“Listen to me, Pessie. This is one big mistake, and you’re going to regret it. You need to talk him out of it. You can’t let this happen”

Deena liked staying home for Shabbos.

Her mother claimed she was stubborn, obsessed with proving her independence, but it wasn’t that. Really, it was just easier. Her girls behaved best at home. It was better for everyone this way.

Easier — but not easy.

The meal would only begin if she started it. She stuffed her magazine into the magazine rack and stood up. “Mommy’s going to make Kiddush, girls!”

It took a few more calls — Kids? Nu, Miri, Nechama? Let’s go, kids! — before Miri and Nechama settled their dolls down for naps on the couch and stood up on chairs next to Deena. Deena poured grape juice into the kos and — swallowing a lump, because this part was not easier —started reciting.

After Kiddush and hamotzi, Deena went back to the kitchen to get the soup. They skipped the fish when they were home for Shabbos. The kids wouldn’t touch fish, and what, cook a slice just for herself? She never bothered.

When she returned to the table, the girls were gone, back at the couch playing with their dolls.

Deena put down the tray of soup bowls on the table and quietly watched Miri play. The girl looked content. Happy. She did not look subdued, not at all.

An idea crossed her mind. “Kids,” she called.

The girls turned around. Miri put down her doll. “What?”

“Come here, kids.” Deena stretched out her hands and waved them over. Nechama cast a glance at her doll, shrugged and followed Miri to the table.

“What?” Miri repeated.

“Let’s dance!”

Miri’s eyes widened. “Dance?”

“Yes!”