As soon as got to the car, he checked off Communicate, Listen, Compliment, and Make Her Feel Valued.

February 25

Y

anky scanned his e-mails. Wilson was ready to close a deal on twenty hospital beds, Moscowitz wanted another estimate, this time without the IV poles, and then there was Lewis. Thank you for your visit. We appreciated hearing about the various options your company could offer our nursing home. I just wanted to let you know that we found a supplier whom we feel would be a better fit for our needs. All the best, Nate L.

Yanky narrowed his eyes as he mentally went through the list of competitors Lewis could be using. It wasn’t Med Supplies Unlimited — they didn’t have the special wheelchairs he needed. And Lewis was too cheap to go for Graceful Aging’s high-end products. Your Health, it was probably Fisher from Your Health who was undercutting him. He always swooped in just when Yanky was about to close a deal and tried to pluck the carcass from his mouth. He’d been working on Lewis for two months. He wasn’t going to let this happen. No one stole Yanky Kurland’s prospective clients.

He thought for a moment, trying to recall what products Lewis needed most, which prices he’d fussed about, what questions he’d asked. Then he sent a carefully worded e-mail addressing every one of the man’s concerns. He hit send and sat back with a smile. There, Fisher, I can play this game, too.

A quick glance at his watch. Five to five. Yanky worked hard, but he never left the office later than five; daf yomi was at six thirty and that was immutable. He sent two more e-mails, then switched off the computer, grabbed his coat, and left the small office.

As he slid the keys into the ignition of his car he debated which route to take home. Tried and true option: a left onto Maple and through back streets until he reached his neighborhood. Barring accidents or stormy weather, he’d be home in 27 minutes.

But Friedberg from shul kept telling him about this shortcut he’d discovered. He claimed if you took the highway to exit 37 and then circled back, you shaved at least five minutes off the ride.

Yanky liked being able to drive without having to think, his body getting him home while he reviewed the day and figured out how to snag new deals. But it would nice to come home five minutes early to Shaindy’s steaming soup. There’d be roast chicken and potatoes, or meatloaf, or stir-fry, or maybe even pepper steak, his favorite. The house would smell like pine — Shaindy cleaned the furniture on Wednesday — and he’d get an update on who she invited for Shabbos.

At the end of the street he paused. Then he swung right onto the highway. He squinted at the signs in the gathering gloom of dusk. There it was — exit 37. He turned off the highway and was soon pulling up to his sprawling brick home. It was only 5:21. He’d have to thank Friedberg at Maariv; this was a great shortcut. He parked in the garage and took the stairs leading up to the back entrance two at a time. He paused for a moment outside the door, inhaling the aroma of split pea soup. He could hear Shaindy chattering on the phone — she must be dealing with the endless arrangements for Rena’s wedding.

“It’s such an intense time, Malkie,” he heard her say. “I find myself getting so emotional.” A pause. “Well, for sure it’s partly because my baby is getting married. But it’s more. I’m finally going to take that leap.” Shaindy’s normally chipper voice sounded strained.

“You’re the only one I ever discussed this with. And I know you think I’ll never do it. But just you wait and see.” Yanky leaned closer to catch her next words.

“The day after that last sheva brachos I’ll ask Yanky for a get. I’ve made it work all these years, I did it for the kids. Well, the kids will all be married and settled once we marry Rena off. I can finally leave this miserable marriage.” A long pause.

“I’ve thought about it, Malkie.” A brittle laugh. “I’ve had 32 years to think about it. I’d rather be alone than continue this way. He’s overbearing. Insensitive. It’s not— oh, gosh, Malkie, it’s 5:27. He’ll be home any second. Talk to you later. Thanks for listening, you’re the best.”

The metallic click of the cordless being slid back into the base.

Yanky slid down the stairs, sagged against the wall of the garage. His breathing came rapidly, and he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Shaindy, his cheerful, pleasant, nondemanding wife, wanted to leave him.

