My bag has a Bais Yaakov Convention key chain on it, a gift from my older sister. And my best friend is walking next to me, wearing blue jeans

My phone pings, startling me out of my statistics-induced haze. It’s another text from Talia.

I’m not going on the date. Nothing to wear. And the Jailers won’t give me money to buy anything.

I smirk and then sigh, passing a hand over my eyes. The girl has many nicknames for her parents; “the Jailers” is one of the nice ones. A paradigm of kibbud av v’eim she’s not, but her family life is difficult, and if anyone needs to get married and fly the coop, it’s her.

Be there in 20, I shoot back. I throw open my closet and pull out my three new dating dresses. It’s all right, I already wore them on dates one, two, and three with Yehuda. I smile at the thought and then grab my car keys.

I should really be studying for my math final, but Talia needs me.

Maybe she didn’t really need me last Erev Shabbos, but her text said she was starving and her house was filled with oily baked goods and various other foods she wouldn’t touch with a twenty-foot pole. So I ran out to 7-Eleven to stock up on her favorite low-calorie snacks and dropped the bag by her door with a smile and a hug.

It’s not a hero complex if you never get thanked, right?

  

He was everything the shadchan said he would be. Tall, good looking, out of the box. And yet, he was so much more than that. Am I really going to marry my first boy? My face hurts from smiling so much; I’m just happy when I’m with him.

“Would m’lady care for a drink after a strenuous day pursuing higher education?” he asks, curving into a deep bow.

I giggle and wonder if we’ll ever reach a point in our relationship where I find his theatrics embarrassing. My guess is yes, but that’s fine with me.

We enter Dunkin’ Donuts, inhale the scent of burned coffee and blink in the fluorescent lighting. I look around, surveying who will see me on this impromptu date outing so I can assess how far the gossip will travel. Not that I’m overly concerned. I’m definitely not embarrassed to be seen with Yehuda.

We stand in line behind a woman with long, ashy blonde hair, wearing a red sweatshirt and faded jeans. Yehuda asks me how my math final was. I try to answer, but then the woman in front of me turns and it’s not a woman, it’s Malki.

Malki’s in line in front of me in Dunkin’ Donuts. I think I have an out-of-body experience and then I can’t help myself.

“Malki?”

She turns, nose wrinkling in confusion, and my heart stops, because she looks terrible. Worn and tired, there’s a cigarette dangling from her fingers and she looks… cold.

“Do I know y— Sari?”

I nod and hesitate only a millisecond, very aware of the yeshivah bochur at my side, before reaching over and hugging her.

“Wow.” She looks genuinely amazed. “How long has it been?”

I’ve lost the ability to speak, so it’s incredible that I can squeak out, “Long.”

We laugh and then it’s her turn to order. “Coffee, black,” she says. “Gotta pull an all-nighter, taking the LSATs soon.”

I think my mouth moves, but no words come out.

“Hey, let’s swap info, yeah?”

And with that done, she waves at me and strolls off, ashy hair falling over her face as she swipes at something on her phone.

I say nothing as we head toward Yehuda’s Subaru. My mind is buzzing like a thousand angry bees, and I feel faint.

But I’m present enough to steal a glance at the boy walking next to me. He looks calm, but there’s a furrow between his eyebrows that frightens me. Thoughts of Malki fall to the background as I contemplate losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

I sink into the front seat when he holds open my door and he hands me my iced latte before going around to the driver’s seat.

I’ve never been treated like a princess before. I don’t deserve this. Malki…

And suddenly, she is right back at center stage.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, just to break the silence.

Yehuda gives a half smile. “Do you want to say anything?”

“Not really.”

“Then don’t.”

He presses a button on his steering wheel and Shwekey crooning “boee kallah” fills the car.

“Oh, that’s really awkward,” he says, turning red.

I snort and then clap a mortified hand over my mouth. We look at each other and burst out laughing.

And because of that more than anything, I tell him the whole story.