“B-b-but,” I sputtered, “how could we give them a shtar mechilah if they never even said I’m sorry?  How do you forgive someone who never asked for forgiveness?”

Iwas sitting at the kitchen table at 10 p.m., working out the seating arrangements for my son Shaya’s wedding the following night, when my cell phone rang.

“Ma.”

It was Shaya, who had left the house a few minutes earlier to bring his stuff to the apartment where he and his kallah, Rivky Kaufman, would be staying during sheva brachos.

“Ma, are you sitting?”

“Sure I’m sitting, Shayale, I’m doing the tables. You have no idea how complicated this is. I can’t seat Tante Frimchu next to Aunt Judy, because they don’t get along, but I also can’t seat her with Tatty’s side of the family … I’m telling you, I don’t have the head for this now.”

“Well,” Shaya said, his voice wavering a little, “you might as well stop now. The wedding is off.”

“What?” I gasped. “When — what happened?”

“I just got a call from Eliezer Kaufman, Rivky’s older brother. He told me that the shidduch is off.”

“But, why?” I cried out.

“He said it’s, er, lashon hara, and he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Shaya stammered.

“I texted Rivky to find out what’s going on,” Shaya continued, “but she didn’t write back. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

I felt numb. What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say? I wanted to hug Shaya tight and tell him that it was a mistake, that everything was going to be fine.

“Shaya, come home,” I said. “I’m calling Tatty to come home, too. We need to figure out what to do.”

There was a pause. “What should I do with my stuff?” Shaya asked hesitantly. “I just finished hanging up my suits and ties in the closet.”

“Leave it there,” I whispered. “Just come home.”

I buried my head in my hands, wondering how I could possibly break the news to Kalman, who had gone out to daven Maariv. Just then, Kalman called me. “The strangest thing just happened,” he said. “My friend Gershon Feldstein came over to me after Maariv and told me that he’s sorry to hear the bad news. I asked him what on earth he was talking about, and he clapped his hand over his mouth and said, ‘Oy vey, you don’t know?’ After that, he didn’t want to tell me anything, but I forced it out of him. The Kaufmans broke the engagement. Everyone in shul is talking about it.”

Shaya walked through the door just at that moment, looking white as a ghost, and Kalman stormed in a few minutes later.

“What kind of business is this?” he fumed. “Breaking an engagement the day before a wedding? And telling the whole world before bothering to let us know? What a chutzpah! I’m calling Chaim Kaufman right this minute.”

He didn’t get very far. The moment he introduced himself, Chaim Kaufman, the kallah’s father, said, “I don’t think we should be discussing this directly. If you need to tell us anything, please call the shadchan.”

Kalman’s face went purple when he realized that Chaim Kaufman had hung up.