But Chava was the grandmother, not the mother. “What would you like to eat, motek?”

Sari grinned slyly. “Pizza.”

Her brother turned to her wide-eyed and then echoed, “Pizza! Yeah!”

Chava hesitated. When her kids were young, pizza was a major treat, reserved for special occasions. None of her children would have ever dreamed of asking for pizza on a regular weeknight. But then, again, she didn’t need this proof to know that Devoiry ran her home on a different standard from the one she grew up in. She supposed that’s why Chava had raised nine children on a teacher’s salary and always felt like she’d had just what she needed, whereas Devoiry had only two small children and felt poor.

Her grandchildren were jumping around the room now, shouting, “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” She chuckled. What was the fun of being a grandmother if you couldn’t indulge your grandchildren with the treats you’d denied your kids?

“Okay, kiddos, pizza it is.” She spotted a pizza store magnet on the fridge and pulled out her phone. While she was at it, she’d order a salad for Devoiry, too. She looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.

She opened her pocketbook and took out her credit card. Sari peered into the purse with interest. “How many money cards do you have, Bubby?”

Chava smiled. “Two.”

“Only two?”

Amused, Chava asked her, “How many do you have?”

“None,” Sari answered seriously. “But Ima has a whole collection. I counted. She has eight now. And all different colors.”

“Ima collects credit cards?” Chava raised her eyebrows.

“It’s to pay the people they owe money to.” The girl nodded wisely. “Ima and Abba talk about it all the time. They owe lots of money to lots of people, and the credit cards are gonna help them pay it.”

ZeeZee blew on her numb fingers as she sat on the stone ledge at the back of the Kosel plaza, wedged between an elderly savta and an African tourist. She looked at the time on her phone yet again. What had she been thinking, agreeing to come with Chana Malka to the Kosel when the girl took literally an hour to daven Shemoneh Esreh?

She scowled. She’d been guilted into getting together with her niece today. Apparently, Chana Malka had told Gitty that ZeeZee had been ignoring her phone calls, and Gitty, of course, had wasted no time in telling their mother. The upshot was that here she was, turning into an ice statue as she answered questions about ancient Jerusalem to a woman from the Congo, while Chana Malka said her daily quota of Tehillim.

Her phone rang, and ZeeZee eagerly looked down. She frowned. Mommy? OMG, this was getting ridiculous. Not only did she force her to get together with Chana Malka, but she needed to check up that she was actually doing so?

Stabbing the on button, she picked up the phone and said, “Yes, Mommy, I’m a good girl, and I’m here by the Kosel right now with Chana Malka. You can tell Gitty she can stop threatening to bad-mouth me to the shadchanim.”

“Are you? I’m glad to hear,” her mother said vaguely. Okay, so this was about something else.

“What’s up, Mommy?”

“Good news. We just booked our tickets. We’re arriving next week on the 23rd and staying ’til February 1st. Gitty thought maybe we should stay longer, but I thought ten days is enough. What do you think?”

ZeeZee’s head began to spin. “Hold on a second. Tickets? Next week? Mommy, what in the world are you talking about?”

“Visiting you, of course!”

ZeeZee stood up. “Who said anything about visiting me?”

“We always visit the girls in seminary during the January break.” Her mother sounded affronted. “You don’t want me to come?”

Grimacing, she said quickly, “No, no, of course I want you to come. I’m just surprised. You never told me you were planning a trip.”

They spent the next few minutes discussing hotels and itineraries. Just as it dawned on ZeeZee that her mother was expecting her to spend every minute of those ten days with her, Gitty, and Chana Malka, her niece herself appeared.

“Mommy, Chana Malka just showed up. I’m gonna go. Yeah, I’ll tell her the news.”

“What news?” Chana Malka’s face was glowing — whether from holiness or from cold, ZeeZee didn’t know. But somehow, the sight made her even more irritated.

“Your parents just decided they’re selling their house in Lakewood and moving to a chicken farm in Omaha.”

Chana Malka’s brow crinkled. “Huh?”

Sullenly, ZeeZee said, “My mother and yours are coming to visit us next week.”

Chana Malka brightened. “Great! Mommy said she was planning to come soon.”

Humph. Let’s all keep ZeeZee out of the loop.

Chana Malka was chattering excitedly as they made their way up to the Old City. “I can’t wait to show her my seminary. And the classes! I’ve already told her which ones she must sit in on.”

ZeeZee stared at her. Did this mean she was expected to do the same? Were her mother and Gitty going to come hang out in Shvilei? She gritted her teeth. Of course they were. The last Keller girl in Shvilei — how could Mommy not come? And Gitty, naturally, would want to reminisce with all her teachers.

Chana Malka was still talking. “And my chesed family! I definitely want Mommy and Bubby to meet them. She’s amaaazing, Mrs. Schwartzberg. The way she fosters those special-needs children — she’s totally my role model.”

ZeeZee rolled her eyes. “You mean you’re also planning on fostering special-needs kids?”

Her niece assumed a modest expression. “Maybe.”

This was too much for ZeeZee. Before she could stop herself, she snapped, “Well, I can’t wait for Mommy and Gitty to meet the OTD girls I work with. I’m sure they’ll have loads to say about what a tzadeikes I am.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 758)