They smile at each other and she opens the car door, wondering why being retired feels a lot like shanah rishonah

The starter is just sitting there, staring her back in the face. Gosh, this is worse than that Dalgona coffee Bayla convinced her to make during lockdown.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Toby tells the little jar.

“Just love me,” a small voice squeaks back. Toby shrieks as Aryeh appears behind her, laughing so hard he can barely speak.

“Mature,” she says icily, trying to hold back her laugh. “Very mature, Aryeh Berger. Give your elderly wife a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Chas v’shalom,” he says, wiping his eyes. “To the heart attack and to calling yourself elderly. So why were you talking to a sponge in a jar?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It’s sourdough starter. I’m trying to figure out how to turn it into sourdough bread…”

She leans back and squints, like an artist surveying her canvas. Aryeh grabs the key fob and dangles it in front of her. “You can buy sourdough bread at Evergreen and ask them if they want your sponge as a barter?”

That does sound tempting. “It’s a deal. Let me just call Bayla and Mimi and ask them if they need anything from the store,” she says while kicking off her slides and slipping on her ballet flats.

Aryeh tugs the phone gently out of her grasp. “Tobes. They’re big girls now. They’re fine. Let’s just buy the bread and then eat Rita’s ices by the lake in our clean little car with its seat warmers and no crumbs or car seats.”

“Mmm,” Toby says. “I’ve been daydreaming about their cherry sorbet. Fine, I’ll just text the girls on the way,” she says, snatching her phone back. It pings as they settle into Aryeh’s Camry. She shows him the screen. “Ohhh, look, Chavivi built a chair out of Clics.”

They kvell for a bit and then pull out.

Toby looks out the window, admiring the way the bare tree branches resemble arms held up to the heavens entreatingly.

“I love winter,” she says dreamily.

Aryeh smiles at her and swings into a parking spot. They don’t get out.

“Remember when the kids were little, you used to tell me you didn’t care what season it was, because to you it was laundry season, 12 months a year?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I was overwhelmed. Let’s not look back, okay? I’m empty nesting, I’m retired, I know what season it is. Life is good.”

“I’m not retired,” he says in the same voice, “but life is still good.”

They smile at each other and she opens the car door, wondering why being retired feels a lot like shanah rishonah.