Mommy slams two notebooks down on the table and sighs. “Two whole notebooks. Two! I filled up two notebooks!” She says this in a kind of disbelieving voice that has us all laughing.

“But how many notebooks?” Sari counters and we all grin.

Mommy smiles and waves a hand at our teasing. “Laugh all you want, but next time Keren calls, I’m putting one of you on the line, and then you can write frantically about calla lilies and lighting and venues and colors and designs. I mean,” she looks around the room plaintively, “there has to be an easier way, there just has to be.” We’re quiet, Mommy and Abba don’t really involve us in money matters and none of us know what to say.

Abba shakes his head. “You know there is, Deb. Just not…”

I finish the sentence for him. “Just not in Stonesworth.”

A Stonesworth wedding is basically two Brownsfeld weddings combined. Double the flowers, double the band size, double the prices…

I feel really bad for Abba and Mommy who I know do not have Stonesworth means of paying, but honestly, the only thing I’m really worried about is my gown. Like really worried. It needs to be perfect. Absolutely, positively flawless.

I need to have some sort of ammunition against the whispers that have been percolating around 10-B since the engagement. And, fun fact, most of the gossip is being circulated by my own besties. Yay.

Tamara is really pushing my buttons lately. She seems to be holding me personally responsible for tarnishing the group’s reputation. “I mean, it’s just uncomfortable,” she keeps saying, tossing her hair. “Like, why?”

I’ve stopped answering and have switched to an attractive shoulder twitch-mouth grimace whenever she brings up the subject.

But I am not amused.

Tzippy stumbles into the room, half asleep, and we break into wolf-whistles and cheers. She takes a bow, her ponytail falling over her face, her mismatched socks slipping on the floor. “Whoops,” she says and falls into a chair.

“It’s scary how grown-up she is suddenly, isn’t it?” Chunah wisecracks and we high-five.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Okay, I’m up, what’d I miss?” She’d taken a nap after college; Yechiel had come over for supper last night and the two of them had stayed up chatting ’til who knows what time.

Sari grins. “Not much, something about Mommy filling up an entire notebook—”

“Two!” Mommy bursts out and we all crack up. Tzippy doesn’t get it but she laughs anyways before pouting.

“You guys! I’m going to miss you too much.”

We fall quiet; our euphoria over the wedding is in direct contradiction to our depression over the idea of Tzippy leaving home.

I can’t even imagine it. Who will lead Brick Bunch activities? Who will drive us to the library, laugh with us on the couch, read books in the nook off the stairs? I lean over and give her a hug. She smells like Pantene and Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume, and suddenly, I have tears in my eyes.

I pull away and run out of the room, leaving everyone blinking after me.

I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the water, and let the sobs overwhelm me. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for Tzippy to leave, to start a new life, far away and alone.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 749)