The fact that there was no food on Layee’s place mat should have been reason for Asher to begin wondering — and worrying — but he hadn’t noticed.

“So,” Layee began. “We need a school for Hudis. She's almost three, this is application year, and besides, Shmuli is almost of age.”

Asher looked up from his soup. “Okay. But what does one have to do with the other? As in, a school for Hudis and a shidduch for Shmuli?”

Layee wrapped a napkin around her finger. “Look. Which school — and cheder — a family sends their kids to is a big deal. It pegs the family as a certain type. Take Beis Chava, for example. I don’t think it’s balabatish enough for us. And then there’s Ateres Faiga, but… it’s just not our type. A little too yeshivish, maybe? I’m not sure. Then there’s Yeshiva D’Sarah, but that’s for sure out.”

“Why?”

“Too modern.”

“Wow,” Asher said. “Any other schools in the area left?”

“Yes, Bnos Golda,” Layee said. “They’re tops. So if we get in and someone asks information about Shmuli and hears that we send to Bnos Golda, you know, it just says something.”

“So it’s a good thing a girl came along,” Asher said as he emptied his plate. “Better late than never, huh?” Hudis had been a big deal after seven boys, but it seemed like the simchah was still evolving.

“Exactly. So now I need to fill out the application and make sure we’re accepted.”

“I guess make us sound uber erlich and frum, and throw in the right kind of references?”

Layee frowned.

“What?” Asher asked. “Anything I’m missing?”

Layee began shredding her napkin. “Actually,” she said, “there’s something I think you can do.” She looked up. “By combining business and pleasure.”

Asher laughed. “You want me to order surveillance on the principal or something?”

“Ha ha. Almost.”

Asher was suddenly serious. “The name Bnos Golda sounds familiar. I believe we do their alarm system. So Hudis will be safe there, if that’s what you mean.”

Layee shook her head.

“That’s not what I meant, no. I thought maybe you could find a way to track our paper around the office, you know? So in case it’s heading to the reject pile, we can quickly reroute it.”

Asher blinked. “You’re kidding. I mean, you are kidding, right?”

Layee smiled serenely. “Behind every great man, blah blah blah… And until a bochur finds his bashert, who is that great woman? His mother.” She stood up. “And so this is my duty — our duty —for Shmuli.”

Hoping she’d managed to hit the right tone of classy but not too trendy, Layee tapped on the office window.

A middle-aged secretary looked up from the printout in front of her and smiled. “I’m Mrs. Kohl. Can I help you?”

Layee waved the paper in her hand. “I’m here to drop off an application.”

“A student application?”

No, a janitorial application. With a microscopic heat-emitting thingamajig on it.

“Yes,” Layee said. “And I’d like to hand this over to the administrator in person, if possible. Please.”