Ma is avoiding her eyes. That means she’s up to something. Probably gearing up to send Reena’s info out to every shadchan on the East Coast. In fact, why stop there? She’ll probably try the West Coast, too, if not go international. Second-timers don’t get to be picky.

“Ma.” Reena abandons the steaming coffee and meets her mother’s eye. “Is this for something specific? Because we agreed that this time…”

This time. There’s something about those words that seem to freeze the air between them. She veers to safer waters.

“Besides, I don’t have an updated résumé. I don’t need one, because I’m not interested in starting anything right now.”

Or ever, she doesn’t add. Ma hears it anyway.

“Reena,” Ma begins, her tone the verbal equivalent of throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s been, what? Two years now? I know it was hard. Traumatic. The situation with — with him. But…”

“I know, Ma.”

She does. She knows all the buts: You’re getting older. All your siblings are married. It’s time to move on.

Move on. Like it’s that simple.

“There’s a kid in my class,” she says, her voice choppy. “His mother wants to mainstream him.”

“But Reena, we were talking about—”

Coffee. She needs coffee. Her hand is shaking, and when she picks up the cup, boiling liquid splashes over the rim, scalding her. She dumps the cup down, runs her hand under cold water.

“He has special needs. He needs a behavior plan, an aide, therapies, a sensory diet. Just to get through a regular day.

“This mother is trying to force him into something that will never work for him. That will break him. He can’t sit in a regular classroom, in a hard plastic seat, for hours at a time. Even with all the aides in the world.”

She’s rambling. Maybe it’s the pain of the burn. Or the icy cold of the water. She turns off the faucet, examines the ugly red patch of skin.

“Weren’t we talking about your résumé?”

“We were.” Reena grabs her coffee, finally takes a sip. Ugh, she’s forgotten sweetener. “We are.”

Ma is genuinely confused. If this were about anything else, Reena would feel sorry for her.

“So, you’ll send it to me? So I can send it out?”

Reena pictures Yoni. His adorable face blank, uncomprehending. The way his feet start to jiggle and shake if he has to sit still for too long. And how the tension builds, first in his legs, then his arms, then his entire body, until he slams his head down and screams, screams, screams.

Her heart hurts.

She forces her tone to soften, like she’s talking to a student.

“Please, Ma,” she says. “Let’s just leave it.”

BubbyÕs house might not be an escape from the subject of shidduchim, but at least they can talk over cheesecake. Besides, Bubby gets her, somehow. Their conversations are different than the ones she has with Ma.

“Shavuos sneak peek?” she asks Bubby, holding aloft a spoon dripping with dulce-de-leche.

“No, just treating my granddaughter.” Bubby winks. “So, to what do I owe the honor of a visit on a regular weekday?”

“I need a reason to visit you?”

“Sure. Especially when it means you can get out of arguing with your mother. Someone has an idea for you?”

She’s as sharp as ever. Reena laughs.

“Come on, Bubby, let me at least enjoy this heavenly cheesecake in peace.”

Bubby smiles, but there’s a shuttered look in her eyes. She drops the subject, which is suspicious enough, and then she turns to Reena suddenly.

“What are your plans for Shavuos?”

“My plans?” Reena stares. “I don’t have any. I mean, the usual. Home, maybe Chaya or Aliza will move in with the kids, I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it much, to be honest.”

What’s there to think about, if she’s not the one making Yom Tov, no longer patchkening in the kitchen for an overnight learning marathon, not cooking or cleaning or hosting or anything at all?

Bubby rubs her fingers over the handle of the spoon in her hand. Her own slice of cheesecake is still untouched.

“Reena, dear. How about we go away for Yom Tov together?”

Thailand.

But why?

“Because I’ve never been there, of course,” Bubby had said matter-of-factly, and Reena had subsided, confused, because on the one hand, this was so Bubby — always trying something new, unwilling to act her age, concocting the most creative ideas as easily as a batch of her no-mixer brownies.

On the other hand, it’s not like Bubby at all. Creative and artsy and trendy and fun-loving, yes; exotic traveling and Yom Tov away from home, no. What about family? What about making her mega Shavuos kiddush, the meals at a dining room table stretched to its limits, an endless stream of visitors and grandchildren and yet another cheesecake, artfully plated and sliced?

And what will her parents think about it?

