Yechiel stopped walking in front of a tiny, newly renovated single-family home. “No, seriously,” he hummed. “This girl really is dreaming. So let’s hear, who did you call? What did you discover?”

“Should we go get something to drink?”

Her husband whistled. “Whoa, this is serious.”

Raizy laughed. “Nah. Um, actually, maybe…. Who knows, right?”

They rerouted toward Geigers’, which was open 24 hours, and as they walked, Raizy offered commentary on all the houses they passed. The brand-new ones, which were out of their league. The remodeled ones, “Which we should consider. Buy an old junk, move in with bare-minimum cosmetic work, and do more serious renovations eventually, when we’re ready for that.” The condos, which were an option, but, like, “I’d really, really rather not. It’s also not worth it because of the taxes.”

She stopped to adjust Chavi’s blanket. Was Yechiel even listening?

They reached Geigers’ and picked out drinks. With their bag hanging from the stroller hook, they headed back home and sat down on the bench in their front yard.

“’Kay, you probably think this is premature,” Raizy said, picking back up the thread. “And maybe it is, but, like, it can’t hurt, right?”

Yechiel twisted the cap off his Sprite. “What can’t hurt?”

“To figure out our numbers. I know we’re young, but there are many couples who manage to buy a house in their mid-twenties. Shouldn’t we even try? I can’t stand the idea of flushing money down the drain every month we’re renting. Let’s try to figure out what we can get with what we have.”

“Let’s see. A coat closet?”

“Very funny. Listen, Yechiel. I really think it’s doable. We’ve been saving every dollar we could since our wedding, we’re not starting with zero.”

“Raizy, can I ask you a question?”

“Nu?”

“What’s wrong with our apartment? We have our two bedrooms, we have enough space. Why are you suddenly rushing to move?”

Raizy rocked the stroller absently. Why? Did she have a valid answer?

“There’s nothing wrong, but like, we’ll outgrow it eventually. I mean….”

I mean, if you compare it to a certain house on Rigg Avenue…. If her sister Leah, who was three years younger than her, married for less than two years, with only one baby, needed a five-bedroom house….

Yechiel let it go. “Let’s pretend we have enough funds for a down payment.” He continued in a singsong. “How exactly do you plan on paying this mortgage?”

“Right, so I didn’t tell you yet, but remember that loan I was working on for Weinman? The six-family in Clarkston? It closed today.”

“That’s amazing. Mazel tov….”

Raizy drew lines down the fog on her bottle of Coke. “There was Kornig last week, Weinman today, and two more big loans I’m working on are looking very good. Hashem should help that things should continue this way, but doesn’t it give you a little confidence that we’ll be able to swing this?”

Yechiel closed his drink and put it back in the bag. “Sure,” he said, “with Weinman, with Kornig, with all the loans in your pipeline, with Hashem’s help. And…” he stuck his hand into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “With this.”

This was the monthly rent envelope he’d picked up from Mr. Jacob Sr. that day on his way home from kollel.

Arm pressed against the classroom door, Yehudis paused, as though reluctant to walk inside.

It felt like those first few weeks as a fifth-grade teacher at Bnos Yeshurun, four years ago. Back then, she’d felt so tiny in the classroom, every day behind her desk causing her to shrink farther into herself. But as she gained experience — and control — she grew into her full height, and the classroom door felt light as she swung it open.

“If anyone wishes to grow two inches,” she posited to all her friends, “all they need to do is teach.”

Now, she was back after their Shavuos break, and for the first time since that first year, she had to muster the energy to push the classroom door open and greet her students. Nothing had changed, but she couldn’t quiet the voices — her father’s mixed with her own — that rumbled in her ears: This is your last month as a teacher.

By the time the lesson ended, Yehudis all but trudged out of the classroom.

“Psst, Mrs. Mann?”

Mrs. Mann. Yehudis winked at the secretary, Sima Brieger, as though she was in on this name-change conspiracy.

“Mrs. Eisen wants to talk to you about graduation. Are you available now?”

Her head was spinning, and she’d wanted to grab a bite before her next class, but if the principal was asking for her, then yeah, of course she was available.

Mrs. Eisen’s face lit up when she walked into her office. “Hi, Yehudis! How’s it going? Teaching with a sheitel on your head — it’s a total different experience, huh?”

Definitely, only not in the way you’re imagining.

Yehudis sat at the edge of her chair guardedly. Funny, how after four years of a really nice work relationship with Mrs. Eisen, she was still always nervous in her presence. Did all teachers feel it, or was it only her?

Her eyes traveled over the many framed photos of previous graduating classes hanging on the wall behind the principal. This year’s graduating class, she realized, would be her own first-year students. Wow!

