She logged out, logged in again. Her NotHappening username was like a pair of worn and comfortable slippers. Back to her safe, snarky self, she typed: Of course. Everything is always your fault. Beat yourself up like that, why don’t you?

momof4: I agree with @NotHappening. You’re a widow, you’re going through tremendous personal pain. You’re a hero for investing so much effort in your kids’ wellbeing even as you suffer. Don’t guilt yourself.

A hero, sure.

A celebrated widow, dwelling in an ivory tower. Noble. Exalted. Sublime.

She had to tell them. She had to explain. They didn’t realize that she wasn’t worthy of this title. She hadn’t earned it.

Her hands trembled as she started typing. I am not—

She jolted. Wrong account. She’d nearly blown her cover.

Shaken, she logged out of the forum. That was it. Enough with this craziness. It was 12:15 and she hadn’t gotten any work done all morning.

The Succos tour was months away, but she wanted to be sure she had a plan. This was going to involve extensive research, and she wanted to do it calmly and correctly.

She knew what kind of show she wanted to prepare. She wanted to demonstrate cuisine that was native to Italy. Which meant she had to go and learn it.

Okay. The natural place to start: Google.

She entered keywords. Italian cuisine. Italian food trends. Italian cooking shows.

The words danced on her screen. She read, she watched, but nothing registered. She couldn’t focus, her mind was racing.

Despite herself, she opened a new tab. AloneTogether.

One new response had come in on her thread. The poster was sleepaholic. Deena squinted.

I don’t know if you’ll appreciate this voice of opposition, but I disagree with everything everyone said so far. Your son isn’t experiencing grief. You are. And your grief is having an effect on him.

Deena’s fingers froze. My grief.

She wanted to type something. A rebuttal. Something sharp and witty and caustic.

Slowly, she lowered her head onto her desk.

My grief.

She was not experiencing grief.

She was not.

You can’t grieve something you didn’t lose.

You can’t lose something you never had.

She brings a bowl of maple caramel cheddar popcorn to the dining room. He eyes it suspiciously. She tells him she’d posted it on Instagram, it got 15 likes so far. He shrugs.

“Does anyone like it in real life?” he asks. “Popcorn comes with salt, that’s what makes it good.”

“You don’t get it,” she replies, defensive. And she’s right, he doesn’t. He thinks she’s seeking attention by sharing pictures of her food with the whole world. He thinks she wastes her time. He doesn’t realize this is the beginning of a real business. An investment, like any of the realty investments he makes that wouldn’t yield a return for years.

But she’s tired of arguing. They argue all day. For heaven’s sake, they’re arguing over popcorn.

He turns back to the computer. They need to finalize their Austria plans, they need to book.

They’re comparing ticket prices, with and without stopovers. They check out hotels, scroll through pictures.

Nobody touches the popcorn.

Deena spies a hotel that looks interesting. She takes the mouse, clicks. She inputs the dates, two adults, one child.

“Deena.”

She turns. “What?”

“I think we should leave Miri behind.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t make sense to travel with a baby. It’s not going to be a vacation.”

“Are you nuts? I’m not leaving a baby behind for eight days! That’s traumatic!”

“No, it’s not. She’s nineteen months old. She’ll never remember — but we will.”

“She doesn’t have to remember. It’s a subconscious thing. Parents don’t abandon their kids.”

He pushes his chair back. “You’re being extreme. Leaving a kid with her bubby or aunt for a week isn’t abandonment. Think about it, Deena. This is our only chance to go on a real vacation.”

She thinks about it. They’d had Miri before their first anniversary, and in another five months, there would be another baby. They never went anywhere, this was their only opportunity to fly alone. She pictured a park in Vienna, strolling together as a couple.

She shakes her head firmly. “No. A hundred times no. I don’t care about chances, we’ll go on vacation after we marry off our kids. I’m not leaving Miri behind, it’s just not happening.”

And it doesn’t. A month later, they fly to Austria, taking turns holding Miri on the endlessly long flight.

The first day at the hotel, Miri runs a fever. Deena is sure she’d packed Motrin, but she can’t find it anywhere, so they leave their room, ask at the front desk where they could find a drug store that’s open 24 hours.

It takes an hour to get to the store and back. But after the Motrin kicks in, Miri throws up, all over herself and Deena. Deena cleans up and changes both of them. After settling Deena into the hotel’s crib, Miri throws up again. Deena is worried.

“See why we couldn’t leave her?” she asks.

“See why we should’ve left her?” he retorts.

They’re too tired to do anything the next day. They also need to find a doctor to examine Miri.

Her throat and ears are clear, it’s just a virus. But it takes two days for the fever to come down, and even then the virus persists, an awful stomach bug, terrible vomiting that requires constant baths and head-to-toe changes.

Miri is cranky the rest of the trip. Also, it’s impossible to hike, bike or even row a boat with a baby in your arms.

She’d so looked forward to this trip. Maybe, she’d thought, when they were both relaxed, things would be different. Maybe they would talk. Really talk, figure out where they were going wrong, how to get their marriage on track.

It’s as though Miri is sick on purpose, to prove that Zev had been right.

They forfeit their only chance.

The room was cold. Her screen was black.

She entered her password.

NotHappening: @MeMyselfAndI, can I guess? This is not about your son, but about you?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 755)