No, she wasn’t hopping over to her sister’s house to eat her food, thank you very much. She knocked into her boss’s office. “Mrs. Heimfeld? I’m stepping out to grab lunch,” she said. “Should I get you anything?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. I have my smoothie in the fridge.” She stroked her jaw, as though to count her chins. “I’m trying to watch my weight, you know.”

Raizy tittered. “Okay. And by the way, I was able to lock in Kornig’s rate.”

Mrs. Heimfeld’s lips stretched wide. “Niiiiiice. Great work, Raizy. I knew you’d make it happen.”

Raizy knew that she knew. And that knowledge was likely the catalyst behind her success with Kornig — and with so many more of her satisfied clients.

Great bosses were a unique and not-to-be-taken-for-granted blessing.

Outside, the spring air enchanted her senses, and she was conscious to be mindful of the pleasant breeze blowing the hairs of her sheitel, the warmth of the sun caressing her skin.

But there was something off in that perfect moment. Some unscratchable itch. Kornig’s deal had closed, and now… it was over. Done. And it felt like… that’s it? Is this how success feels?

The blast of too-strong air-conditioning in Bread & Butter hit her as she entered. Huddling in her sweater, she made her way over to the supermarket’s sandwich bar all the way in the back and placed her order: tuna, lettuce, and tomatoes on a toasted sesame bagel — plain, good food.

While the worker made her sandwich, she filled a medium-sized cup with iced coffee from the machine and snapped on a lid. Then she took a picture of her food and sent it to Yechiel, who would be eating her homemade tuna just about then. See? Mrs. Jacob takes care of herself, lol.

Yechiel responded with a bunch of smiley faces.

She did not send the picture to Leah.

“Raizy?”

Raizy turned around and blinked in pleasant surprise. “Tatty! What are you doing here?”

“Shopping?” he suggested, like that was some far-fetched thing to do in a supermarket. “Mommy needs ingredients for just one more cheesecake for the Shavuos kiddush.”

“Oh, cool. I didn’t know you shop here. How are you? How’s your shoulder doing?”

“A little better,” he said. “I’m still taking painkillers, but smaller doses now.”

“That’s great. I’m happy to hear that. Hey, listen to this, Tatty. Shep nachas from your daughter, ha ha… I processed a really big loan today. For a new client. Like, a really big name, so it’s pretty major.”

Mr. Wetman’s bushy brows expanded. “Niiiiiice. Good going. I hope you get a nice commission on this.”

Then his eyes landed on the drink and sandwich in her hands. Something in his expression changed, and Raizy immediately sensed it: disapproval.

“Yes, hopefully, im yirtzeh Hashem…,” she said, a little stiltedly. The cup suddenly felt slippery in her palm. “I, uh, just stepped out of the office to get something to eat.”

Her father did not respond with any smiley faces.

“Good, enjoy,” he said. The words sounded stiff, but maybe she was imagining it.

Thing is, even if she was imaging it, her appetite for lunch had somehow tapered.

Her father didn’t say a word about the food, but Raizy couldn’t help crawling into his mind and thinking for him: I pay most of her rent so she can splurge on expensive lunches every day?

If only he’d ask, she’d quickly jump to explain. It wasn’t every day, and she’d just told him about the Kornig deal. She deserved a treat for that, didn’t she?

At the same time, maybe that made it… worse. Because if she was earning nice commissions, why was he paying most of her rent?

Her mind tumbled into defense mode. Such deals don’t come up every day. And did you see Leah’s lunch? Would you ever question her on her food choices?

True, he wasn’t paying her rent — there was no need for that, with the mortgage-free house the Steiners had gifted her for the occasion of becoming their daughter-in-law.

And maybe her father didn’t actually care, and it was all in her head. It was just… He would never buy himself ready-made food, she knew. That’s not how she’d been raised. But still, even without Kornig, even if he paid her rent, even if he didn’t pay Leah’s: Was it a crime to spend $12 on lunch once in a while?

Shavuos had been… interesting. New couple, all shy — Leebie would almost laugh over how formal Yehudis suddenly behaved in their house, had she not been so busy trying to break through that formality.

But overall, it had been nice, and she was secretly happy to go back to routine.

Which, of course, always started with laundry.

She placed the freshly washed and neatly folded pants Shaya had worn over Yom Tov into his closet, wincing as two Oiber Chacham cards floated to the ground.

Obviously, there was no such thing as instant results.

Also, it wasn’t like she’d hired Heshy Tolner to be Shaya’s therapist or life coach. She’d never even told him the real reason she’d signed Shaya up for art.

But it was only the second class, and Leebie couldn’t help the jolt of satisfaction at seeing how Shaya had carefully packed away his prized sketchpad in his closet to safeguard it, without even being told.

He was taking this one responsibly. The boy couldn’t be beyond hope.

In the kitchen, Leebie hopped onto the counter to put away the milchig trays she’d used for the Shavuos kiddush on the top cabinet shelf.