“So I wanted to talk to you about the eighth-grade valedictorians,” Mrs. Eisen said. “You get to interact with these girls during the extracurricular programs, so I’m sure you can bring us some important insight from that perspective.”

Yehudis’s cheeks flushed. Okay, that was flattering. Feeling slightly awkward, she bent forward to look at the new frame on Mrs. Eisen’s desks, with the latest graduation picture, and offered her polite opinion on the principal’s candidates.

More flattering, though, was the next thing Mrs. Eisen wanted to discuss.

“I’m sure you heard that Morah Feingold is moving to Chicago and won’t be with us next year. We haven’t hired anyone to take over her eighth grade yet, and I was thinking, you would be really perfect for the job. How does that sound to you, Yehudis?”

“Uh….”

Like a far-fetched dream?

And the ultimate compliment….

Eighth graders were real people, nearly adults. She’d always wished to teach an older grade, but never imagined the opportunity would come up so soon.

“I don’t expect you to give an answer on the spot,” Mrs. Eisen said. “Go home and think about it. Discuss it with… well, with Rabbi Mann, obviously….” She laughed at her own joke.

Which actually was quite funny. Until recently, Yehudis would have run to talk to her father about such an offer. And even after she spoke to Sruly about this, she should probably still talk to her father, shouldn’t she?

Except that she knew her father’s current opinion on her teaching.

Chas v’shalom.

Well, she wanted to discuss it with Rabbi Mann, but it was going to have to wait. Their Herzog grandparents were expecting them at six-thirty, and she’d made up to meet Sruly in front of their house right after kollel.

Part of being married, Yehudis knew, was the obligation to visit grandparents. They’d earned this nachas, and she and Sruly owed it to them. Thing was, they had four sets of grandparents plus one elte babi between the two of them, kein ayin hara, so figuring out when to visit all of them required strategizing. They’d squeezed in two visits on Shavuos, so there were three more to go.

“Why don’t we do one visit between kollel and supper?” Sruly had suggested the night before.

It meant that supper would be a delayed and rushed affair, but Yehudis agreed. “Let’s do Zeidy and Bubby Herzog then,” she’d said. “My father is breathing down my neck that they’re waiting for our visit.”

To which Sruly had merely… nodded.

Zeidy and Bubby Herzog truly were delighted to see them. They also had all the time in the world, and Yehudis could barely refrain from looking at her watch every two minutes.

Her grandmother brought homemade cookies and tea (Tea! Yehudis caught Sruly’s wink) to the table. “See, Amram figured things out, in his quiet way,” she said fondly. “He was always the quiet one between Shmuel and Ari, did his own thing type of kid. With twelve children in the house, I guess it was nice to have one kid who didn’t have such a loud opinion all the time.” She placed a glass in front of Sruly, who kept his face perfectly even. “But look at the two of you. He raised you well, Yehudis!”

Okay, grandmothers had license to say awkward things, but, grr….

When they finally arrived home, she waited for Sruly to finish his soup (cream of broccoli, which, Sima Brieger had tipped her off, looked fancy but was actually the easiest soup to cook) before telling him about Mrs. Eisen’s offer. But before she had a chance to say anything, Sruly brought up a totally different topic.

“You know what today is?” he asked.

Yehudis stacked the soup bowls in the sink. “Um… Monday?”

“That’s right. It’s Monday — June 2.”

“Okay. And your birthday is in August.”

“Ha. Well, it’s the second of the month. Which means we kind of need to pay rent.”

Rent! “That’s, like, foreign territory to us, huh?” She giggled. “This is making me feel like an authentic adult.”

She turned off the flame under the pepper steak and started filling their plates.

Sruly gave a small, fake-sounding laugh. “Yep. So, uh… I’d love to knock at Mr. Schechter’s door tonight. Did your father, you know… I mean, did you get the money from him already?”

Yehudis finally abandoned her serving spoon and turned around. “My father?”

They stared at each other, two confused faces.

“What are you talking about, Sruly?” she asked, slowly.

Sruly wrapped a napkin around his finger. “Your father’s share of the rent, you know….”

She didn’t know. Not at all.

She wasn’t expecting any rent money from her father. That had never been the plan. Every shadchan who’d ever redt a shidduch to the Herzogs knew that perfectly well.

But Sruly, apparently, had been advised about a completely different plan.

The smell of pepper steak overwhelmed her senses, muddling her frantically racing thoughts. There had been a misunderstanding. She had to clarify this, quickly. What should she tell him? What had he been told, and where was that information coming from?

Sruly appeared oblivious to the drama in her head. “He probably didn’t realize that our rent was due,” he said. “Do you want me to ask him? Or should I ask my father to ask him, if that’s less uncomfortable?”

“No! I mean…. No. Don’t do that. I’ll… it’s fine. I’ll ask my parents. I’m sure… I mean, yes, he probably didn’t realize.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 920)