Deena gripped her mouse, fingers trembling. Who was this sleepaholic and what was she saying?

She logged out of her account and logged in again under NotHappening. Sitting at the edge of her chair, shoulder blades knotted, she clicked on the thread and typed. Here we go again, feeding into the “parents are responsible for all their kids’ problems” belief. Who’s joining @MeMyselfAndI on her guilt trip?

She logged out. She was tempted to log in again under her MeMyselfAndI account, but if she was going to do this, she’d hate herself for having wasted her few precious work hours.

Instead, she logged into Canva and picked up where she’d left off on the graphics for her upcoming post: the tour announcement.

A little later, she heard the oven beep and headed to the kitchen. As she transferred the breads onto the cooling rack, sleepaholic’s words flashed before her eyes. Do you see a connection between those conversations and the work she’s doing with your kid?

Did she see a connection? No, not really. Miri was in therapy for turbulent behavior. Deena was there to accompany her, to work together with the therapist to reach their goals.

But Sarah Beneloff had been repeatedly drawing Deena into conversations about Zev, and despite her intention to object, Deena found herself tripping over her words, sharing almost willingly her feelings about her late husband and their marriage.

Back in her office, Deena checked the forum for responses. Several posters had teamed up with NotHappening against sleepaholic, who hadn’t commented.

But wait, she had a DM. Deena clicked.

sleepaholic: Hey. Hope you don’t mind me messaging you privately. I’m not here to argue with anyone, and could be they’re right, maybe your concerns are valid. I just wanted to say that, having been there myself, therapy isn’t such a black-and-white experience. Things come up, we don’t always realize our stuff that needs to be addressed. Whatever. Follow your gut. You could ignore me if you want.

Deena ignored her. Anyway, it was late and she had to go pick up her kids.

She cast a mournful glance at the breads on her counter on her way out. The photos she’d so zealously shot were just not. This would take a lot more time and effort than she’d thought. Shira, I love you dearly, do you realize what you did to me?

When she arrived back home with the kids, Miri noticed the breads right away. “Yum, these look heaven, Ma. Can I have?”

“Sure, but not now, sweetie. I need to take some pictures first.”

“So you’re putting them in the freezer?”

“Um…” Well, if she wasn’t continuing the shoot today, she’d probably have to freeze them.

Miri grumbled. “Whatever.” Her eyes were filled with disappointment. She shuffled over to a chair and sat down hard.

Deena eyed her worriedly. Her thoughts raced. She knew she had to do something. This situation was textbook something, she couldn’t figure out what, but there was definitely a correct way to respond, and passively watching her daughter scowl wasn’t it.

Sarah Beneloff. What would Sarah have said?

After their last session, Sarah had given Deena homework. I want you to spend some time with her, one-on-one. Play a game. Do an activity together. Focus on her behavior, her reactions. See what you learn from the experience.

Deena’s eyes flitted from Miri to the breads on the counter. “You know what, Miri?”

Still scowling, Miri turned her head.

“How about we take those pictures right now so we can enjoy the bread for supper? Hot bread, with cream cheese, it’s going to be delicious.”

“You mean Shira’s going to come over?” Miri asked.

“No, Shira isn’t coming. I’m going to shoot these pictures myself.” Deena smiled at her daughter. “And guess what, Mir? You’re going to be my assistant. How does that sound?”

“Oh, my,” Pessie exclaimed as Yochi pulled into a parking spot in front of their house. “You’re really totally legitimately nuts!”

Yochi grinned. He and the kids had laid down a path of red oak tag from the curb all the way up to the front door of the house. They’d set up an arch of white balloons over the door, and of course, a big welcome back sign on the door.

“Well,” Yochi said, “this is definitely a VIP arrival. Besides the fact that I was home with the kids myself for two whole days, I had to occupy them somehow, right?”

In the house, Yochi watched Pessie’s eyes travel around, taking in the scene of home. There was a warm feeling in his chest. The house was sparkling clean, he’d even mopped the floors right before leaving to the airport to pick her up.

Zissi pulled Pessie’s hand. “Come to the kitchen!”

“The kitchen?”

Pessie transferred Motti to her other arm — she wouldn’t put him down so fast, and not only for his sake, Yochi suspected. Yochi followed her and the kids to the kitchen.

“A cake!” Pessie said. “Wow!” She turned to Yochi and laughed. “Is that what Zambia did to you? You must have spent a lot of time in the kitchen.”

Yochi chuckled. Then he forced Pessie to sit down and have a coffee before unpacking her suitcase. “Give me Motti. I’ll give him cake in the highchair. I know just how tired you are. Been there, done that.”

“I’m actually not that tired,” Pessie said. “It was a day flight, and I managed to doze off for a few hours. But yum, this cake is delicious.”

Yochi strapped Motti into the highchair. He took out some plates and sliced cake for Zissi and Malkie. Then he made himself a coffee and sat down to join Pessie. Not that she’d eaten much of her slice, Yochi noticed. Ugh, she probably would’ve appreciated a nice fruit platter a lot more than cake. Oh, well.

“Nu?” he started. “So let’s hear all about your trip. I feel like we didn’t talk since before we left. Know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean. Tell me about your trip.”

“Well, if I start, you’re going to have to sit here for a week. I don’t even know which story to start with. Do you want to hear first what happened to the chazzan’s wife during leining, what it’s like to stare into the open cavity of a lion’s mouth, the story with the kitchen hand who nearly treifed up the cholent, or should I tell you the Oh No elephant story again; it gets better every time.”

Pessie laughed. “I’m dizzy already.”

“Well, so tell me,” Yochi said, throwing the ball back to her. “How was it to literally sit at the beach and do nothing all day?”

He picked up the knife to cut himself a second slice of cake. But then he paused. Pessie had stiffened. Her eyes flashed.

He put down the knife slowly. “Um… Pessie? Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just very, very tired.”

“Tired, right.”

She let out a long sigh. “Honestly, Yochi? This was a very difficult trip for me. I tried so hard to stay upbeat, I wanted to give Hindy a good time. But it was so, so draining. And the fact that you weren’t with us — it was tough, Yochi. I tried to be brave and cheerful, but sometimes I didn’t know how I was going to pull through.”

Yochi crumpled a napkin in his hand. “You know something, Pessie? Wow. All I can say is, wow.” He put the napkin down. “Binick once told me how tour wives have to be strong and self-sufficient. I thought of you then, and I knew you could do it. You really do have a lot of inner strength.”

Pessie was quiet. From the way she pressed her lips together, and how her shoulders became rigid, it didn’t seem like this was what she had wanted to hear. Not at all.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 762)