One day, he’d learn to care about all the other aspects in his life, such as making it on time for his bus every morning. If he took responsibility for the stuff that mattered to him, all they needed was to make all his responsibilities matter to him.

Piece of cake, sure, she thought grimly as she headed to the laundry room to take the towels out of the dryer.

Still, she was happy about these art lessons. It was a great arrangement.

Somebody else, though, was not happy about it. Really, really not.

In fact, Amram was downright livid.

He all but accosted Leebie when she walked into the kitchen with a pile of clean dish towels. “What in the world is Shaya telling me about art lessons?”

Okaaaay. The pastels were out of the bag. She should’ve been prepared for this. She’d never warned Shaya not to tell his father.

Casual, go with casual.

She kept her eyes on the dish towels, folding them neatly while she spoke. “Yeah, I meant to tell you. One of the mothers at Akeres was telling me about this art teacher, he’s really good. So I figured, Shaya loves to draw, it would be a great outlet for him.”

“You figured? Um, Leebie… I’m honestly confused. We’re trying to help Shaya with his, well, issues. Don’t you think this is the kind of thing we should’ve figured together?”

He was probably right about that. And yet….

She bypassed his question. “Uh, why? You have anything against a kid getting art lessons?”

“The truth? Yes. I actually do.”

Amazing. So it wasn’t only the fact that she hadn’t told him about it that irked him. The core idea was going to be a problem.

She divided the stack of towels, put them away in the fleishig, milchig, and pareve cabinets, and waited.

Amram trailed behind her and opened the milchig cabinet to straighten the pile of towels she’d just put inside. Because I have no idea how to make a pile of towels straight.

“Shaya loves to draw,” Amram said, somewhat reflectively, “and he actually has talent. You know what those lessons are going to do to him? They’re going to stifle his creativity, take away his freedom to discover his own style and techniques. The teacher will train him to follow step-by-step rules, and poof, the whole pleasure of art will disappear. Why would anyone do that to a kid? I don’t get you, Leebie, why didn’t you discuss this with me before signing him up?”

She ignored his whole art lesson shitah speech. “I had to decide from one minute to the next, because the class was starting that day.”

“Aha. That’s what they all do. Make it sound like if you don’t sign up that second, you’re missing the opportunity of a lifetime. What do you think, that he won’t run another class soon? It’s a marketing ploy, I’m surprised you didn’t realize that.”

She hadn’t realized anything then. But she realized something now, very vividly, and a moment later, Amram confirmed it.

“Well, this was the last class he attended, I hope you realize that. And if this teacher gives you a hard time about getting back the money, give me his number, I’ll handle him.”

Leebie swallowed hard. She walked over to the dinette table and sank into a chair. “Amram, these lessons are doing wonders for him. You should see the sparkle in his eyes. And more than that, it’s giving him something to care about, a purpose, which is teaching him responsibility. None of this is about developing talent.”

“Purpose,” Amram countered, “should come from learning. From leading a functional life. From being a mensch. Don’t mix pastels into the picture.”

She wouldn’t, because it wouldn’t get her anywhere. The story was over, she knew that too well.

She stood up abruptly and left the kitchen. She was shaking inside, but she kept her shoulders as straight as she could.

Heading upstairs, a strain of music caught her ears. Was that… Dassi? At nine thirty?

She flung open Dassi’s bedroom door and found her daughter on the floor, her prize container spilled all around her while she earnestly punched the pods on her electric popper.

“DASSI HERZOG!”

Dassi jumped up. A flash of terror crossed her face.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Give me that popper this second!”

With a trembling hand, Dassi handed it over. Leebie stood in the doorway, following Dassi’s movements with threatening eyes as she climbed into bed and turned to the wall.

From downstairs, she heard Pinchas come into the house, home from yeshivah after a long day. She knew she should go greet him, but she didn’t want to go downstairs. She refused to face Amram.

But then she heard Amram leave the house for Maariv. Coast clear.

“Hello, Pinchas!” she said, marveling at the chirp she succeeded to inject in her voice. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

Ah. Communication, from a 14-year-old boy.

“Oh,” Pinchas said, like he suddenly remembered. “Someone’s at the door for you.”

“For me?”

Curiously, Leebie went out to the front hallway. A teenaged girl in a white midi skirt and cute chambray top stood at the door, holding a platter of chocolates from Vanilla.

“Hi!” Leebie said. “Oh, wow! Are these… for me?”

“Yes. My sister sent it.”

“Your sister? Who is she?”

“She had a baby and stayed at Akeres. She came home yesterday.”

With a measure of incredulity, Leebie took the platter from the girl. There was a card attached on top.

Dearest Mrs. Herzog,

Thank you so much for being there for me throughout my stay at Akeres. I have tremendous hakaros hatov for the help and support you provided over the past week.

HaKadosh Baruch Hu should repay you with all the brachos in the world.

Fondly,

Chaya Malka Grunstein

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 919)