Ephraim knew they were his cousins. But he’d prefer they didn’t exist, really

E

phraim was ten years old. He loved playing soccer, riding his bike, playing chess with his brother Bentzi, and collecting snails when the weather was right. He was a regular frum kid, growing up in a regular frum neighborhood, and he had a regular frum family.

Most of the time.

“Hi, Ephi!” Mommy greeted Ephraim as he wandered into the kitchen late one wintery afternoon. The kitchen was warm, steam condensed on the window framed with the cheerful pink curtains. Mommy was cooking, and a yummy smell filled the cozy kitchen.

“Hi, Ma,” Ephi said as he came over to the counter to see what Mommy was making. Thunder rumbled outside, background noise to the sound of his sisters playing in the den and a pot bubbling on the stove. “Yum, meatballs,” Ephi inhaled deeply. “Thanks, Ma.”

“I want to tell you something,” Ma said, and Ephi frowned. That wasn’t good. When it was something good, Mommy looked happy  and she usually said, “Guess what?”

“What?” he said.

“You know Chanukah is next week,” Mommy said.

“Right, of course I know.”

“So, this year Chanukah coincides with my family’s midwinter vacation, and they’re coming for a few days.”