Weird, but he couldn’t complain. At least Pessie was enjoying part of the tour.

He lifted a box of host packages and returned to the lobby. Hindy and Zissi were waiting near the elevator, together with one of the Lizman girls. “Hey, crew!” he cheered as he summoned the elevator. “Ready to work? We’ll start with the fourth floor, all right?”

He balanced the box on his knee as the elevator rose. When they reached the fourth floor, he put the box down and showed Hindy the printout. “The room numbers go up in this direction, and down over here.” He flicked his thumb toward the corridor. “There are names on each package. You’ll put them near the room number with the same name. Here, see?” He showed them one box. Gutner, 415.

Hindy nodded.

“I’m going to get the box for the third floor now. Wait for me here when you’re done, I’ll come get you.”

The girls each took two packages from the box and Hindy found the coordinating names on the list. Yochi sprinted down the hallway to catch the elevator. He was about to enter when he stopped short, arrested by the view.

He let the doors slide shut and tiptoed over to the window next to the elevator. The Alps, in hues of grays and golds and greens, rose magnificently before his eyes. Ski slopes snaked through the mountains like flowing rivers, and above, the mountains soared to the sky, peaks shrouded in pillows of cloud. It was devastatingly beautiful.

He planted his fingers on the window pane, staring.

The food — yes, the food, it was important, most important. But his guests wouldn’t only go home with full stomachs. They were getting this. This niflaos haBorei that caught your breath, drenched you with wonder.

But as his eyes traveled longingly from slope to slope, from one glorious peak to the next, the wonder was coated in despair. He was so close to the beauty, but with the responsibilities that sat on his shoulders, it felt completely out of reach.

This was what Pessie had been trying to tell him. Malkie’s vomiting, the help — so much of his day was focused only on the surface. This was something she feared.

They would go on the tour and not actually be there.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have left accounting. Maybe he should’ve stuck it out at the firm, become partner, and come on this tour as a paying guest.

If his wife wasn’t happy, maybe he’d made a mistake.

Deena had done many collabs over the years, but this was completely different.

There was no camera aimed at her, no need to explain and entertain. Berkowitz was impressively cool under pressure, and between Pessie Hersko, Rivkie Berkowitz, and Chaya Binick’s company, the kitchen was a happy place.

And the best part? Miri had hit it off with Pessie’s daughter Zissi. A miracle.

Deena directed two kitchen hands as they prepared and bottled a large variety of dressings. Pessie walked over with a bag of carrot sticks. “I need a shidduch for this,” she said, waving a little carrot. “Something garlicky?”

Deena picked out one of the ready bottles. “This here is ranch dressing.” She squirted some dressing into a portion cup. “It’s got parsley, thyme, and dill, which offer lots of, uh, antioxidants? Yup, definitely.”

“Make fun, why don’t you.” Pessie dipped her carrot stick inside.

“Listen, I intend to serve you a lot of antioxidants on this trip. Hidden in lava cakes and tiramisus. Just you wait.”

Pessie groaned. Then she bit into the carrot and declared, “I’ve never tasted such good antioxidants in my life.”

They laughed.

Mr. Berkowitz walked over to Deena and held out his tablet. “I think we need to switch the appetizers of the first and second nights,” he said. “There’s Roman artichoke in the appetizer the first night — the carciofi alla guidia — so there shouldn’t be artichoke in the main. Or maybe we do this—” He tapped on his screen and a recipe popped up — Cedar-Wrapped Salmon and Grilled White Asparagus — “for the appetizer the first night, and leave the carciofi for Chol Hamoed?

Deena squinted at the screen. “I think we should keep the carciofi, it’s our first course and it’s more of a wow. Leave the veal artichoke main for Chol Hamoed.”

“I hear. Hmm. That makes sense.”

He pulled up his menu spreadsheet, shifted cells around. “Yes, I think that will work. Thanks.”

“Should we go check up on the kids?” Pessie asked when the caterer walked away.

Deena glanced at the two kitchen hands. They seemed to be all set; she didn’t have to stand around. “I guess so.”

When they opened the kitchen door, they were hit by a wave of noise. Ringing phones, loud voices, suitcase wheels.

“Okaaaay….” Deena whistled. “Welcome to all our special guests, huh?”

Pessie nodded. Deena sensed her tense up. She threw her a questioning look, but Pessie ignored it.

In the lobby, families huddled around luggage, a cluster of men at the reception desk, tour staff striding through the room clutching tablets, talking to guests.

And there, close to the entrance, was Ruthie.

Immediately, Deena’s stomach tightened. Any moment, Ruthie would notice her, run over and shriek, “Heyyyy! Do I know you from somewhere? When did you get here?”

She had an urge to escape. She didn’t need this. She was here on business, she had no interest in this ridiculous non-relationship.

But before she could turn away, her gaze froze on Ruthie’s face. The woman was pale, her eyes roaming around anxiously. There was a toddler in her arm, another little kid whining at her side. She looked frustrated, bone-weary — and completely lost.

The sight melted something in Deena’s heart. This wasn’t about her. She pictured Ruthie’s flight alone with four little kids. The rush through the airport, check-in, bathroom trips, food, fights. She probably hadn’t slept in 24 hours, and here she was, trying to figure out how to find her room and get the luggage over, how to settle the kids, give them something to eat.

Deena motioned for Pessie to follow her. They wormed their way through the throngs of guests.

Ruthie’s face lit up when she saw her. “Deena! Hi!”

“Hi! Welcome!” Deena smiled. “Can I help you with your luggage? Did you get your room key?”

“Uh, not yet.” She glanced at her kids and the suitcases. “I guess I’ll get on line….”

“Leave your kids,” Deena said. “I’ll watch them.”

She turned to Pessie. “This is Ruthie Laufer.”

Pessie gave a small smile. “Hi. She is…?

The response was ready on Deena’s tongue, safe and neat and polite. My classmate.

A swift glance at Ruthie’s expectant face made Deena chide herself.

This isn’t about me.

“Ruthie is…” She gave a quick swallow and cajoled her lips to smile. “My friend.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 777)