B

inyamin and I are out on our Sunday night stroll when I break the news.

“So….” I say, smiling at the Greenfields as they pass, “I was schmoozing with Tali and she got really excited about the Lakeviews and their babysitting and entertainment and she… uh, just booked it. I thought you’d want to know.”

Binyamin is not amused. He lifts a hand in that man-wave thing at Mordy Fishbein and then drops it heavily.

“No. Not happening. Bluma, I am not going anywhere with the Steinhauses! Remember what happened the last time we got together? You promised me I wouldn’t have to spend time with them, and then we ended up at that barbecue? There was no one I knew except Moshe Tzvi. It was bad. You know they’re going to want to drop their kids off at the kids’ activities and do adult trips, and they’re going to coerce you into coming along, like they did at the science center on Chol Hamoed last year. So no, absolutely not.”

I react angrily only because I know he’s right. “Okay, fine, Binyamin, so you call up Moshe Tzvi, and you tell him that we have zero interest in vacationing with them, and they’re not invited to the Lakeviews. You tell him that we appreciate their friendship from afar, but we can’t spend time with them. You tell him you just bought out the whole program and you get to choose who’s allowed to come, okay?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

I literally have to snatch his phone out of his hands; I think he’d already dialed.

We pass some high school girls clustered at the corner. They look at us curiously; I hope Binyamin doesn’t notice.

“Binaymin! I was joking! That is not a normal thing to do!”

He stops walking and looks at me straight on, eyebrows raised. “So you’ll speak to Tali?”

“Fine!” I burst out. “Fine.” I don’t know what I’ll do, she’s her own person and she can make her own vacation plans, but fine, I’ll tell her.

IT

seems to be hard to find the right time, though.

When she texts me two days later asking my opinion on snowboarding versus factory tours, I ignore her. At first.

I leave my phone on the counter and go break up fight number 22 since the kids dripped in from school. I almost lose my life skidding through a puddle, and then I lose my dignity by yelling at a five-year-old and a three-year-old about not mopping up after themselves.

When I finally reenter the kitchen, breathing hard like I’ve just run a marathon instead of parenting my children, I see she’s texted me again.

Also here’s that recipe you wanted for Swedish meatballs. The trick is in the size. Stick to small. Enjoy!

Okay, see, all she’s asking for is an opinion, and she’s also sharing a treasured family recipe.

But of course, I had promised Binyamin, so after responding with a “thank you,” I send another text. Super pumped for some long-awaited family time. Subtle as a missile, that’s me.

But apparently, Tali didn’t get my brilliant hint.

I know, because two days later, she sends me a screenshot of the activities she’s chosen. All on the grounds. I think about how we never stay on the grounds — really, truly, we use Lakeviews for the minyanim and meals, and I text her a thumbs-up emoji. Because what should I do? Tell her I got Lakeviews first, nah-nah-na-kish-kish? Tali’s an adult; she can do whatever she wants.

Still, I feel like a giant sneak. No, it is not a great feeling. I do not recommend.

Binyamin, surprisingly, hasn’t asked about the vacation again. On the one hand, it’s nice that he isn’t pressuring me, but also, it’s possible that if he had pressured me to tell Tali that it’d be cute to be in the same place, but she shouldn’t count on getting together, I wouldn’t be feeling nauseous every time Tali texts me something like, “Bought out the crafts store to keep the kids busy while we lounge at the fireplace! Got enough for both fams.”

I don’t respond to those comments at all, which you’d think she’d notice, but we still have our supper-is-killing-me nightly exchange, so maybe she just thinks I think she’s overeager? It’s happened before.

At least I can pride myself on having some backbone. When she texts me a pic of matching beanies she wants to buy, I do respond right away. Binyamin will not be amused. Don’t do it.

And my wonderful friend moves right on.

F

inally, the week before our trip, as preparations from Tali are flying in, fast and furious, I realize I need to say something to Binyamin. I don’t really see how I can stop Tali from going on whatever vacation she chooses, but we can’t pull up to the Lakeviews and happen upon the Steinhauses. Binyamin would be furious.

And he’d be right — a realization that does not bring me cheer.

I am embarrassingly moody and irritable, and I try to mask it in a colorful taco dinner. I leave work a little early to get to the grocery store for the ingredients, but of course they’re out of shells. I should have guessed; nothing is going right for me these days. Even my boss just told me I would have to work remotely while we’re away.

I settle for hot dogs and fries, and then traffic makes me late for picking up the baby, which makes me late getting home, and Aharon is crying on the stoop when I get there. Calming him down takes a while, and I find myself really annoyed at the bus driver who pulled away without making sure my child was safe. I think for a second about Aharon having gotten back on the bus and me being forced to drive 20 minutes to school to pick him up, and then I get annoyed at my five-year-old for not going to the neighbor, like we’d practiced.

