Something happened. We need my in-laws, we need them. Goodness knows my parents won’t be of any help when it comes to a crisis

Some days I feel like I’m building a house of cards. I align everything so exactly, so perfectly. All 52 cards, they lean and balance and hold each other up like some genius feat of architecture. It’s so breathtaking I can’t even breathe. I can’t breathe in case I ruin it all.

Ezzy is sleeping. He’s so beautiful when he sleeps.

I step back, away from the bed with its padded head board, away from the weighted blanket and the cushioned walls and the floor full of sensory toys worth thousands of dollars, all fair game for destruction in the throes of a meltdown. The walls are shaking. Are they shaking, or is it my hands?

My legs. My heart.

I go to make myself a coffee. It’s so late, but I still need to catch a Maariv. My hands are shaking and the hot water spills on the counter. Coffee, sugar. Everything’s unsteady. Am I tired? I’m not tired, I’m exhausted. Ezzy was up at five.

“Yishai?” Reenie’s whisper floats out from the bedroom door. It’s dark in there. Her eyes are big and anxious. “Is Ezzy okay?”

I abandon the coffee. She’s been waiting for almost two hours, alone and anxious.

“Ezzy’s fine. He’s sleeping. It’s all good.”

She tugs at her snood. “Okay. Good. Thanks,” she says. I hear the helplessness in her voice. When did this even happen? One day she was superwoman, balancing household and job and autistic child with smiles and aplomb, reveling in the glow of our precious secret, and the next thing I know she’s confined to bed with strict orders to remain there. It’s all so happy and hopeful and also so stressful and just plain hard.

“What will we do about Shabbos?” Reenie asks pitifully, and I wonder for the umpteenth time who it’s harder for, she who can’t do anything, or me, who has to do it all.

“Shabbos is fine, it’s all fine,” I say. I can do this, I can do this. Maariv. Shabbos shopping. Cleaning up the house, cook for Shabbos —

“Wait, did you eat yet?”

She tries to smile. “Um, lunch?”

Lunch was hours ago, eons ago, while Ezzy’s speech therapist took care of him in the living room. Before the respite girls took him out for a precious hour, before I fed him supper and gave him a bath, before something (what on earth was it again?!) set off a screaming meltdown that swallowed the early evening hours and sucked the house up in its frenetic, urgent maelstrom.

I pass a hand over my forehead. Supper. Then Maariv, Shabbos shopping, cleaning, cooking, check on Ezzy, maybe eat something myself. The unopened bills on the dining room table, I think they came on Monday. And my father called before, I ignored it, he isn’t going to be happy. This night is going to turn into morning before half of what I need to do gets done.

But first things first, supper. Eggs, toast, spaghetti? Do we even have anything in the house? Reenie’s mother, angel that she is, has sent suppers for us every night so far. What happened today?

“Your mother didn’t come by today?” I ask, even though I know that if she would have, I’d know about it.

Reenie shakes her head. My eyes have adjusted to the dimness, and I see her expression shutter. Something spasms in my cheek.

“What happened?”

She looks away. “Let’s talk later.”

Warning bells. Now what? My head spins. Something happened. We need my in-laws, we need them. Goodness knows my parents won’t be of any help when it comes to a crisis.