By Shabbos afternoon, ZeeZee was going stir-crazy. How many hours could they lie around in the lounge, swapping stories about their craziest teachers in high school?

Chava felt the week’s tension slowly sliding off her shoulders as she watched Shloime pull four-year-old Yitzi onto his lap and ask, “Who can tell me what this week’s parshah is?”

It had been a good idea, inviting Devoiry and her family for the Friday night meal. After a week like the one she’d had, having the kids around was just what she needed. With six of her children married, and the two boys in yeshivah, it was just Elisheva living at home. She sometimes felt bad for her, a teenage girl with two old parents. Even though her married daughters laughed when she expressed this.

“Oh, Mommy, you’re not old,” Devoiry had said the other day. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. Elisheva is so lucky to have you and Tatty to herself. Growing up, I used to wish I could get you alone.”

She’d smiled, but Chava had felt her heart constrict with a mix of pride and guilt. Was Devoiry saying that she was a good mother, or a terrible one who hadn’t given her kids enough attention?

No, she admonished herself. Just because her teaching skills were suddenly called into question didn’t mean she had to doubt everything else in her life. She had a wonderful relationship with her children, baruch Hashem, and she was so grateful for that.

Still, she worried about Elisheva. The girl was only 16, and… and according to Rabbi Freund, you don’t know how to relate to today’s teenagers.

Chava quickly stood up and began clearing the fish plates. Devoiry followed her into the kitchen, carrying the platter of gefilte fish.

“How’s the new school year starting out?” Chava asked. Devoiry had a plum job as an eighth-grade mechaneches in her local Bais Yaakov.

Devoiry shrugged. “Fine. The girls are… it’s, you know—” Chava raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t like Devoiry to be so inarticulate. Placing the fish platter on the counter, Devoiry said, “Yummy fish, Ma.”

Chava laughed at the obvious attempt to change the subject. “As if I haven’t been making the same boiled gefilte fish ever since you were born.”

Devoiry began piling the leftover pieces into the tray. “It’s amazing how you and Tatty don’t need any variety. Me, on the other hand… Last week I tried a new recipe, teriyaki salmon with sushi salad. It was yum. Even Yitzi asked for more.”

“Sounds delicious.” Chava lifted the heavy soup pot off the hot plate. “But salmon is so expensive.”

She knew she’d made a mistake as soon as she saw Devoiry’s cheeks tauten. “I don’t buy it so often, but... well, I’m sorry, I can’t feed my family bread and chummus every day.”

Chava quickly changed her tone. “Of course not,” she said, ignoring the jab at her own suppers.