“They had just gotten married. Their relationship was just developing. If they lost the house it would be embedded in their marriage DNA forever”

Sori noticed her daughter hanging back a bit. A moment ago they had been standing side by side, but as the saleslady beckoned them forward to check out, Esti had suddenly disappeared. Now she was deeply absorbed in the display of oversized headbands, apparently deliberating seriously. Sori smiled to herself. She could pay for Esti, it wasn’t that much, 30 dollars in hosiery—she could easily swing it. And it was for her daughter, her Esti.

“Thanks Ma, you’re the best,” Esti said as Sori handed her the pink Hosiery House bag. They got into Sori’s Nissan Rogue and Sori drove to Esti’s home, three blocks from her own. She pulled up to the curb and waited for Esti to gather her things and exit, but Esti blinked intently and looked at her.

“Can I talk to you a second, Mommy?” Esti said. Sori smiled and turned to face her daughter; an unease she couldn’t place stirred within.

***

“So Esti asked me something today.”

Chaim grunted. He didn’t look up from his phone. Sori brought dinner to the table — low sodium chicken and rice. Chaim automatically reached for the salt shaker.

“I put it away,” Sori said when his hand grasped at empty air. Chaim grunted again.

“Dow’s up,” Chaim said.

Sori started cutting her chicken methodically, matching it to little mounds of rice for easy portioning.

“That’s good for us, right?” she asked. Chaim grunted again. He swiped through his phone for a few more seconds and then put it away.

“Yes, the higher the better, now that we’re gonna be starting to withdraw in a couple of days.”

Sori clapped her hands together. “I’m so excited, can’t believe we’re at this stage!”

Chaim cleared his throat — a refined version of his grunt — to let his wife know he had heard her. “Esti?” he prompted.

Sori put down her fork and knife, placed her hands on the table and leaned in to talk to her husband. “We went to the hosiery store today and when I dropped her off, she said she wanted to talk to me—”

“Money?”

Sori stopped short. “Yes.”

“What now?” Chaim said. He took a bite of chicken, pulled a face, looked around again for the salt, gave up and took another bite.

“Well…” Sori looked around for something to anchor herself with; she settled for placing a napkin on her lap. “You know she started an after-school performing arts program,” she began. Sori wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw Chaim roll his eyes. It might’ve just been the light, though. Of course it was the light, why would Chaim make a face?

“So Esti told me—”

“Let me guess.” Chaim cut her off again. “It’s not doing well.”

“What?” Sori said. How did Chaim know? Had Ruvi said something to him?

“It’s not that?” Chaim asked, his voice rising in surprise.

“No, it is,” Sori confirmed.

“So why do you sound surprised?”

Sori shrugged. “Just trying to figure out how you knew. Esti swore me to secrecy. She said the kids love it, but they don’t have enough kids enrolled to cover expenses, pay her assistant, and to pay her as well. So they’ll either need to shut it down or get funding from somewhere.  Right now tuition is on hold, groceries are iffy. I paid for some hosiery stuff for her today.”

This time Chaim definitely snorted. But why?

Chaim scooped up some rice and chewed, then scooped again and chewed again. Sori waited for his answer. He didn’t seem to notice, though, he just kept eating. Sori watched him, slightly spellbound. When Chaim finally looked at her, she felt herself shrink under his withering gaze.

“This isn’t the first time…” He trailed off ominously. Sori put down her fork. Her timidity faded and Mama Bear mode kicked in. She felt the heat rising in the center of her chest, emanating outward, building pressure.

“Are you saying that our daughter shouldn’t ask her parents for help because she dared to ask before?”

Chaim looked at Sori with a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He patted his hands in a “settle down” motion.

“Have you been taking Esti’s drama classes? That was pretty good.”

Sori fell silent but steam leaked out with each huffing breath she took.

“Don’t purposely misunderstand what I’m saying,” Chaim continued. “Esti has a pattern, a history, of making poor choices and then asking us to bail her out.”

Sori felt her throat close. It wasn’t as simple as that. There was so much to say — but what to say first and second and what to leave out? We’re fighting, she realized. This is what it feels like when we fight. These are the calculations I make when we fight. But we were just talking about Esti, why do I feel like we’re fighting?

Chaim took her silence to mean she needed evidence and so he provided it.

“Remember when Esti and Ruvi first got married? They bought a house three months later. I don’t know what they were thinking, I don’t know why, but just because the bank will lend you 500k doesn’t mean you can afford it. Of course this was in ‘08 when banks were irresponsible monsters, now they’re just responsible monsters. But anyway, they couldn’t pay their mortgage after six months. We took a huge chunk out of our 401k to pay down their mortgage and refinanced to make their monthly payment feasible. I’m saying this and I can’t believe we did that. They should’ve sold, defaulted. Who needs a five-bedroom house when you just got married?”

