“A gutte vuch! A gezunte vuch! A mazel’dig vuch!” Yochi sang as he doused the Havdalah candle with wine.

“A gutte vuch!” the kids chimed, clamoring around Yochi for their weekly wine face paint.

Pessie’s phone buzzed. She peered at the screen. “My mother. We’ll go over, yeah?”

Yochi dunked his pinkies into the spilled Havdalah wine and dabbed it over his eyebrows. “Uh… actually, I was thinking we should maybe stay home tonight. I’m not so in the mood.”

“Nooooo!” Hindy whined. “I want to go!”

“It’s not fair!” Zissi cried.

Pessie gave the kids a warning look. “Whoever cleans up the playroom gets ice cream,” she announced.

The kids hurried off. As soon as they were out of earshot, Pessie turned to Yochi. “Okay, what happened?”

Yochi took off his shtreimel and dropped it onto the counter. “I just… I want to talk to you. About the tour job.”

“Okayyy,” Pessie said deliberately. She picked up the besamim holder and snapped it shut. “And we can’t talk later? Are you avoiding the Big Boss or something?”

“I think we should stay home.”

Pessie nodded suspiciously. She picked up her phone to respond, then changed her mind and put it back down. “I guess I’ll make some grilled cheese?”

“Yes,” Yochi said. “Grilled cheese, perfect. I’ll go put away the leichter meanwhile.”

Pessie watched him leave with mounting suspicion. Yochi offering to put away the leichter without a reminder — something was terribly off.

She plugged in the Betty Crocker and pulled bread out of the freezer. Yochi returned and with unusual eagerness, helped her feed the kids, bathe them, and put them to sleep. When the house was finally clean and quiet, Pessie sat down on a kitchen chair.

“So. What are we actually going to eat?”

“I happen to like grilled cheese,” Yochi said. “But I’ll mash some tuna, if you’re in the mood.”

Pessie grunted. “Whatever. Tell me what happened.”

“Right, so I know we discussed this a bunch of times, but I feel like I should explain myself one more time, so you really understand.” Yochi took a can of tuna out of the pantry. “I don’t want to stay stuck in a job I hate for the rest of my life. Accounting is not for me. Directing tours is so much more up my alley, and besides, it’s a fantastic opportunity. Tours is a growth industry. I’ve been doing this company’s accounting for years, and I see their trajectory. Up, up, up, between ten and fifteen percent every year.”

Pessie sat very straight. “I hear you. I hear everything you’re saying.”

“I know you’re not excited about me changing jobs.”

“I can’t pretend to be, but you’re a big boy, you’re the one who gets to own the decision.”

“That’s so generous of you.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, but really, what do you expect me to say? I won’t hold you back if this is what you want.”

“You’ll just mope about it instead?”

Pessie swallowed. “I won’t. At least I’ll try not to.”

Yochi added a dollop of mayonnaise to the tuna. “And maybe you’ll even be happy about it one day?”

She didn’t answer.

Yochi stuck two bagels into the Betty Crocker. Then he pulled a notepad out of the mail cabinet and joined Pessie at the table.

“Anyway, let’s talk tachlis.” He clicked his pen open. “We’re talking six tours a year at this point. Binick’s offering 20K per tour for the first year. After a year, when I renew my contract, we’ll renegotiate.”

He wrote down 20 X 6 and then the number 120 in big and circled it.

“Six tours?”

“Two winter, two summer, Succos and Pesach. And of course, family gets to join for free.”

Pessie stared. Six tours! Probably around ten days each, plus flying time. She pictured herself standing at the Shabbos table, alone with the children, making Kiddush. Her stomach knotted.

Yochi continued. “The tour that’s coming up next is Pesach, which I wouldn’t be involved in. The first tour I’d join is in June. It’s that place I was telling you about. Zambia, remember?”

“The elephants,” she said numbly.

“Elephants, yes. It’s really cool. This is for a younger crowd. The hotel is more quaint, not the elegant resort type. The food is obviously gourmet, but the main point is the game reserves. It’s really something else.”

“I think the bagels are ready.”

“Pessie.”

“I’m listening,” she said drily. “Game reserves. Sounds exciting.”

Yochi stood up and went to bring the bagels to the table.

“So here’s the deal, Pes. I sort of gave notice.”

Pessie’s skin went cold. “You… gave notice?”

Yochi tore off the paper from the notepad and started folding it. “There was no choice. I… I messed up. A careless mistake, and it’s a big account, and… it’s so embarrassing, I can’t even describe it.”

A mistake. Her father’s business. Ouch.

Her head reeled. This was… awful. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Whatever.” He folded the paper again, then dropped it onto the table. “Anyway, I discussed it with your father, he told me to sleep on it. We had a whole long conversation. Bottom line, I need to get back to him with my decision.”

Pessie sat quietly, picking sesame seeds off her bagel. When she finally looked up, her face was expressionless.

“So that’s why you didn’t want to go to my parents tonight?”

After dropping Nechama off at playgroup, Deena shrank into her car and finally returned Leah’s call.

“Okay, Leah Kugler. You know I don’t do sappy challah bakes. What did you sign me up for?”

Leah tutted. “Sappy in whose eyes?”

Deena switched her phone to hands-free and backed out of her parking spot. Leah’s voice filled the car.

“Come on, Deena, have a little fun. It’s not a Rebbetzin-y type of crowd, this is Huvi Spiegel. She basically invited a few other classmates, some neighbors, her sisters, maybe some cousins… It’s going to be so nice.”

“Nice in whose eyes?”

“Oh, stop.”

Deena stopped at a red light. “I’m not coming. Forget it.”

“You are. She’s counting on you. We got exactly 40 people.”

“Forty people! This is getting better by the minute. You know I’m allergic to the number 40, Leah — 40 people, 40 days.”

“Listen, Deen, I’m sorry, really, but you can’t back out now. Huvi told everyone you’ll be there. They’re coming because of you.”

“Free demo, why not?”

“Hey, snob. Does every breath you take have to be sponsored?”

“Does every stroller you sell have to be charged?” Deena shot back. “Anyway, I have to hang up now. I have an appointment.”

“And I’m docking my warship. Put up a dough and be ready at eight. I’m picking you up.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 738)