She waited a moment and the message appeared. Hey! At risk of being — how did you call it? nebach cases huddling together and coddling each other — can I ask how you’re doing? Are you seeing any improvement with your son?

The word son made Deena’s stomach jerk. It was weird. She’d become pretty friendly with this poster over the past few months, sharing more than she allowed herself to share even with Leah. Deena appreciated her insight, her nonjudgmental reactions to the stuff Deena revealed. She’d helped Deena sort out her thoughts and achieve clarity quite a few times.

And yet, the woman was essentially a stranger. It was incredible how much she knew about Miri and still believed the kid was a boy.

He’s definitely doing better, Deena replied. She hesitated. Then she typed, slowly. Can you seriously nebach case me for a moment?

@sleepaholic: *searching for hug emoji* What’s up?

me: I felt so lonely today.

@sleepaholic: Go on.

me: I tried picturing my husband here with me. I couldn’t.

@sleepaholic: 

me: I went away for Yom Tov. I’m seeing all these families. They make sense together, the parents and the kids. While I she backspaced the last two words, thought for a moment, then continued typing. It drives me crazy, but I can’t even picture it. He’s so detached from the scene, it’s as though he never existed. I’m not making sense, I know. Am I losing it?

@sleepaholic: I don’t think you’re losing it. You said it yourself — you’re feeling very lonely. I really get it. I — k, this is cliché, but I have it all the time. I know it’s different, my husband didn’t die. But I’m familiar with the feeling of disembodiment. It’s horrible.

me: Right.

me: Exactly.

me: Horrible.

For the next few minutes, nobody typed. Then @sleepaholic sent another message. You’re still there, right?

me: Yes.

@sleepaholic: I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing?

me: No! No, you’re great. Really great. You made me feel better.

@sleepaholic: I didn’t do anything…

me: You know what I mean.

@sleepaholic: Whatever.

They chatted a few more minutes, with Deena once again struck by the strangeness of sharing with a person who was nothing more than a screen name. Still, she felt less jittery when the conversation ended and she stuck her phone back in the charger.

She took a water bottle out of the small fridge under the table, drank, and returned to bed.

Within minutes, she drifted off.

It was only when the main course came out — prime rib carved tableside over risotto, topped with roasted carrots — that Pessie started having qualms. Maybe I should have listened to Devoiry after all and bought those dresses at $189 apiece.

She hadn’t had time to observe the guests until then. Motti had missed his nap that day and had been cranky since before lichtbentshen. She’d taken him to their room to try to put him to sleep, figuring a late nap and late night was better than a kid whining straight through the Yom Tov seudah.

After that, the men had returned from shul, they’d settled down in the massive succah tent, and she’d gotten busy feeding everyone and running the seudah, as Yochi kept disappearing into the kitchen between bites.

Now, the girls had run off into the hotel building to play with all their new friends, Yochi had dashed off to the kitchen again — “Just for a minute, I’ll be right back, I need to remind them to take the dessert out of the freezer” — and her gaze wandered around the tent.

There was a nice mix of people in the crowd, but the majority definitely fit the mold Devoiry had described: expensive clothing, expensive sheitels. The very skin of these women looked expensive.

“What do you say?” Yochi asked, slipping into his seat once again and analyzing the plate in front of him. “Does he have it?”

“Who? What?”

“Berkowitz.”

Pessie glanced at her plate. “I don’t know what he does or doesn’t have, but I’m getting a stomachache just looking at this food.”

Yochi chuckled. Then he nodded across the room to where Binick was standing. “He’s getting the choir going again. They’re good, no?”

“Great. Excellent. Everything’s really nice here.”

Yochi caught her eye, and Pessie read his unsaid words. Do you really mean that, or is that just lip service?

Did she mean it? Everything was great and excellent, the food certainly was delicious. Would she prefer to be home in their cramped succah, balancing pans on the hot tray, wiping spills, trying to get the kids to stop fighting at the table?

She couldn’t deny that this place was special. When was the last time she’d sat at a Yom Tov meal she hadn’t cooked, served, and cleared up? Even when they joined their parents for meals, it meant dragging half-sleeping kids home late at night. Here, the children were living it up, ecstatic about the immense space and round-the-clock company.

She returned Yochi’s gaze. “It’s a real treat,” she said genuinely. “You’ve thought of everything. It must feel out of this world to be at this point, right?”

He nodded and smiled, a smile laden with gratitude. But at the same time, his smile held a hint of a quiver, and with a flash of remorse, Pessie noted how he blinked swiftly and turned his head down to his plate.

Yochi stood up again after a few bites. “I gotta go. I’ll be back soon to bentsh.”

Pessie watched him stride over to Binick, keeping her eyes on her husband as the pair spoke. She’d said all the right words, yes, but she still felt like she’d made a mess of everything.

Yochi and Binick headed out of the succah, and Pessie’s gaze traveled over to the table where the choir sat. The choir head, Mossberg, stood in front of the group, motioning to the singers with one hand and holding the hand of a little boy in his other.

He made a great impression. Pessie had observed him a number of times since he’d arrived, and she liked what she’d seen. He was a friendly guy, always joking around with people, and he was clearly a very warm father.

“Did you also find yourself at an empty table?”

Pessie looked up to find Deena leaning over the chair Yochi had just vacated.

“I should have thought about Mashiach!”

“Huh?”

Pessie flushed. “Uh, nothing. You’re right. My husband keeps coming and going. Sit down, you’ll have the opportunity to serve me many great antioxidants in a few minutes.”

Deena giggled and sank into a chair. “Did you like the risotto? Was it too al dente? Was the truffle too overpowering?”

“It tasted fine to me, although really, what’s wrong with old-fashioned rice?”

Deena winked. “You know the rule. Every course has to offer at least one item that you never have at home.”

Pessie nodded absently. Then she picked up her knife, stabbed it through the meat on her plate, and gave a little cough. “Uh, Deena… What do you think of the choir?”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 779)