Gosh, I really need a vacation.

Under normal circumstances, I’d call Tali right now, and she’d do her thing to calm me down, possibly suggesting we get babysitters and go out tonight, but of course, she’s the source of my troubles right now.

I am so done. The whole thing has to end, one way or another.

I look for an opportune moment to inform my husband that I’ve failed at Mission Break The News. It won’t be so bad as long as he knows in advance, I reason with myself. The Steinhauses are staying on the grounds, and we’re off to the local factory tours. Okay, there’s night activity, but Binyamin has friends there; he enjoys spending time with Yehuda Feingold, so the fact that Moshe Tzvi Steinhaus will be there, too, shouldn’t be a big deal.

Okay, if even I can feel how defensive I sound, this is bad news.

Supper is a mess. I’m snappy, which of course causes the kids to fight more than usual, and then Binyamin suggests I run upstairs and rest for a few minutes. I almost snap that he’s obviously trying to get rid of me, but I think about how I very much want to be gotten rid of, if it includes skipping cleanup and bedtimes.

At nine thirty, everyone is finally in bed and the house quiet. I tiptoe out of my room, feeling much more rested. But my head is still buzzing. I still need to talk to Binyamin. I decide to bake some chocolate chip sticks. For Shimmy. He’d been bothering Rena until I practically shoved him out the door to his night seder. I want him to come home to something warm that tells him I love him. And it helps that chocolate chips sticks are Binyamin’s favorite.

Does it sound like I’m scared of my husband? I promise you I’m not, but I’m about to come clean about something I know will upset him. It only makes sense to have everything else in place.

Shimmy comes home, lighting up at the cookies, and I know I’ve done the right thing. I ask him about his day, we schmooze a bit, and it’s surprisingly easy to send him up to shower. Then I’m alone again, puttering as I think about the conversation I still need to have.

F

inally, my husband

walks in.

He comes into the kitchen and helps himself to a couple of chocolate chip sticks. “Prepping for the Lakeviews?” he teases.

He’s smiling and relaxed, and he probably doesn’t mean it as a dig, but I take it that way. I’m not usually a midnight snack person, but the Lakeviews has an amazing tearoom. And here I am, about to ruin my husband’s vacation.

Binyamin sits down, all ready for a schmooze, and I almost chicken out. What if we pulled up to the Lakeviews and the Steinhauses happened to be there? There was that one year a kid from Shimmy’s class showed up, and that was a disaster, given that they were archenemies. But as we explained to Shimmy, it’s a free country and not our hotel; we couldn’t send anyone home no matter how much they bothered us.

Okay, I know this is not the same thing, but maybe it is, a little? I put the cookies in a jar, wipe the counter one more time, and sit at the table opposite Binyamin.

I consider my options and decide to go with ripping off the Band-Aid. “So the thing is… you know how we decided that we are definitely not going on vacation with the Steinhauses and I was supposed to break the news to Tali?”

Binyamin stares at me.

“So, I didn’t do that.”

He closes one eye and squints. “You didn’t do what?”

“Um, speak with Tali.”

He closes the other eye. “Aha. So the Steinhauses….”

“Are going to Lakeviews,” I supply helpfully.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Bluma! What in the world! You know I don’t like your friend and her husband. I don’t want them around on my vacation. I don’t ask much, but I asked you to take care of this weeks ago! You promised you’d do this!”

“I know,” I say. “I tried telling her and texting her and she just didn’t get it.” Okay, I could have tried harder, but really, what could I have said?

But apparently, my husband isn’t
finished.

“Look, I don’t want to be that guy, but if they’re going, I’m not. I’m not doing a family vacation with your friend and her husband. This is not a secret. You knew it right from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell her right when she asked you about it? And what have you been doing the past few weeks? Creating itineraries together?”

There’s a dig if there ever was one, and it gets my hackles up. “It’s not my hotel, Binyamin,” I say, just a bit louder than necessary. “She’s an adult, and she booked herself a vacation. I can’t ban people from going to Lakeviews.”

He looks at me. “You could have worked this out. I’m not interested in vacationing with the Steinhauses and you know that. This is not fair, Bluma.”

“You’re being dramatic,” I tell Binyamin, getting up to a get a paper towel. “It’s just a hotel. Tali’s going to do Lakeviews stuff, we’ll be taking the kids to the tours. You’ll hardly have to see them.”

I come back to wipe the chocolate chip stick crumbs, maneuvering around Binyamin’s fingers, which he’s drumming on the table. I almost miss his murmur.

“Night activity?” he’s saying.