How could she betray him like this? He was such a good husband, had provided for her and the kids all these years, paid full tuition, gotten them this beautiful house, given them summers in the bungalow colony and even a few winter vacations in Florida. He financed Shaindy’s custom sheitels and balabatish jewelry and always gave generously to whatever fundraiser she was chairing. He had taken the two boys to shul and Avos U’banim — whenever they were willing to go with him, that was — and sent each of his four daughters to seminary in Israel. Did she have any idea, any idea at all, how hard that had been? How many deals he’d needed to close to give her this dream life? And now this?! How dare she!

Horror and bewilderment morphed into anger, and the indignation pounded through his veins. He twisted the doorknob, about to charge into the kitchen to set her straight, when his cell phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen. Lewis, Nate. He could not miss this call. He took a deep breath and pressed the receive button.

Ten minutes later, he had an appointment with Lewis set up for Monday — and he was considerably calmer. He’d knock Fisher out of the way. That concern was taken care of. And now he wondered about this next worry. Perhaps he shouldn’t say anything to Shaindy about the conversation he’d overheard just yet. He’d have to find the right setting in which to bring it up. Every good businessman knows that timing is everything.

He walked in, called out a hello, and tossed his briefcase into the front closet. The kitchen table was beautifully set, as it was every night. Nice flatware, carefully folded napkins. “An elegant table makes everything taste better,” Yanky often said. And Shaindy honored that belief. His bowl of split pea soup was slid in front him a moment after he sat down. Then Shaindy ladled out a bowl for herself and sat opposite him.

“So, how was your day?” she said with a smile.

“Fine, it was fine,” he responded, looking at her sharply, studying her face for some glimmer of the resentment and disgust that had dripped from her words just a few minutes ago. He couldn’t find any.

“I met with the caterer this morning,” she told him, “and he said that everyone has carving stations at the smorg. It will cost a little extra — we can either pay per person or he’ll give it to us for a flat rate — but he says it will make the whole affair classier.”

“Don’t listen to those caterers,” Yanky snorted, “they just want our money. We don’t need no carving station. We didn’t have it by any of the other kids, and those weddings were plenty classy.”

Shaindy opened her mouth and started to say something, then shut down. “I hear you,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell him we don’t want it.” He was glad she agreed with him but wished she looked more certain about it.

She cleared the soup bowls and served the main course — it was pepper steak, but he could barely enjoy it — and moved on to discussing flights for the marrieds to come in for the wedding (Yanky insisted they fly out on Tuesday even if they’d miss the last sheva brachos because that’s when the miles flights were available), and whether they should ask Hershkowitz across the street to host one of the kids in his basement, or if they should put up Shaindy’s mother there. (Yanky told Shaindy to put her mother up there. He did not want her in the same house as him. And no, it wouldn’t be too hard for her to walk. They were across the street for goodness’ sake, not across town.)

Yanky kept looking for an opening, a weak spot in the conversation where he could bring up he’d just heard, but no pause seemed to invite “Why are you going to leave me once Rena gets married?” And then it was six o’clock and time for daf yomi and Maariv.

“You barely ate,” Shaindy said, clearing off his heaping plate.

“Wasn’t so hungry,” he responded, trying to ignore on the leaden feeling in his stomach. “Maybe I’ll have a snack later.”

They both knew those were his code words when he wanted her to bake something fresh and fragrant. Shaindy gave a tiny sigh, and walked toward the cabinet where she kept her baking supplies. Yanky walked out into the night.

He was finishing a distracted Maariv when he noticed David Berson two rows ahead. Wasn’t David a shrink? Even better, he realized as he searched his mind, someone had told him that David did marital therapy and was tops in his field. When David started walking toward the exit, Yanky rushed toward the heavy oak door.

“Hey, David, how are you?”

“Baruch Hashem, and yourself?”

“Good, everything’s good,” he waited a moment. “So, how’s business?” he asked in what he hoped was a tone of nonchalance.

“Busy, very busy.”

“Lots of bad marriages out there, huh?” Yanky forced a laugh.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call all of them bad, although some of them definitely are,” David said thoughtfully. “I think of them as troubled.”

