“Rosh Hashanah,” Shaina said. “My mother so badly wants you to go to her. You’re going away for Succos, and you know she loves when you come with your girls. I didn’t tell her I’m calling you, but…”

But please be a sport and don’t make things difficult all the time.

“I’ll go,” Deena said.

“Oh! That’s great! Thanks, Deena!”

Deena snorted. “You didn’t expect this to go so easy, huh?”

“I didn’t hear what you said,” she answered smoothly. “Anyway, gotta fly, I’ll see you later then.”

Deena turned off the EarPod and stirred the mushrooms. Of course, her in-laws wanted to spend Yom Tov with their grandkids, but there was more to the invitation. It was the unending sympathy at play again.

Poor Deena, spending Yom Tov home alone with Miri and Nechama. Maybe they meant well, they probably did. But the way it played out, in their effort to “take care of Deena now that Zev is gone” felt more like they owned her.

She could go to her own parents, but really, what difference did it make? Wherever she’d go she’d be the nebach, and her fatherless children would be the center of inflated attention. Woooooow! Did you hear how beautifully Nechama sings ‘We dip the apple in the honey’?

At home, it would have been just them. But that didn’t mean Yom Tov wouldn’t have been beautiful. She had… the napkins.

She’d picked up those napkins in Home Goods, that summer.

“Wouldn’t these be stunning for Rosh Hashanah?”

Zev glances at the napkin she’s holding. It’s a white linen square with embroidered bumblebees.

“Cute,” he says.

He doesn’t seem excited, but that’s probably because he’s weak. He hasn’t eaten all day, except for that flaxseed drink in the morning that sometimes gives him energy but usually just unsettles his stomach.

“Should we buy them?”

“If you want.”

They buy them. They also buy black chargers and square vases, which she plans to fill with baby’s breath and a few furry bees. She has a lot of ideas, things to bake, honeycomb-shaped fritters with honey sticks. And honey dipper place cards — that would be so pretty.

But when Rosh Hashanah comes around, the Home Goods bags stay on the highest shelf in the storage closet.

Zev is gone.

She’d packed those bags along when she’d moved. From her old storage closet to her new one, the receipt still inside.

Deena left the kitchen and her truncated demo. The bags were on the top shelf. She needed a stepladder.

In the dining room, the Shabbos tablecloth was still on the table. She’d been out shopping with her girls all day on Sunday, and when she’d returned, she hadn’t entered the dining room, and simply forgot about it.

She laid out the black chargers. Her china was a perfect match — black and white and gold. The vases, the honey dippers. The napkins.

What am I doing?

Family, Yom Tov with family. Ordinary, regular, father-mother-kids family. At this beautifully set table, with the girls’ shanah tovah cards hiding under Zev’s challah cover. Little mouths chewing on pomegranate arils then spitting them out because they have seeds!

A heaviness settled on her limbs, and she sank into the armchair at the head of the table. Zev’s chair — but not his seat. He’d never had a seat in this house.

You know the truth, Deen, Leah’s voice purred in her ears. Zev is never coming back. It’s time for you to move on. You need to remarry.

The bell rang, and Deena lurched. She flicked on her phone and checked her security camera app.

Shaina. Right.

She steadied her breath and went to the door.

Shaina was holding a small gift bag in her hand.

“Come inside,” Deena said. “You brought me a gift? Yay! What’s the occasion?”

Shaina followed Deena to the kitchen. “I—” she stammered.

Something was up. A queasiness rose in Deena’s throat, and she aimed suspicious eyes at Shaina.

“This was sitting in my safe for awhile,” Shaina started. “It’s—” She lifted her eyes and caught Deena’s gaze. “Zev gave it to me for safekeeping. About a month before he was niftar, I think it was. He wanted to surprise you with this gift. He told me it was something major, but he didn’t tell me what it was.”

Deena froze. She opened her mouth, closed it.

Shaina fingered the bag. “I — I completely forgot about it. I never open the safe, it’s mainly for my husband. But now he was clearing out some stuff and he asked me what this was…”

The room was spinning. Deena’s knees swayed. Through a dusty fog, she nodded.

Shaina held out the bag, and with nearly paralyzed fingers, Deena took it. As the bag changed hands, Shaina closed her hand around Deena’s and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Deena,” Shaina said softly. “I feel horrible. Please forgive me.”

“It’s okay,” Deena managed to whisper. “Don’t worry.”

“And now for the taglililili?” Shaina asked. “It smells heaven in here.”

Deena wanted to hug her sister-in-law for tactfully changing the subject. And for not expecting her to open the bag in her presence.

A few minutes later, as Deena walked her to the door, they passed the dining room and Shaina stopped short.

“Oh, my goodness, Deena! What in the world is this? Are you hosting a party tonight?”

Deena’s grip on the bag tightened.

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I was just, uh, working on a set here.” She gestured casually. “For a post.”

She didn’t open the bag right away.

When Shaina left, she returned to the dining room, sank back into Zev’s chair. She sat still, as though time had frozen, as though the bag on the table in front of her was an illusion.

“Zev,” she whispered.

Her fingers trembled as she stuck her hand into the bag and pulled out a gift-wrapped box.

A small envelope was taped on the wrapping. She peeled it off but didn’t open it.

I can’t do this. I can’t.

She put the envelope aside and unwrapped the box. She opened the lid, took out the small leather box from inside.

Her eyes rounded.

An eternity band.

She held the box, stared at the huge, gleaming diamonds, hardly breathing. She didn’t take the ring out of the box, didn’t dare touch it.

A moan escaped her lips. Deena blinked rapidly as tears leaked from her eyes. She put down the ring, reached for the envelope. Her hand shook as she pulled out the card.

Dearest Deena,

Thank you for being here for me throughout this difficult time. I’m so grateful — for everything.

A kesivah v’chasimah tovah,

Zev

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 771)