A husband who’d never grown up. Now where had she heard that story before?

It was one of those gloomy May days, and the innocuous squat house at the end of the road looked particularly lived in. As the rain grew stronger, the inside of the house became messier, louder, and more chaotic.

When she was halfway down the stairs to the basement, Hindy heard a frightening crash, followed by a loud whoop. At the bottom, she surveyed the room, half expecting to find blood pooling into the carpet.

She quickly counted heads. Four blond boys, all whole and healthy, were circling her eye-of-the-storm husband who stood with a frisbee in hand. She watched him feint with his right hand, then send the disc spinning through the air with his left. The boys ran, long-legged, barefoot, and shockingly focused. Together they resembled a giant cyclone heading straight toward her freshly painted Chesapeake Blue walls.

Her husband didn’t even notice her watching; his whole being was immersed in the moment. It was this very lightness in him that drove her crazy. A quality of weightlessness, an ability to lose himself in things she neither possessed nor desired. It had her tilt her head sometimes and wonder how a married couple could possibly be so different. They were a pair of Matchbox cars who’d started out at the same point 15 years ago, then proceeded to spin wildly in opposite directions.

She’d thrown herself into school, earning a master’s in social work, then a doctorate in psychology, while he managed a high-end restaurant in the city. When she was finally done with her schooling, Chaim opened a burger joint in town, and she opened a private practice. At events she’d introduce him to colleagues, and they’d assume he was a lawyer or a doctor, but he was quick to clear up any misconceptions. “I flip burgers for a living,” he’d say breezily when asked about his profession. It infuriated her.

Despite all, she didn’t think they were unhappy. They couldn’t be, being that she was considered one of the Top Ten Marriage Therapists in the Northeast. They were just… different. At 38, Chaim had retained a hefty spark of childhood that she’d never had in the first place.

The basement wasn’t big enough for frisbee; she could practically hear the little windows shaking in fear. “Help me!” they trilled.

“Chaim.”

Her husband whipped around like a kid caught dipping into the Shabbos treats on Friday morning.

“Hey.” The frisbee dropped from his hand and landed on the carpet.

“Tuli was supposed to finish listening to his math class. And Baruch has a live class with his rebbi in five minutes.”

“I don’t like live classes!” Baruch bellowed. “I can’t focus on the phone! I’m not listening!”

Hindy looked at Chaim, narrowing her eyes and shooting him a be the father look.

“Uh… you gotta listen to the class, Baruch. We can’t slack off on learning. But we still have four minutes before you need to get on the line — let’s make the best of it.”