A secret diary? I doubt that; it’s probably her high school poems. I grin

Rena:

I find out from a stranger that my niece is unofficially engaged.

I’d be furious except this is so par for the course, the only thing I emote is exasperation. Of course my sister didn’t tell me her eldest was dating seriously. I’d figured long ago that I’d find out Lally started shidduchim when she invites me to her firstborn’s pidyon haben.

I text Numi.

Was super fun having the lady I order sourdough from telling me that Lally Perkal is getting engaged to her son. On the bright side, you guys will have awesome bread at Shabbos sheva brachos.

Okay, it was petty, but this is not the first time my sister has kept secrets from me. Her whole buying-a-piece-of-land-in-New-City and building-a-family-estate thing? Yeah, she never actually told me about it, her son did. I wasn’t sure how she planned on getting around that one — what was going to happen when I arrived at her condo with shalach manos only to find she no longer lived there?

It’s not that I don’t admire Numi’s shetikah. I do, I really do. And Heaven knows I can learn a thing or two from her. Ta likes to say I suffer from verbal vomit, which is just charming, but probably true. But come on, girl, I’m your sister. Your only sister. Do you really think you can keep things from me just because we live the equivalent contemporary lives of Mimmy and Simmy?

Numi in her big estate in New City with her live-in help, full-time nanny, and personal trainer, and me in Old Monsey, in a rented three-bedroom colonial with a square of backyard that is usually so overrun by deer and chipmunks that I don’t let the kids play out back for fear of ticks and rabies.

I bang the door open a little harder than necessary, a move I regret immediately. When there’s no reaction, I enter the kitchen tentatively.

Sari and Chaya are at the table, coloring, and Pinny is mixing a pot on the stove. The scene is so homey, I stop to take it in, all exasperation at Numi disappearing like ice cream after the kids have gone to bed.

I test the airs; they seem calm and unmuddied. Well, then, I’m here for it.

“Hello, family of mine,” I say cheerfully, dropping my bag onto the table.

Pinny turns and winks at me. “Did someone order French onion soup?”

He didn’t… “You didn’t! Pin!”

He grins at me.

I spy the two little girls watching us from the table. I widen my grin to include them as well.

“Do I have the best family or what?”

“The best!” they chorus.

We all laugh, the scent of French onion soup melding with the aura of peace emanating from the small kitchen, until I feel so full, I might burst.

(Excerpted from Calligraphy: Pesach 5785; Mishpacha Issue 1057)