He slips onto the barstool next to her and passes her a glass of orange juice. “L’chayim. And now I want to hear all about the water aerobics class you’re signing up for.”

She laughs, makes a brachah, and digs in. Oh, it’s delicious. Or is it just the allure of food she hasn’t cooked herself?

Aryeh starts telling her about learning in the early mornings with “young Rubin from down the block.”

Her phone pings again and she resists the urge to check it.

“The moment you call someone ‘young’ like that, it basically screams ‘elderly,’ ” she teases, smiling at him.

He laughs and she wonders. Were they once this happy? Had she forgotten?

***

We’re running late. Again.

I’m dressed in my new black ribbed maxi, made up, sheiteled, perfumed, suitcase packed, dress bag draped on top, elaborate Oh Nuts tray balanced carefully… and Mike is humming while he shaves. I will not yell at my new husband, I will not yell at my—

“Mike! It’s an hour to Shabbos. An hour!”

He sticks his head out of the bathroom. “Hmm? Oh, okay! Almost done, and then I’ll just pack quickly.”

I close my eyes.

***

Esti’s really nice, and she has three of the cutest kids I’ve ever met. I’m about to read Mali, her youngest, Llama Llama Red Pajama for the third time, when I realize the men are going to be home any minute and I have to switch back into my sheitel.

“I’ll be right back, Mals,” I say, smiling at her.

I pass Esti setting the table, wave, and bound up the stairs to the guest room. I switch into my yichud room earrings, slide my sheitel on with that practiced, easy motion, spend ten minutes tugging and pulling and mussing until it looks right, and then I glide calmly down the stairs.

Mike meets me at the bottom. “Good Shabbos,” he says smiling widely.

I smile back. “Good Shabbos!”

We walk together to the couch, and sit and schmooze until Esti’s husband, Mike’s older brother Elimelech, calls us to Kiddush. Mali slips her hand into mine as we walk.

“Are you a princess?” she says, voice hushed. I blush and Mike winks down at her.

“She sure is, Mals. She’s a kallah! And every kallah is a princess.”

I roll my eyes at Esti. She smiles back warmly and that’s when I realize she’s still wearing her black tichel with the silver butterflies. Oh. My. Gosh. She’s 29! Why is she acting like she’s 80?

I look at Mike, and he beams back at me. I peek at Elimelech; he’s concentrating on filling the Kiddush cup while Esti referees the kids into their seats.

“Are they, uh, happy?” I whisper to Mike.

Esti’s in the kitchen clearing away the fish course while we’re on the couch again, just taking a shanah rishonah minute while seven-year-old Chaim does his parshah sheet.

He stares at me blankly. “Who?”

I roll my eyes. “Esti and Elimelech! She’s in a robe and tichel, he’s not really paying attention to her, they’re like only talking to the kids…” I hold up a magazine to ensure better privacy.

Mike looks like he just ran into a brick wall. “What? Bayla! Where do you get these ideas from? Esti’s a great person, Elimelech totally respects her. She’s his whole world.”

I shrug and stand up, ending the conversation. Say what you want, Mike, but when a girl doesn’t put on a sheitel for the Shabbos seudah, that says something.

When we can finally escape to our room after a delicious meal, my head is pounding, and all I want is to sleep.

“Can you get me water?” I ask weakly.

I feel hot and cold at the same time. I drink some water and then pass out. When I wake up again it’s the middle of the night, and I sit upright in bed, shivering.

“Mike,” I whisper. “Mike! I don’t feel well…”

He gets me an extra blanket and I snuggle deep inside, waking only to sneeze, and then fall into a deep, uneasy sleep.

In the morning, I feel a little better, but I look like a clown for hire. My nose is red and swollen, and any foundation still on was sneezed off hours ago. I pull my hood down as low as it’ll go and refuse to open the shades. Mike cannot see me like this.

He disappears and then knocks lightly, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

“Thanks,” I whisper, distantly. I really just want him to go so I can assess the damage in the bathroom mirror.

“Are you okay? You want me to stay home from shul?”

He’s so sweet. “Nah, I’m totally fine. Thanks so much, though. Is Esti up?”

“Yeah, she’s giving the kids breakfast. I told her you’re not feeling well, she sends her refuah sheleimah.”

I make a face and then fall back on the pillow. A bit more sleep and then I’ll go down.

Nobody asks me if I’m a princess today. I wear my tichel because my head still hurts, and I keep a package of tissues handy.

I don’t want to touch the food and get anyone sick, but I clear away the empty bowls and sweep Cheerios off the floor and play Perpetual Commotion with the kids, and Esti can’t stop thanking me.

I fix myself up a bit before Mike gets home, but I’m a pretty pathetic excuse for a shanah rishonah wife. Mike doesn’t seem to notice, though. He still wants to schmooze on the couch and go for a walk — I flat out refuse. And suddenly, I feel like an idiot for my comments to Mike last night.

I thank Esti a million times as I drag my suitcase down Motzaei Shabbos, and then look around for Mike. He and Elimelech are comfortably seated on the couch, playing guitar.

I groan.

Esti follows my gaze, and we share a smile of solidarity. We’re even wearing matching tie-dyed tichels.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 783)