Not that they’ll stop her. She’s always free to make her own plans. She’d been married, for goodness’s sake. Still, she hopes they don’t get insulted. Or think it’s strange.

But when she broaches the subject at the table that night, Ta says he thinks it’s a great idea.

“Seriously?” Reena blinks. This isn’t how she envisioned the conversation playing out.

Ma ladles soup into three bowls. “Why not? You and Bubby are so close, she’ll enjoy going with you, and it will be nice for you too. It’s exotic. Fun. You’ll get to relax a little.”

Okay, something is seriously up. But what ulterior motive could her parents have for sending her off to Thailand, of all places?

Aside from, of course, shidduchim.

Reena’s mind races.

There’s a boy in the Bangkok Chabad house and it’s an elaborate ploy to get them to meet.

Or they need her out of the way, because while she’s gone, they’re gonna run huge ads in all the magazines. Seeking: older bochur for our very eligible, absolutely wonderful, once-married daughter.

Or… maybe they think she’s bitter and depressed and needs a break.

“I’m not dating there,” she reminds her parents. “Not even if an eligible guy is sitting in the Chabad House waiting for me.”

“We know,” Ma and Ta say together.

“And you won’t… um, make any plans while I’m not here? Plans for me, I mean.”

“Of course not.” Ta shakes his head. “This isn’t some devious plot, Reena. We just think it’s a good idea for you to go with Bubby for Yom Tov. She wants to go, and she wants you with her.”

Okay, fair enough. But just to make sure, she says, “I’m doing this for Bubby. Not because I need to get away to Thailand or anywhere. I’m fine here, I didn’t have any plans to go away for Yom Tov. Really.”

“We know, Reena. We know.”

Apparently, that’s all it takes.

So Thailand it will be.

Her boss is surprisingly accommodating about giving her the time off.

“You haven’t taken any vacation days all year, you deserve it,” she tells Reena warmly.

And if there’s a tiny tinge of pity lacing her tone, for her employee who has no reason to take off work at random intervals, like Chavi or Etty with their babies and family simchahs and stuff going on, Reena chooses to hold her head high and ignore it.

Etty’s reaction is typical, a shriek of excitement at Reena’s exotic destination, a shriek of dismay as she realizes she’ll be manning the fort alone, and a plea for Reena to meet with Yoni’s mother before she leaves, so things don’t deteriorate even further while she’s away.

Which is why she’s sitting in their small office, just six hours before leaving for the airport, waiting for Yoni’s mother and thinking about how strange life can be: She’s off to Thailand with Bubby, suitcases lined up near the front door, and she’s still not sure she understands why.

This is Bubby — independent, daring, able to turn the rainiest Sunday into an adventure from the comfort of her own home, but not the tour-the-world type at all; isn’t Bubby always saying that anything she wants to do, she can find in New York? Besides the Kosel, of course.

And Reena herself — she’s never been the globetrotter type. First she was busy dating, then she got engaged… Her single friends traveled to exotic islands like Aruba and did customary tours of the Alps. But at this stage, the tour-the-world thing feels kind of stale. Like she’s joining the club too late.

Besides, Bubby’s acting kind of evasive, changing the subject mid-conversation too often, her face wearing that closed expression again, and if Reena had any time to think, she’d probably wonder, but even now there’s a tap on the door, and she forces the thoughts away and pastes on a professional smile to greet her student’s mother.

Mrs. Portowitz is diminutive and wide-eyed, not the kind of mother that Reena expects to find so… challenging to talk to. But here she is, still insisting that Yoni is capable of flying to the moon on a toy rocket, and she, Reena, has to do something about it, right now, before it’s too late.

She opens her mouth to launch into the speech she’s prepared, but Yoni’s mother speaks first.

“You don’t understand,” she says. Her voice is plaintive and a little hoarse, like she hasn’t slept much last night. “I know you all think Yoni should stay where he is, he’s doing well… but really, it’s indescribable. He’s a different kid compared to last year. It’s not just that he made progress — he transformed. Like, you can have a conversation, explain things to him, and he gets it.”

She’s talking like she rehearsed, but something is off, the way her eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at Reena’s face.

It clicks —Yoni’s mother isn’t stubborn or annoying or out to cause them problems. She’s afraid.

Reena knows fear. She knows it too well.

The words she prepared disappear. Because it’s frightening — terrifying — to admit that you are powerless, that some things might never change.

