Her sister was jealous.

Nothing beat a good dose of last-minute pressure.

It was probably the first time since Zev passed away that Deena was grateful that her girls were spending a Shabbos with her in-laws. The moment Zev’s father’s Tesla glided out of her driveway, Deena sprang into action.

“A glitter party,” she told Leah gleefully on the phone as she got her mixer out. “There’s endless room for creativity. I bought glitter balloons and glitter placemats and glitter art kits to go with each place setting. Miri’s going to be ecstatic.”

The idea had been born out of the neatest twist of hashgachah. Table Talk, the paper goods company she often partnered with, had contacted her just a few hours after she’d left the pediatrician’s office with her girls. They wanted her to promote their latest collection, Glit Settings. Deena took one look at the pictures of their glittery plates and cups and said, “Yes!”

Immediately, her mind’s eye saw colored sugar crystals. On cookies, on birthday cake, on tumbler rims. Miri was going to love it, and the plug for Table Talk would sound completely authentic. Win-win.

“Honestly,” Leah objected, “I think she would’ve been a lot more ecstatic if you had gone along for Shabbos.”

“Be quiet,” Deena hissed as she measured out three cups of flour. “I went along last time.”

“Only after I threatened to call you out on Instagram.”

“Right. With friends like you, who needs in-laws?”

Leah gave a small sigh. “Seriously, Deen, was it that awful to spend a Shabbos with Zev’s family?”

Deena turned the mixer on and stepped away from the noise. “It wasn’t. Actually, it was pretty okay. Shaina came over for Shalosh Seudos, we had a nice time.”

“But?”

“But they’re Zev’s parents, Leah,” she blurted. “The whole situation messes with me. I’m trying to move on, and… It’s hard. Every memory hurts. You can’t blame me.”

Instantly, Leah’s tone switched to pity. “I’m sorry, Deena. I should stop torturing you this way.”

There was a cookbook open on the table. Deena slammed it shut. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I need to concentrate here, I’ll talk to you.”

She hung up the phone feeling miserable. She turned the mixer off and transferred the dough onto parchment paper on the counter. Then she grabbed her rolling pin and started rolling the dough with vigor.

The truth was, Leah was a real friend. Her sympathy was genuine — and deep down, so tempting.

It would’ve been so pleasant to accept it. To allow herself to be drawn into the comfort of a friend cushioning her loss.

But this was Zev. And to do that — to allow herself to wallow in someone’s sympathy for her loss — would be glaringly deceptive.

She made it to candle-lighting without a minute to spare.

After lighting, she sat down on the couch with a siddur to daven Kabbalas Shabbos. When she reached Lecha Dodi, she stayed sitting, staring aimlessly around the room. She was so tired, she couldn’t peel herself off the couch to say the tefillah. Her eyelids drooped, and slowly, her shoulders went slack. The siddur folded over her hand, and within minutes, she was fast asleep.

When she woke up, she blinked in confusion. It took her a minute to orient herself. Where am I? What day of the week is it? Where are my girls?

One hand felt numb. She wiggled it and her siddur slid to the ground. She picked it up, kissed it, then looked at her watch.

Four-fifteen.

That’s when the smell hit her. A strong, distinct smell. A distinctly burnt smell.

She jumped up with a start. The food. She’d left some soup, kugel, and chicken for her seudah on the blech. Hours and hours ago.

Gingerly, she peeled the lid of the soup pan off. It was empty, a layer of char coating the bottom of the pan and one shriveled, blackened carrot smoking in the middle. The kugel still looked okay, but the chicken was toasted to a crisp.

Deena dumped the pans in the sink. Then she made herself a coffee and sat down on a barstool at her island.

The world slept. It was dark and still and quiet.

And she was alone.

I’m sorry, Deena.

Alone. All alone.

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Adorable! How do you come up with your ideas???? And you have the absolute cutest family!

Luuuuuuv the #7 glitter balloon! Where d’ya pick that up?

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Deena dropped her phone on the table, as though her fingers had been scalded. Her eyes swept over the deck. Glitter was everywhere; on the table, on the floor, in the puddle of spilled soda on one of the chairs.

Inside the house, her girls were sound asleep. She should clean up, get the deck and the house back in shape.

But she stayed in her seat, eyes sparring with the glittery mess.

She’d done it. She’d prepared a fantastic party. Miri had been perfectly shocked, utterly delighted.

Until.

Until Deena had asked her, ever so casually, to pose near a place setting.

Miri’s face had turned rigid. “I thought this is my birthday party!”

“Of course it is!” Deena had cried. “Don’t you want some pictures of your party?”

Miri had looked down at the tableware suspiciously. “So you’re not… doing a post for this plate company then?”

Deena’s fingers crept toward her phone on the table. She tapped her passcode, loaded the photos.

There it was, that picture. She’d gotten Miri to smile, bumbled her way out of answering her question.

The pictures had come out amazing. Table Talk was ecstatic.

And Miri was good. She’d sat down with her friends, ripped open her glitter activity packet. A glitter party — it had been a great idea.

Deena had smiled. She’d stretched her lips wide and smiled to all the aunts and cousins and bubbies — hers and Zev’s — to all the friends and neighbors she’d invited. She’d smiled when they told her they’d never been to such an incredible party in their lives.

She’d kept smiling. She’d smiled until her cheeks hurt. Smiled at everyone in the crowd, smiled as she took part in the noisy, happy party energy. She’d smiled and smiled and smiled, smiled away a sense of dread that followed her around like a shadow.

Because even as she’d sat and schmoozed and laughed, even over the cheerful music, a thick and mocking silence encircled her, a silence filled with a distinctly burnt smell.

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And more comments.

@nutsandbasil you rock!

Ah… birthdays! The happiest moments of our lives, huh?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 768)