“In the scheme of things, this is the kind of thing a yeshivah like this kicks kids out for”

She was watching the frying pan so carefully, she didn’t even hear the sound she’d been waiting for all day.

“Ma?” Levi came up behind her. “I’m starving!”

“Oh!” She whipped around, a fork in each hand. “You scared me!”

He didn’t respond to that, just leaned toward the stove for a better look.

“I made beer-battered pretzel chicken,” she told him, modulating her voice carefully, so it sounded like I made beer-battered pretzel chicken, not like, I made this for you so you’ll be happy and relaxed and because I care so much about you and I feel so helpless and this is the only thing I can think of doing. One whiff of that and he would bolt.

“Is it ready?”

The relief was like a living thing.

“I think so, pass me a plate.”

She piled it high with sizzling chicken fingers and handed him a bowl. “It’s a honey mustard dipping sauce, like the restaurants make.” Was she talking too much? “I put in red pepper flakes because I know you like it hot.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

An actual thanks, not bad.

She took a plate and sat across from him. Beer-battered pretzel chicken wasn’t really her style, but it’s not like she could just sit there and watch him eat. “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“What’s new in yeshivah?”

“Nothing.”

“How’s the chicken?”

“Fine.”

She let a few minutes pass.

“Any plans for tomorrow?”

Grunt.

Why don’t you invite Moishy over? We never see him anymore.

You need a haircut.

Did you get your test back?

She didn’t say any of these things, just watched him eat until he scraped his chair back and stood up.

“Ma?” Levi said.

Zahava looked up too quickly. “Yes?”

“Can I invite someone for Shabbos?”

“Sure,” she said casually. She went back to the stove, as if the schnitzel was her greatest concern. Deli roll, she thought. And flanken in the potato kugel, and anything and everything that will make Levi proud to bring friends home.

“Which friend?” she asked, as an afterthought. She turned around, he wasn’t there.

“Levi?” she called.

She stepped into the hallway, spoon dripping onto the carpet. He paused on the stairs, so she was looking up at him, her big little boy. In the waning daylight, dust particles floated around him, and a last ray of sun struck through the landing window, lighting him with an eerie glow.

“Yeah?”

“Which friend?” she asked.

With his long-legged stride he was halfway to his room already. “His name is Markowitz,” he called back.

***