It’s easier to deny what’s obvious. She knows how that feels, too.

Yoni’s mother is terrified, Reena realizes, that if she faces reality, she won’t be able to handle it.

Reena leans forward. “I understand,” she begins. Her voice is raw, cracking. “I really, really do.”

Mrs. Portowitz laces her fingers through the straps of her pocketbook, pulls the straps taut. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes are fixed on Reena.

Reena wants to talk and explain and convince, but her throat closes and all she can do is hold Mrs. Portowitz’s gaze and say again, “I hear you. I get it. And… it’s hard, so hard, to do what you’re doing.”

“So, you’ve all been saying… you think Yoni wouldn’t do well in a mainstream setting,” Mrs. Portowitz says. Her voice is low.

Reena blinks. Yes, that was what she had come here to say. But she hadn’t actually said it, because it isn’t about facts, it’s about feelings, but even so, Yoni’s mother slowly nods her head.

Is that how it works? Speak to the fear and it disappears?

“I… hear you. I’ll speak to my husband. We’ve been unsure, ourselves. Maybe we’ll leave him here for another year. Take it from there.”

It takes five minutes to wrap up the conversation, grab her bag, give Etty a thumbs-up, and fly out the door to her car.

Her phone pings. Etty. What happened????

She texts back a quick It’s fine, she understood, ttyl and doesn’t bother to reply to Etty’s incredulous you’re a magician. She needs to find her passport, grab some food, and pick up Bubby for the ride to the airport. Thailand is waiting for them.

TheyÕve been in transit for well over 24 hours by the time they touch down in Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport. Reena’s eyes glaze over, gritty with fatigue; she has a vague impression of soaring ceilings and modernistic design, and then they’re collecting baggage and hailing a bubble-gum-pink taxi to take them to their hotel.

“Our first views of Thailand,” Bubby announces to Reena. “Oh, don’t sleep now! There’ll be plenty of time to sleep when we get there. Now there’s so much to see!”

Reena cracks an eye open and smiles. Her grandmother is incorrigible. “I feel old next to you, Bubby.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re as young and energetic as I am.”

They both laugh. Reena relaxes. Whatever that weird thing was with Bubby, it must have been nothing. Bubby’s fine, she’s hale and hearty. Unless, maybe a little too hearty?

The hotel is just around the corner from the local kosher restaurant. They brought some tuna and basics, but Bubby insists on taking her out for a “real” supper before they finally go to catch some sleep.

And then it’s morning, Thai sun blazing through high windows, and Reena is wide awake.

“How about we go to the elephants today?” Bubby asks, brightly.

“Elephants?”

Bubby had insisted on planning their itinerary; Reena didn’t mind. She’d had a vague idea of colorful markets and woven souvenirs, and now that Bubby mentions it, elephants, Thailand, right. But…

“Riding elephants?” Reena makes a face. “Too high up for me.”

Bubby’s eyes dance. “Come on, what are we in Thailand for?”

“There are other things to do.” Reena opens a guidebook lying on the desk. “We can do the floating market, or the orchid garden, or these tour thingies…”

They spend the morning exploring Khao San Road, where Reena finds the market she’d been imagining. Stalls and storefronts, crowds of tourists, vendors hawking everything from travel gear to DVDs to hair accessories. Smells, sights, and sounds assail her.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” she murmurs.

Bubby smiles. “A far cry from New York, huh, Reena?”

“Sometimes it’s better that way,” Reena says without thinking.

Bubby’s smile disappears.

In the afternoon, they hire a driver to take them to Amphawa, where they’ll take a boat tour to see the famous fireflies along the riverbank. It costs the equivalent of $30 for the two-hour round trip.

Amphawa is a tourist haven, but cheap; the souvenirs are much less pricey than Bangkok. Reena buys jade rings for her two oldest nieces and a scarf that Ma will probably never wear. Bubby goes off to buy them tickets for the boat ride. She moves briskly among the crowds, looking as young as the backpackers.

Reena stares after her. What is Bubby’s secret? And what are they doing here together?

The sun is starting to set as they board the boat, which is long, thin, and low, with a flimsy cover held up by wooden poles. It wobbles precariously with every person who steps aboard. Reena settles on a bench, smooths her skirt. The river is mud dark.

A moment later, they’re navigating out of the dock and into the open water. Boats cruise along the river in both directions, the banks are lined with huts, and in the dusky dimness Reena can see the people who live in them sitting near the water, some washing pots and dishes at the bank.

