Tehila sat back. “Okay, well let me distract you. It’s over with that boy.”

Estee bit her lip sympathetically. “Oyy, I’m sorry, hun. Mutual?”

Tehila wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, him and his mother. I would’ve kept going.”

She was being flippant, but Estee could see she was hurt. Well, nothing like a healthy dose of reality to soothe the hurt.

“Rejection is Hashem’s protection and all that, but also, girl, being single for a little while longer isn’t a terrible thing.”

Tehila was looking at her like she’d suddenly announced she no longer wanted her Prada fanny pack. “Estee, what?”

Estee grinned flippantly. “Uch, nothing, just, you know, responsibility, cooking, it’s a lot.”

The look Tehila gave her said plainly that she was fooling no one so she dropped the facade. “Fine, you want to know the truth? Dating boys and being married to them… is different. Very, very different. It’s suddenly much harder when they’re forgetting to buy milk, or taking the car when you need it to get to an appointment, or being totally clueless!”

The last part came out too loud; she blushed.

Tehila’s forehead was scrunched up in worry. “Estee… I had no idea it was so hard for you.”

“It’s not,” she said baldly. “Hard for me, that is. It’s just hard, period. Trust me. I’m a really nice person and I can put up with a lot. Just sometimes….”

Tehila looked so horrified, Estee had to laugh.

“Look at me, scaring the single girl. Don’t listen to me. Talk to me about those shoes, I’m obsessed.”

Tehila had pity and took the bait, and it was a good thing, too, because Estee had the weirdest feeling she’d had this exact conversation before. Except then she’d been in Tehila’s seat, and a crying Ayala had been saying things that sounded a lot like the words she’d just spoken.

The last piece of sechach had been rolled up, the last slice of Melaveh Malkah pizza eaten, and Yonah was packing up the car again, so why did Estee feel like she’d lost something tremendous? Was it just that she couldn’t give Yonah Yom Tov in Boston?

No, it was more than that.

She grasped her sheitel box in one hand and her favorite pillow, which she’d brought with her , in the other. She’d always pictured shanah rishonah Yamim Tovim to be outlined in gold fairy dust. She’d imagined herself and Yonah sitting in the succah, bonding, whispering, laughing.

Instead, they’d fought, been hospitalized, separated, ignored each other, and cried. A lot. Well, at least she did.

The cold silence didn’t leave room for her to tell him that this Simchas Torah was different because her husband was one of the men dancing on the other side of the mechitzah. She hadn’t wanted to share her favorite devar Torah from sem, on kasheh alai preidaschem.

It feels like it was all wasted.

She looked up. Yonah was standing there.

“One last dance?” he asked, eyebrow arched, jerking his head at the now sechach-less succah. Had he read her mind?

She put her things down and followed him out. Just the patio couch remained. It was cold, but they sat on it anyway. She looked up at the open night sky.

“It’s strange in here, like this, with no sechach and no walls.”

Yonah nodded. “Yeah.” His face was impassive, and in the dark, he seemed like a stranger.

“I’m sorry Succos was a failure,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “It was not a failure. Let’s not negate everything. It just wasn’t… us.”

He was thinking about that. “I guess you’re right. There were some nice moments. Just overshadowed by others.”

She nodded. There had been good times…. Before the hospital, they’d had a great time bowling. And the first days had been cozy and cute….

She felt a smile turn her lips upward.

And wonder of wonders, Yonah smiled back.

They utilized the last week of bein hazmanim for important things, like walks in the botanical gardens and late brunch dates in the newest cafes. Estee was finally feeling back to herself. They say the second trimester is the golden time, well, she was going to take advantage of it as much as she could.

She wrinkled her nose as Yonah placed a Froyo topped with gummy bears, pecans, peanuts, chocolate lentils, and caramel sauce on the table.

“Please tell me that one’s yours, and my strawberry sauce with caramelized apple chunks is coming right up.”

Yonah grinned. “Kollel budget, Wife. We must share one portion.”

She shrugged. “Well, YOLO. But I do think this is what the doctor was referring to when he said don’t overindulge in sugary cravings.”

Yonah lifted a celebratory spoonful. “Probably.”

She laughed. She better live it up now: Her in-laws were moving to her neighborhood in exactly 12 days and life as she knew it may never be the same….

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1038)