waved as he drove off.

At the door to her parents’ house, Yehudis paused. Was she meant to ring the bell or let herself in? Why did she suddenly feel like a guest in the place that had been her home until less than two weeks ago?

She settled on a quick knock before punching in the combination code.

Her mother, whose kitchen was conspicuously and irritatingly spotless, greeted Yehudis with a huge smile. “Mrs. Mann! What an honor! I was just going to sit down to look at your wedding pictures.”

Yehudis gave a shy smile in return. “How are you? Where’s everyone?”

“Let’s see, who’s everyone? Dassi and Chananya are in bed. Shaya’s in the shower. Meir and Pinchas are in yeshivah, Rikki has a classmate’s vort, and Dovid and Yehudis are all married on me.” She stuffed a last stray plastic cup into the garbage. “Come sit down. What can I serve you?”

“Nah, I’m good, I just ate supper. I, um, wanted to use Tatty’s computer, if that’s okay. I need to do some school stuff.”

The light on her mother’s face dimmed. “Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

Which made Yehudis feel guilty for going ahead. But what could she do? She needed to have this Halachah final ready for the next day, and with the new Halachah curriculum, last year’s final wouldn’t work. Her getting-married vacation was over, and she had to be on top of her job responsibilities.

The issue was, she suddenly had to be on top of so many other responsibilities.

How did married people function?

She was still working on the final when Sruly and her father came into the house together. Yehudis abandoned the computer to go greet them.

“How’s the young lady doing?” Mr. Herzog asked. He inspected Yehudis from her sheitel down to her A. Soliani shoes, nodding in approval at her appearance.

“Great, baruch Hashem,” Yehudis said. “Trying to act like a responsible young lady and get my school sheets in order.”

“Oh, right. School.” He held up his index finger. “I takeh wanted to talk to you about that.”

Yehudis watched him hang up his hat on the hook inside his closet, and when that door clicked shut, a chill crept up her arms.

She had no idea what about school her father wanted to say. But she knew, too well, how the conversation would play out.

And she did not want this scene to happen in front of Sruly.

She drew in a small breath. “I think I’ll finish up this test now, Tatty, and then maybe we could talk tomorrow?”

“I just want to tell you what needs to happen here,” her father went on, oblivious to any of Yehudis’s telepathizing efforts. The whole setup was awkward; she and Sruly and her parents, clumsily standing around in that narrow hallway. But her father didn’t seem to find any of it weird. “You can’t go back to teach next year,” he declared. “They’ll probably come around with the contracts any day now, right? So I’m just making sure you’re not chas v’shalom going to sign it.”

Whatever it was Yehudis had expected him to say about school, this wasn’t it.

Hadn’t it been her father who had pushed her to teach in the first place? Because she was so qualified! And a serious learner would appreciate a girl who was in chinuch! And a school setting was such a healthy environment for a girl to work in, and there were so many opportunities for her to shine. Hadn’t he spoken to the menahel to reserve the extra curriculum position for her, in addition to teaching, and then made her reach out to teachers about girls who could use tutoring, so she could set up a little side income?

Yehudis stared first at her father, in bewilderment, then at Sruly, with a disquieting clench in her stomach.

“I—” she stammered. “I mean, I’ve been teaching for four years. And extracurriculur—”

“Exactly,” Mr. Herzog stated. “And now it’s time to move on. You’re married — to a kollel yungerman —and teaching is not a parnassah, we all know that. So now we need to research other work options. I’ll help you find a more lucrative job, b’ezras Hashem.”

Yehudis couldn’t judge whose face was a brighter red — hers, from utter astonishment, or Sruly’s, from the most profound mortification.

If her father was waiting for her to say something, she simply couldn’t. The most she managed was a vague nod-shake of her head, before motioning to Sruly, silently asking if he was ready to leave.

It was only when she was back home, facing the sink full of dishes, that she remembered: her Halachah final. She hadn’t finished nor emailed the file to the school secretary.

Well. She would have to wake up early the next morning and go back to her parents’ house to do it. There was no way she was returning for it that night.

Her eyes were closing on her as she stacked the wet dishes on the drying rack. She wasn’t going to wipe them, too bad. Everything would be dry in the morning, and she’d put it all away then. There was still a whole pile of laundry to tackle if she wanted access to her bed that night. And that accusing voice in her head — Did you ever in your life see Mommy leaving dishes out overnight? Is this how you were raised? — should just be quiet, thank you.

Sruly came into the kitchen, holding their two negel vasser sets. “Uh, Yehudis?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m just wondering. You know, about what your father was saying before. Is it… I mean, do you really want to give up your teaching job?”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 916)