The guide speaks in rapid Thai. The sky darkens. Lights splatter glitter over the surface of the water. It’s magic, close enough to touch.

Reena breathes. It’s good for her to be here. Just to… be.

And then it’s night, and in the darkness Reena suddenly sees one, two, ten, a million sparks.

The fireflies.

The boat slows, ripples on the breeze.

Bubby puts an arm on her shoulder. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Gorgeous.”

The fireflies zip around, dots of light. But it’s not just the fireflies, it’s more than that.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “The lights… the darkness. Everything.”

Bubby nods, squeezes her hand. “Some people…” she says. “Some people are afraid of the dark.”

Afraid. Yoni’s mother pops into her mind.

“It’s not the darkness,” Reena says slowly. “It’s the unknown. Right?”

“The unknown.” Bubby’s voice catches. “Yes. Because the world… is beautiful. So much possibility, opportunity, light.”

Light. Catch the light, catch the firefly, before it winks itself back into darkness.

“Reena, what are you afraid of?” Bubby asks.

Reena sucks in a breath. “Who says I’m afraid of something?”

“Everyone is.”

Reena tears her eyes away from the fireflies, half turns to face Bubby. “I’ll share if you do,” she says lightly.

Because come on, Bubby’s not afraid of anything. Not her free-spirit, 77-years-young grandmother.

But once again, Bubby surprises her. She squeezes Reena’s hand, gives a jerky nod, and says, “You first. Why? Why are you afraid of trying again?”

Reena closes her eyes. The boat bobs and crests on the water. The guide talks, foreign words, a soothing backdrop. And when she opens her eyes again, the night is broken by a thousand tiny lights across the water.

The words surprise her, but she knows that they’re true, even though it’s the first time she’s saying them.

“I can’t do it. I can’t… trust myself. To make the decision. Look how wrong I was. Look what a mistake I made.”

She thinks of dating, a whirlwind. A pros-and-cons list, talking to Ma, her teacher from high school. It’s normal not to feel so excited at this stage, they said. As long as there’s nothing to worry about.

But the signs were so subtle, so small, and who could decide if they were considered “something to worry about”?

And he said yes, he wanted to propose, the shadchan called once, twice, what are you waiting for, don’t do this, Reena. You don’t want to get a bad name, commitment-phobic. Everyone’s nervous before they get engaged.

Just do it, you’ll see, you’ll feel better, it’ll be great.

She did it. She didn’t feel better. And it wasn’t great at all.

Bubby’s fingers wrap around her own, tugging her back to the present. A boat. Thailand. Dancing fireflies.

“Is it true, Reena? Is it really true? That you can’t trust yourself to make a decision, a better decision?” Bubby asks. Her voice is low, almost musical, harmony on the breeze. “Are you the same person that you were five years ago? Or have you grown, changed, matured, experienced more? Learned to navigate challenges, to trust your judgment?”

Reena thinks about Yoni’s mother, the way she saw the fear in her eyes, how she talked to her pain. The way she knew in her gut what Yoni needed, what his mother needed, and found the resources inside her to bring it to reality.

She isn’t the same as she was back then. Not by a long a shot.

Reena breathes the words, a whisper on the wind. “It’s not true. I am different now.”

They’re quiet. The boat begins to turn. They’re heading back. Reena feels a tiny shift, tiny but cataclysmic, and she has a sudden sense that maybe the whole trip has already been worth it.

“You haven’t asked me what I’m afraid of,” Bubby says. “My side of the deal.”

Reena is taken aback. Somehow, in the blinking light of her new discovery, she’d forgotten how the conversation began. Besides…

“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything, Bubby.”

“And I told you, we all are.” Bubby swallows. Suddenly she seems so small. “I’m afraid… Reena. I’m afraid of dying. Of saying goodbye. To you, to everything, to this beautiful world. That’s what I’m most afraid of.”

The reaction is automatic. “Bubby, please. You’re so young. Don’t talk about things like that.”

But Bubby is shaking her head, and Reena’s heart knows the truth before her grandmother speaks.

“I was concerned for a while. I went to the doctor a few weeks ago, and then saw a specialist two weeks ago. They confirmed. It’s terminal, and I don’t have much time left.”

The boat is moving, leaving the fireflies behind. But Reena is frozen. How can the world move on? Stop, freeze time, it can’t be!