“They were kids!” Sori burst out.

“Exactly. They made a childish mistake and they should’ve learned from that — don’t bite off more than you can chew. Learn fiscal responsibility. Learn how finances work. But no, we taught them: make a huge mistake and Mommy and Tatty are still there to fix it. We’re the worst parents.”

“No!” Sori banged on the table, then sprang back in surprise at the thump, and the emotion she felt.  “We were supportive! They had just gotten married. Their relationship was just developing. If they lost the house it would be embedded in their marriage DNA forever. We had to help.”

Chaim’s dry calmness mocked Sori’s emphatic pitch. “That’s what you said then. And I agreed, because saying ‘that’s a lot of money’ makes me sound karg, like I’m a terrible father. But looking back, it was wrong.” He dabbed his mouth, folded his napkin and put it down coolly.

Sori’s voice trembled and she clenched her fingers. She grabbed a fork to hold onto. “It wasn’t wrong. Look at them now, a nice forever house, a beautiful family, they fill the bedrooms. How was it wrong?”

Chaim rolled his eyes again. He looked scary. Did he ever do that to his secretary? No wonder she seemed so meek around him.

“And then when Esti gave birth to Shana, they hadn’t figured out insurance. They were on a high deductible catastrophic plan because it was ‘cheaper,’ and they ended up with a $7,000 bill with no idea how to pay it. Once again, we swoop in and pay off a chunk and take over the monthly payments. Because they didn’t plan ahead. Because they didn’t ask questions or advice. It’s a good thing Ruvi’s kollel started offering insurance plans or this would’ve happened again and again and again.”

Sori’s hands found their way to her hips. “You can’t give your daughter a baby gift? Postpartum is a really hard time, especially the first. Men don’t get it. She made a mistake. Now she has to deal with a huge shift in her family dynamics and a huge financial strain? If we can help, why shouldn’t we?”

“Why? Because it led to the next bailout. Remember we took over her car lease payments? Why was she leasing a late model CR-V? What’s wrong with a cheap Sentra?”

“She’s a tall girl, you want her to stoop and strain every time she has to buckle her kids in? You need to think practically. You’re not a mother.”

“No, I’m just a father.” Chaim’s eyes flashed. “And can you stop defending her, please. Because that’s suggesting that given the chance, you’d have made those same mistakes, too. But you didn’t because you’re married to me, who’s an impractical stick-in-the-mud.”

Back off, Sori, she told herself. He’s feeling hurt, this is not just clashing views anymore.

“I’m not defending her. I’m just reminding you of the reasons we decided to do what we did then.”

Chaim sat back in his seat and took a slow drink of water. It seemed to take the edge off. Sori smiled to herself; she was such a sensitive wife and good mother.

Chaim continued talking. “And I’m listening to these reasons and wondering what was wrong with me then. Why did we think they were valid reasons?”

Again Sori felt the heat rise inside her. “What’s wrong with you? Your daughter is struggling, have a heart.” She said it louder than necessary.

“My daughter is struggling with problems of her own making. Had she used her pretty little head, same for her husband, they wouldn’t have this problem. They wouldn’t need saving.”

How could he be so cold? This was his daughter!

“People make mistakes, kids make mistakes. As parents, we can help.”

“No, as parents we can teach. And we haven’t done that, we’ve just enabled her to make the same mistake over and over again.” Chaim paused, tilted his head slightly, and Sori knew whatever he said next would devastate her argument. “She started this after-school club thing. Did she call her accountant father for tax advice? Did she ask how she should register the business, how to best record her expenses so she can deduct them from her taxes?”

Sori so wanted to say yes, but she knew the answer was obviously no. Even if Chaim hadn’t brought it up, she knew the answer was no. Esti was a doer, she figured out the little details later. Sori thought it was a wonderful quality, but now Chaim seemed to be suggesting otherwise.

“I don’t want to fight,” Sori said. This seemed to be the only way to shut down the argument. There was nothing she could say in Esti’s defense right now. Chaim was in a mood, and he wasn’t going to get it. She’d bring it up later, maybe after he saw Esti’s kids. If he wouldn’t do it for his daughter, maybe he’d do it for her kids. He wouldn’t hurt his grandchildren.

“We’re not fighting,” Chaim said, taking a deliberate bite of chicken. “I’m just explaining to you why we’re not giving Esti more money. She needs to fail so she can learn to be responsible. I’m retiring in a matter of days. We’re going to be living on a fixed income. We won’t be able to help her anymore—”

“—so we won’t when we can’t. But we can now.”

“No, the fact that I’m still working until the end of the week doesn’t make any difference. And we never should’ve helped her in the first place.”