Could she get married while her life was unraveling?

Aryeh’s a dreamer.

He has starry eyes and a wide smile when he talks about the future. It’s not that Malka doesn’t appreciate it. She’s just more practical.

“It’s only apartment listings,” Malka pointed out. “We don’t need to call together. I can do it during my lunch break. It’s like, so not a big deal.”

“Okay.” Aryeh opened the tab to the spreadsheet of the top four apartments they were interested in.

“Then I guess if you take care of that, I’ll take care of setting up an appointment for a marriage license. Just make sure to call the Ledermans first. I know it’s a one-bedroom basement, but they have this nice backyard, which is rare in Queens. It’s really spacious, enough room for the kids to run out back.” He winked.

That’s so like Aryeh. A one-bedroom? Where did he think “the kids” were fitting in, the kitchen drawers? With anyone else, Malka would roll her eyes like a Ferris wheel, halting at the top for a dramatic obvious second. Instead, Malka pictured it. Leaning back into those reclining zero gravity chairs, watching the sun dip as Aryeh joined outside… He would be flipping his spatula, catching a burger midair and rubbing the grease from the grill right on the stitching of some apron with a punny quote. Malka saw herself sliding her chair back and covering herself and the newborn bundle in her arms with a geometric throw blanket. The sunsets may be blocked by tall buildings in Ledermans’ backyard, but in this vision, she and Aryeh owned the sky.

What could she say? Aryeh made her dream.

During lunch the next day Malka found an empty room (no need for everyone in the teachers' room to know her business) and whipped out her phone.

She paced back and forth as she waited for the Ledermans to answer. Twirling a loose strand of hair, Malka sighed. With all the curly hair treatments, it felt like twine; she was counting down the seconds for a sheitel to cover it.

“Hello, who’s calling?” The voice on the other end sounded the senior schmoozy type. Reassuring in a prospective landlord? Maybe.

“Hey, my name is Malka. I’m calling about your apartment listing. My chassan and I saw it on an email thread and might be interested.”

“Oh, you’re calling about the apartment we listed. Hold on a sec, I think you might be a little too late. My husband just signed with someone starting next month. Moish!” Mrs. Lederman called out, making Malka’s ears ring. “Did you end up signing with that guy? That computer programmer? Gedalyah Stern, for the apartment?” A beat, and then Mrs. Lederman came back on the line, speaking at a more normal pitch. “I’m sorry, dear. The apartment’s taken.”

Malka readjusted the phone to her ear, unsure she heard correctly.

“Did you say Gedalyah Stern? That makes no sense,” she stammered, shooing away two giggling fifth graders who thought the room vacant. “My father is Gedalyah Stern.”

“How sweet! Maybe he’s planning on surprising you?”

“It’s possible, but how would he know, we never—” A sudden clarity seized her.