“The whole world is at night activity,” I say. “I don’t think the Steinhauses should bother you.” And it’s true. We have our friends who go the Lakeviews every year, but there are plenty of families who can grate on our nerves. So we don’t sit next to them, big deal. “And if you can’t stand being in the same room as them, we can do our own night activities,” I offer, pretty generously, in my opinion, since night activity is the only time I can take a break.

“Bluma,” my husband says, and his tone makes me freeze. “We go to Lakeviews because we like what it offers. It’s a good base, they have meals and activities, and we have friends there. Night activity is a big part of it, and I like that we both can relax then. So no, of course we’re not going to skip those and do our own thing. You said you would take care of your friend and you didn’t. I relied on you, and honestly, you let me down.”

I feel a hot flush of shame. But also, why am I responsible for what Tali and her husband do? And how, exactly, does he want me to fix it?

“What do you want me to do?” I say angrily. “How do you want me to tell my best friend that you hate her without losing my best friend?”

“I’ll call Moshe Tzvi,” he offers again, pulling out his phone.

But of course I don’t let him do that, same as I didn’t a few weeks ago. Knowing Tali and her husband and mine, it will not go over well.

“I’ll figure something out,” I say, irritably, leaving the room. I can’t be in the kitchen right now. I’m too upset.

“Will you?” Binyamin calls after me. His tone is not loving.

B

ut I do. I’m driving to work the next day when I realize we could change our reservation. We usually go to the Lakeviews for the first three days of midwinter and come back with time to settle down before real life starts again. But if we booked for Sunday and Monday only, we wouldn’t overlap with Tali. If only I had thought of this three weeks ago.

I call the office and ask them if we can switch our dates. The guy on the phone cannot believe it, telling me how the Sunday and Monday were pretty empty, but there was a waiting list for the Thursday through Shabbos. He’s even willing to give us a discount.

“Are you making this switch just for your rooms?” he asks, and on a whim, I text Malkie Feingold to see if she’d want to do the same. It’ll make Binyamin happy if the Feingolds are there at the same time we are.

When I hang up, I voicenote Binyamin, letting him know about the switch. I’m not in the mood of talking about it, hearing all the cons, being reminded that if I’d only said something (hurtful) to my friend weeks ago, I wouldn’t be in this pickle.

Then I pull into the parking lot at work, happy to be distracted from the real world.

Next up: You’d think there’d be an ideal time to tell your friend your husband hates her and you won’t actually be joining her on your joint vacation, but surprisingly, there is not. Her texts keep coming, and I consider smashing my phone with a hammer.

Finally, the night before we were supposed to leave, I just bite the bullet. You know, over the phone, like a coward. A bullet-biting coward.

“Hey, Tali.”

“Bluma! Listen, I’m bringing card games. I know the hotel has board games, but my ki—”

“Tali, we’re not going.”

“You’re joking.”

I swallow weakly. “I’m not. I’m so sorry, Tali, something came up and we had to change our reservation. We’re going for just two days, the last two days.”

“Something came up.” Tali says it slowly, and I can hear her eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. Binyamin has a…” And I’m about to make something up, the way I always do when Tali gets stuck on a grand idea, but I’m suddenly very tired of tiptoeing and juggling everyone’s considerations. And doing it over and over and over again. I want to just say things straight. I should be able to do that, especially with one of my oldest friends.

“Binyamin doesn’t want to do a friends vacation,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

Tali’s quiet. “I hear that, Bluma. And that’s Binyamin’s right. But couldn’t you have told me that earlier? We’re going tomorrow. And I had all these plans….”

I start apologizing again, but Tali’s not done.

“And if you really don’t want to vacation with friends, why do you go to Lakeviews at the same time as the Taubs and Feingolds every year? Isn’t that the same as ‘friends’?”

I feel like the smallest person in the world. She’s wrong, since we will really, truly only see the other families at night, but she’s also right, because the Feingolds did end up changing their reservation to be with us. Either way, nothing I say will make her understand, so I just say, “You’re right. I should have told you. I just didn’t know how.”

I can’t really blame her when she hangs up on me.

Instead, I blame Binyamin.

“Why’d you have to pressure me like that?” I say quietly when he comes into the room.

He blinks at me. “Huh?”

“Tali is my best friend. Would it really be so hard for you to bend a little, just this once? I’d love to just do what I want, for once.”

I think he’s actually speechless; he’s making sputtering noises like a dying car.

I don’t wait to see if his engine gets fixed; I stalk out of the room angrily.

So vacation is starting, we’re stuck at home with cranky kids who don’t want to spend the next two days “doing nothing,” and my husband and I aren’t speaking.

I know my husband’s upset, and I even understand him. But I truly did not feel comfortable telling Tali she can’t go on her own vacation.

What would you have done?

Contribute to this column as a Second Guesser! Email your response, including your name as you want it to appear, to familyfirst@mishpacha.com with Second Guessing in the subject.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 975)