“That’s why I wanted to come here for Yom Tov. With you. I want to use my time, every minute of it, fill it with life’s experiences that I’ve always dreamed of doing. I have a bucket list, you know.” Bubby smiles; the old vitality is back. “There are so many adventures, dreams to fulfil… and also, I wanted to have this time with you. To talk. Before…”

Before it’s too late.

Reena’s hands fly to her face. She feels her palms, clammy against her cheek, everything’s hot and cold and too much to process.

Bubby. Sick. Terminal.

No. No, no, no, no.

The pieces clatter together in Reena’s mind. This strange, sudden urge to fly to Thailand, travel the world, when Bubby has always reveled in spending Yom Tov at home, with family. The sense that there was a secret, Bubby’s elusive mysteriousness, her parents’ sympathetic reaction when she’d told them Bubby’s plans…

They sail past the last of the bushes. Flare, light, dim, go the fireflies.

Bubby is dying.

The tourists around are lively, chattering, shoving selfie sticks in the air. Even Bubby seems serene, tranquil, like she’s shed a burden just by telling Reena about it.

But she is pulling away, distraught. How can you… how can we… how can anything just continue—

There are no words.

She looks back. Thousands of fireflies in the bushes just behind her, yet the riverbank is utterly dark.

Hours later, back at the hotel, she forces herself to speak.

“Good night, Bubby.”

“Good night, Reena.” Her grandmother’s voice is soft. “And don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”

How can it be, when you’re leaving me? Reena thinks. But this is her Bubby’s pain, she has to make it easier, not harder.

It takes superhuman strength to muster up a smile. “What are we planning for tomorrow?”

“It’s on me.” Bubby winks. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

It’s only when they’re in the taxi, bags of food from Chabad in their laps, that Reena realizes. It’s the elephants. Of course, Bubby won’t have given up on that.

“Didn’t we decide not to do the elephant rides?” she asks, half-sighing, because this is Bubby, and right now, she’ll do anything for her.

Bubby flashes a disarming smile. “We’re here to conquer our fears, not indulge them,” she says.

Conquering fears. Well, if she’s being forced to do it, maybe she can challenge her grandmother, too.

“Your bucket list.” Reena stops. The words are so raw, so wrenching. I’m afraid to say goodbye. She swallows, forces herself to continue. “Can we talk about it? About… what you still want to do? And if, if…”

She darts a look at her grandmother. Bubby’s face is set. Her fingers close around a small sheet of stationery — an actual list.

But is that really the way forward? Is that facing the fear — or avoiding it?

She closes her mouth again. This is not her call to make. But she has to say something, put her heart into words.

“Conquering fears might mean flying to Thailand,” she says, finally. “But it might look… different. Maybe?”

Bubby doesn’t answer. The driver speeds up, careens around a corner. A sign ahead directs them to an elephant sanctuary. Reena’s throat closes.

They climb out of the car, stand for a moment in the thick Bangkok heat.

“You’re right.”

Reena looks at Bubby, surprise flashing across her face.

“Yes, Reena. You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this.” Bubby shades her eyes, looks across into the distance. Wooden huts, fencing, can she make out the hulk of an elephant beyond? “If I want to face this, as they say, head on… I shouldn’t be chasing adventure. I should be with the family, use the time the best way, even if it is the hard way. The ‘bucket list’… it’s a distraction. A way to avoid the fear. Not a real goal.”

Reena leans into Bubby’s shoulder. “Bubby,” she whispers. “You’re so brave.”

“We’re going to make a deal,” her grandmother says. Her voice is strong, brisk, cheerful. The real Bubby, at last. “We’re each going to commit, here and now, to facing our fears — and we’ll be there for each other while we do it.”

She unfolds the sheet of stationery. It’s a short list, maybe six or seven points, written in her elegant, cursive writing.

“My bucket list,” Bubby says, and she rips it, neatly, in two. “My dear. We’re going to go back home together, and I’m going to be there for you, for the family, every minute that I have left. Even though it will hurt. Because at the end of the day… running away hurts more.” She takes a breath. “And you…”

Reena closes her eyes. Sunlight dances on the insides of her lids. “I’m going to send Ma an updated résumé,” she says. “But not just yet.”

Bubby raises one palm, a question.

Reena winks. “First, I’m going to ride an elephant.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 795)