“So what do you do? How do you make a troubled marriage good?”

David gave him a funny look. “Look, there are no shortcuts. It’s lots of work.”

Was this all the man would leave him with? Yanky felt desperate. “What kind of work?”

“Well, we work on communication, on listening, really listening, to each other. On giving unconditionally and offering compliments. Honestly, a lot of it boils down to good middos. A woman wants to feel valued and appreciated. A man wants to feel respected. When that’s in place, the rest usually works out.”

He made it sound so simple. Yanky had to write this down. He was ready to bolt to the refuge of his car when he realized that David was still looking at him curiously. “Sounds like quite a job,” he said with a strained smile. “I’m sure you’re doing wonderful work.” And with that, he hurried away.

As soon as he got to his car, he reached for his laptop and opened an Excel Chart that he hastily labeled “Make Shaindy Happy.” He created five categories:

• Communicate
• Listen
• Compliment
• Give Unconditionally
• Make Her Feel Valued

He slotted each item into a vertical column and then slid the dates into the horizontal columns. How long did he have? When was Rena’s wedding? He consulted his phone. Right after Pesach, April 15th. And today was February 25th. He had exactly seven weeks to win over his wife. He’d get the deal from Lewis and he’d get back his wife.

Yanky Kurland never lost.

February 26

As soon as he got back from Shacharis the next day, Yanky glanced at the sheet. Best to do something in the morning, so he wouldn’t have too much to do at night. What was the first thing? Oh, right, communicate. “What are your plans for today?” he asked Shaindy as he put coffee beans in the coffeemaker.

She looked up, startled. “Why? Do you want something?”

“No, not at all,” he stammered. “Just wanted to hear what’s going on.”

So she told him about the gown-fitting appointment, and the invitations that still needed to be addressed and stamped, and how she was hoping Rena’s friends would help her but they were all so busy with work and dating they couldn’t be relied upon, and she didn’t want to ask the neighbors because their kids were too young and would probably put on the stamps backwards and how on earth would that look?

By the time he finished his coffee and babka, Shaindy had been talking for eight minutes straight. He’d never heard that much from her in the morning. It was as though someone had uncorked a wine bottle and the ruby liquid was pouring out. He was afraid it would drown him. So many petty details, who really cared? But he kept smiling and nodding, so he could check off the box.

“Great babka,” he said as he finally stood up and escaped. “You’re an amazing baker.” Shaindy flushed with pleasure, and Yanky was surprised at how just six words could make his wife so happy. He could swing this for the next seven weeks.

As soon as got to the car, he checked off Communicate, Listen, Compliment, and Make Her Feel Valued. He wasn’t sure if he could give himself double credit for the same sentence, but then decided since this was his project, he could set the rules.

All he had left for today was Giving Unconditionally. He frowned slightly when he saw that. Didn’t he give to her all day at the office? Wasn’t every phone call and e-mail and exhausting half hour being nice to a nasty client a form of giving? He gave to her at work, she gave to him at home — it was fair and square. Why didn’t she see things that way?

He sighed, and pulled out of the garage. She clearly didn’t see things like that, so he’d have to find another way to give to her. But how? What did Shaindy want?

He mulled over this as he swung onto the highway — he used the shortcut every day now. If she wanted a particular item, she could just buy it. He gave her plenty of cash. But maybe she wanted something from him personally.

He started reviewing all he knew about gifts. You give your kallah flowers and a diamond, you give your wife jewelry for her birthday, a fancy night out for an anniversary, and chocolates and balloons for a baby. What on earth do you give a wife to prove to her you’re not an ogre?

He was nearing the office, and suddenly noticed a novelty store on the corner a block from his office. Normally he wouldn’t have passed it, but his new route took him through the shopping district that ran parallel to his building. He’d stop by there after work, he promised himself.

But it was a grueling day, and by the time Yanky stumbled out of the office at 5:01, all he wanted was a hot supper and a good night’s sleep. He was not going to pick up some tchotchke for Shaindy. He was going home. Four checks out of five was good enough.