You’re showing her that her father’s family exists, which is so important for her sense of self, for a healthy upbringing

.

There it was, the gleaming white Tesla, gliding up in front of her house like the driver owned the place. Automatically, Deena’s insides tightened.

But she quickly collected herself. Zev’s father didn’t own the place. Zev had never lived there at all. Deena had bought this apartment, a five-minute walk from her sister Tzippi, with her own money, three months after Zev had died, when Nechama had barely been two years old. She owned the place, and she kept it up.

Had Zev or his parents been around when the laundry room flooded? She had located the main, she had called down a painter to repair the ceiling. She managed emergencies, she maintained the house. Nobody could deny that.

The kids were scuttling through the hallway on skates made from Clics. “It’s time to go, kids.” Deena kept her voice level. “Zeidy is here.”

She said Zeidy, not your Zeidy. But It took effort. Mr. Lizman wasn’t Zeidy. He was Zev’s father.

Deena clapped her hands. “Kids…”

Nechama didn’t react. She continued skating, hugging the wall to maintain her balance.

Miri huffed and stomped her Clic-booted foot. “I’m not going!”

A wave of triumph surged in Deena’s heart, which she guiltily tamped down. Her phone vibrated. I’m outside.

“Let’s go,” Deena called. “Don’t make him wait.”

She fetched the girls’ jackets.

“Here’s your bag,” she told Miri.

She held out the little flip-sequin carryon she’d storied for Toys’n’More a few weeks earlier. Miri’s adorable carryon is packed with fun memories! Swipe to start making your own memories with it! She’d originally said fun family memories, but edited that out at the last minute. The story had gotten over five thousand views.

Miri took the carryon and drew a frown on the sequins.

“Remember to brush your teeth before Shabbos,” Deena told her. “And to put your medicine in the fridge, okay? You need to take it twice a day. I told Bubby, but remind her.”

Miri pouted. “I don’t want to go.”

Okay. Okay.

Deena inhaled. “I would love if you could stay, Mir, but your Bubby invited you this week.” She wrapped her arms around her daughter. “She’s Tatty’s mother, remember? She… loves you, right?”

Miri eyed her pensively. Go, Deena, you’re doing it. You’re showing her that her father’s family exists, which is so important for her sense of self, for a healthy upbringing. You’re—

Oh, who cared about upbringings? She patted Miri’s head. “You’ll be back on Sunday and I’ll buy you ice cream. Okay, sweetie? Now let’s go, put on your shoes.”