Now, however, with this whole Ita Kratz mess, the opportunity danced before her eyes. The stage had been set, and it was time for her to come out and play her part.

And all her part boiled down to was those numbers.

Ita’s office was starting to feel claustrophobic. Leebie shot to her feet and peeked into the nursery. Ita wasn’t around, and she quickly slipped past nurses and cribs. Vaguely, she registered the time. The new mothers would start arriving shortly, and she needed to be ready for them.

She headed to the tearoom as a beep sounded through the hallway and Perl Breuer’s recorded voice played over the loudspeaker. “Hello, mommies! I hope you’re having a beautiful day. You’re cordially invited to a scrumptious lunch in the dining room.”

Leebie grinned. Perl always obsessed over her recordings, drafting her “script” with serious thought and then changing the recordings every other month.

In the tearoom, Leebie rummaged in the fridge for something to eat. She picked out a vanilla and mocha Swing yogurt and found a quiet corner in the lounge to eat.

Okay, money. How does a woman conjure half of a couple’s rent money without withdrawing it from the bank?

She bent the yogurt container and watched the mocha syrup trickle over to the other yogurt side.

The answer was simple.

Envelopes.

She had her prized envelope hidden under a pile of unused winter sweaters. There was a nice amount of money in there, cash she’d slowly saved up over the past two years in the hope of buying a new sheitel when she reached a substantial amount. Didn’t every woman have her own little knipl?

But then Amram had sent her to buy a new sheitel before Yehudis’s wedding, with a blank check and instructions to, “Go all out, Leebie. This is your time. Get the nicest sheitel you find.” So she hadn’t touched her envelope, mentally earmarking it instead for the fantasy of buying herself an eternity band one day, maybe for Rikki’s wedding?

Her phone buzzed. Another text from Amram: ???

She hesitated. And then words emerged from her fingertips onto the screen: Yes. Miscommunication. She’s going to talk to them to explain.

She licked her spoon as her thoughts raced, an incoherent string of memories. Shabbos at Akeres. A jumble of jackets and shoes and bags in the entryway. Amram, the kids, Shaya, jelly rings. Yehudis visiting — to use the computer….

Her fingers were clammy as she pulled up Yehudis’s contact on her phone.

And then, more words  untethered by neural pathways appeared on her screen.  Hey there, sorry for delay, she fascinatedly watched her fingers type. You can come over after school to get the money.

S

ourdough pretzels and peanut butter had taken up a crucial part of Yehudis’s daily nutrition.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like real food. She ate a decent lunch every day, either the same salad she made for Sruly, or some of the school’s lunch, which, now as an adult she could admit wasn’t bad at all. But somehow, after two hours of tutoring work, she was always famished, and the only thing she found in the teachers’ room were those staples.

But when she saw her mother’s text, she screwed the peanut butter lid back on and put the jar away.

Just like that? Come get the money?

How simple. How nonchalant. As though the four years she’d suffered through shidduch rejections on the no-support basis had never transpired. Had this been the plan all along? Or had her parents caved and neglected to update her?

She forwarded her mother’s message to Sruly — at least he wouldn’t agonize over the implications — then put her cell phone down as Sima Brieger approached her.

“Your contract,” the secretary said, holding out an envelope. “I know we’re really late with it this year, so sorry about that. But ahem, from what I understand, there’s an exciting little change in there for you?” She winked. “Congratulations… I told Mrs. Eisen she couldn’t have found a better pick for the eighth grade.”

Yehudis looked down at the table in what she could only hope was a display of humility.

“Anyway,” Sima continued. “Can you try to review and sign it by Monday? If there’s anything you want to discuss with Mrs. Eisen first, let me know, and I’ll schedule you a slot for a meeting.”

Robotically, Yehudis took the envelope and slipped it into her teaching bag. What else should she do, rip it apart in front of Sima’s eyes?

She had until Monday to pretend that one day, in 20 or so years, she’d be “that teacher,” with 25 years of experience under her belt, an acclaimed mechaneches who knew how to connect with girls, guide them to growth and success with her wise, gentle, and loving approach.

The peanut butter was sticky in her throat. Nice dream. In 20 years or so, she’d be… who knew? A secretary in some random office? Or not working at all, simply taking care of her family, making a difference in that definitely-most-important way?

It was a dumb envelope, but at that moment, her entire future seemed to depend on it. And although she couldn’t answer Sruly when he’d asked, she knew the answer: She did not want to give up her teaching job. Really, really not.

L

eebie was late again. Really late. Even Shaya was home from school by the time she pulled up in the driveway, and she couldn’t even explain how it happened. Had she been that busy at work?

She spent a few minutes straightening up the trash cans and picking up freeze pop wrappers from the floor — a long-lost battle. Then she pushed open the front door, once again nearly tripping over everyone’s bags.

