“Gitty’s your sister. And I’m your mother. And I’m telling you to make sure to be there”

“Here it is,” ZeeZee said, ushering Chana Malka into Rikki Klein’s building. She saw her niece look up and down the block before walking in; she would have been amused were she not still furious with her.

“Checking to see whether any big, bad Yad b’Yad girls are gonna jump up behind you?” she asked.

Chana Malka blushed, and ZeeZee said, “Don’t worry, they don’t hang out on the sidewalk.” She snickered at the look of relief on Chana Malka’s face and patted her arm. “It’s Rikki’s apartment. That’s their big hangout.”

Chana Malka’s eyes widened. “ZeeZee, you told me there’d be no one…”

“You, my dear niece, need to learn. How. To. Chill.”

Chana Malka’s brow was furrowed anxiously, as if trying to figure out what ZeeZee meant by that, and ZeeZee laughed. “Fourth floor,” she said, gesturing to the stairs. “Start walking.”

She still couldn’t believe she was bringing Chana Malka here. She also couldn’t believe she was actually wasting her time attending her nephew’s upsheren party on Zoom. But her mother had been ridiculously insistent.

“The whole family will be there,” she’d said. “Gitty’s first boy, you know how long she’s been waiting to make an upsheren. How could you not come?”

“I’m surprised you’re not flying us in,” ZeeZee had muttered. She wasn’t feeling particularly Gitty-friendly at the moment.

“Very funny,” her mother had replied. “It’s this Sunday, 8 p.m. Israel time. Make sure to be there.”

“But I have class then! Are you telling me Chana Malka’s going to miss class for this?”

“For her brother? Of course!”

“Well, he’s not my brother.”

That’s when her mother had lost her patience. “Gitty’s your sister. And I’m your mother. And I’m telling you to make sure to be there.”