Out of Step: Chapter 42
Ma’s still staring at me like she can’t believe she birthed such a brat, so I hurriedly explain
Just a break. All I wanted was a break, a tiny little vacation from my life, just some sun, fun, laughs, and beaches. Images of me and Goldie lounging on chaises near the pool, shopping with Ma in some of Florida’s best malls, davening Minchah as the sun sets into the sea, salmons cooking on the grill as we sip iced coffees…. That vision was what was keeping me going during the long math classes, the color war practices, the Pesach cleaning and cooking marathons.
And now we were going to be learning to crochet and taking long slow strolls on the boardwalk with Babby’s walker.
I love Babby, I really, really do, but I need this. I need this trip to be lighthearted and fun, and that, too, is being taken away from me, like everything else this year.
I’m too annoyed to even talk. I shoulder past several brothers on my way into the kitchen, grab a frying pan, and begin making matzah brei silently.
“Throw some more matzah in there, Belka,” Naftoli calls.
“Oh, for me too,” Yehuda echoes.
“I’ll take some.”
“Yeah.”
I blink out of my reverie as brothers start coming out of the woodwork, following the scent of brown sugar and matzah.
“You guys. Just. Finished. Eating,” I say through clenched teeth.
Aharon pulls the maple syrup out of the fridge. “True, but we didn’t bentsh yet.”
They all laugh, and begin a deep halachic debate on bentshing and washing.
Bein hazmanim. It’s not for everyone.
Sighing, I crack some more eggs into the pan.
“I didn’t see any of you offer to make me a matzah and cream cheese sandwich when you were eating,” I say balefully.
I don’t really want a matzah and cream cheese sandwich, but I need to snap at someone.
“Uh, you weren’t in the kitchen then, Bell,” Chemia says, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh, you weren’t in the kitchen then,” I mimic.
The kitchen falls silent and I realize that I’ve killed the mood. Martin men are giving each other sideways looks and I know everyone’s going to be tiptoeing around my feelings for the next few hours.
“Whatever, it’s fine. Come and get it,” I sigh.
“Why don’t you take first?” Yehuda says wisely. I nod curtly, fill my plate, and stomp out to eat in the dining room.
Ma is sitting there nursing a Greek yogurt, and from the look she gives me, I can tell she overheard the entire exchange and she is not amused.
“Bella Rena, what has gotten into you?”
I plop my plate down on the milchig tablecloth Ma had spread and let out a giant whoosh of air.
“Florida,” I say succinctly.
Ma raises her eyebrows. “Really? Your grandmother wants to take a trip with you and you act like someone is forcing you to have an unnecessary root canal?”
I smirk at the metaphor. “No, I would love to take a trip with my grandmother. Just not this trip.”
Ma’s still staring at me like she can’t believe she birthed such a brat, so I hurriedly explain.
“This trip was for relaxing. Not for, uh…”
I’m not sure how to voice what I’m thinking in a respectful manner. Ma saves me from myself.
“Well, no one asked you,” she snaps, and then she walks out of the dining room while I stare openmouthed after her.
I shuffle back to the kitchen because I forgot to wash. My brothers all fall quiet when I enter and give me huge fake smiles that look like they’ve all just had that root canal Ma was talking about.
Lovely.
“It’s just not fair,” I whine to Atara. We’re hiding in the living room while my family bustles around, getting ready for our annual Chol Hamoed barbecue.
“Bella Rena, please come make a salad!” Ma calls. She still sounds annoyed.
“Coming!” I call back sweetly.
I lean in urgently to Atara. “I was just so looking forward to this trip after everything that happened this year, and now this? Can you imagine? My grandmother! Coming on the girls’ trip. It’s going to be Rummikub instead of row boating. Can you even?”
I pull the scrunchie out of my hair and remake my ponytail, smoothing back the thick strands.
“I mean, can you?”
I turn to meet Atara’s eyes. Her face is strangely blank.
“No,” she says softly. “I can’t.”
And that’s when I remember: Atara’s grandmother was nifteres less than a year ago.
“So all in all, it’s been a fabulous day?” Goldie asks me wryly after I catch her up on my not so comedy of errors.
“Urgh,” I grunt.
She giggles and spreads mustard on her burger. It’s the girl’s one flaw — she likes mustard.
“Am I wrong?” I ask. And for once, I’m not trying to be snide or sarcastic or smart, I just really want to know why every single one of my family members is sick of me right now.
Goldie puts her burger down on her plate and scoops a ketchup-covered Effie onto her lap.
“Honestly,” she says, eyes cast downward as she buries her face in his curls, “yes, Bell. Yes, you are wrong.”
to be continued…
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 818)
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