A familiar ripple set out from chest. How many times did she have to remind them? Why couldn’t they simply put their stuff away when they got home? And Rikki — she was around when the kids came home. Couldn’t she demand that they put away their schoolbags? Was that asking for too much from a 19-year-old girl?

She took a deep breath. She was going to hold it in. She wasn’t going to yell. She would greet her children with a smile, and then she would simply… tell them. Calmly. Matter-of-factly. Or even… not. She lingered in the foyer for a moment, asking herself the three questions she trained herself to answer before reacting to a situation. Is it important? Is it kind? Will it help?

No, no, and no.

And therefore, she wouldn’t say a thing.

Score, Leebie.

And it wasn’t even so hard. Once the initial surge of rage passed, her brain felt clear, and her pulse relaxed.

Until she saw one of Shaya’s Oiber Chacham cards.

No, seriously. Those cards were like Maakos Tzefardeya. Every time she put one away, ten more sprouted out of thin air, on the counters, on the table, on the couch, on the floor. Every drawer and closet she opened housed yet more creased and ripped Oiber Chacham cards.

She stormed into the living room where Shaya was learning Mishnayos and dumped a pile of cards on the couch. “One more time I find an Oiber Chacham card lying around,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’m going to throw out every last card from the whole house!”

Shaya jumped up, startled. He grabbed the scattered cards and stuffed them into his pocket.

Even as Leebie’s brain screamed, Enough! You got your message across, leave him alone!, the tirade continued, beyond her control. “I mean it! I’m so done with this. Do you even realize when you put your cards down? Forget about the mess, don’t you care that they’ll get lost? What will you do the next time you want to play? Go hunting around for the whole collection in every room in the house? I should throw them all out, I’m telling you, every last card!”

A small cough made Leebie whirl around. Yehudis was standing in the entryway of the living room, an awkward guilt spread over her face. “Uh…. Hi, Ma.”

Leebie’s face went hot. They stood in strained silence for a moment, Yehudis’s sheepishness mingling with her own awful embarrassment, as though a stranger had just witnessed her moment of weakness, when really, it was Yehudis, her daughter, and she…. she was familiar with this.

“You asked me to stop in after school?” Yehudis said, falteringly. It was like she felt obligated to explain her presence — her unintended snooping on this whole yuckiness.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming.” Leebie gave Shaya a blank look before leaving the living room.

With Yehudis trailing behind her somewhat stiffly, Leebie took off rambling. “So, uh, what are you having for supper? Did you cook? You know something, I have food for you. I marinated chicken thighs in the morning, and I have plenty extra. I’ll put some in a container, and you’ll grill them in your Betty Crocker? And maybe go choose a soup from the freezer. I have a bunch of containers. And for a side—”

“It’s okay, Ma,” Yehudis broke in. “We’re having milchigs for supper. I prepared eggplant parmesan last night, and I’ll go home and bake it now.”

Oh.

Ah.

“Well, then. One minute. Let me go get the… envelope.”

Leebie escaped to her room, pausing as she entered to clear her lungs. Then she opened her closet, stuck her hand under her sweaters, and pulled out the envelope marked sheitel.

She counted out the bills now, half of a month’s rent, and put them in another envelope. With a gurgle of relief, she noted that she had enough money left for the next month’s rent as well.

And the next month? Well, she’d figure it out, right? Creativity and all that.

And the eternity band… Whatever.

Yehudis was sitting at the kitchen table when she returned, reading a printed sheet. When she noticed Leebie, she quickly folded up the paper and stuffed it into her teaching bag, clearly avoiding Leebie’s gaze.

Why? What? Had she done anything wrong? Did marrying off a daughter have to make every innocent interaction be so weird all the time?

Yehudis stood up and draped her bag over her shoulder. Trying to act completely casual but ending up with somewhat gawky movements, Leebie held out the envelope.

“Here,” she said. “It’s half of your rent.”

A little hesitantly, Yehudis took it and slipped it into her bag. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Sure, my pleasure.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Yehudis mumbled, “Guess I’ll go home now.”

Which was so weird, because, like, this was her home, wasn’t it?

Leebie’s legs were a bit numb as she escorted her daughter toward the front door. They passed the living room on the way out, and she nearly fainted when she heard Amram’s voice. When had he come into the house? Had he heard them talking in the kitchen?

It didn’t seem so. In fact, Amram had a huge smile plastered on his face, and Leebie watched as he slapped a hand over Shaya’s shoulder. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “My talmid chacham is plugging away again! Great going, Shay. Didn’t I tell you that my trivia sheets are going to make you love learning Maseches Succos? I bet you’re going to be your class’s greatest masmid this month again.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 923)