Dini followed him back to the living room. She sat down on the couch, watching him carelessly throw a large pile of clothes into the suitcase. She resisted the urge to refold everything. Instead, she took a slow breath, trying to unclench her stomach.

“The video guy said he’d send me the first draft by the end of this week,” she said. “You’ll be able to take a look at it from your parents’ house, right?”

They’d gone back and forth over whether or not Shuki should keep this trip a secret from his parents. It was awkward going to interview for a different job while still employed by his father, but they’d ultimately decided that it would be much more awkward if he stayed with a friend and his parents discovered he was in the US. For now, the story was that he was there to meet with Chesed Tzirel donors.

“As far as I know, they haven’t gone off Internet yet.”

“I mean, you’ll have the time? Because I really need your opinion on this, the video’s so important, and I — I don’t want to move ahead without you.”

To her horror, she felt her voice catch. What was wrong with her? Was she seriously falling apart because her husband was leaving for a week and a half?

Shuki stared at her. “I’ll give you whatever time you need. You know, modern technology is really amazing. There’s this invention called the telephone—”

Dini made a face at him, while blinking rapidly. Mortified, she turned her face away. For goodness sakes, she was crying!

“Dini?” Shuki’s voice was soft, concerned. He stood up and came closer. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head.  “I — I don’t know!” She reached toward the coffee table for a tissue.  “There’s just… so much going on right now, davka now, with the campaign, and you know how much I need your advice, and I have no idea how I’m going to run things without you!”

Shuki took a step back, brow furrowed.  “I didn’t plan this trip on my own. I asked you and you said it was okay.” There was an edge of defensiveness in his voice. “Remember, I’m doing this for the campaign.”

Dini blew her nose. He didn’t get it, she realized.

“Shuki, I’m not — I’m not blaming you. What I’m saying is… I’ll miss you.”

Bad timing was an understatement, but when Sarale and Penina showed up at her doorstep exactly five minutes after Shuki’s cab had driven away, Dini summoned all her powers of politeness to exclaim over the pleasant surprise.

“Sorry for barging in on you like this,” Sarale began breathlessly.

“We hope we’re not disturbing anything,” Penina added.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” Dini mumbled.

Penina looked around. “My gosh, how do you keep your house so neat even when you’re not expecting visitors?”

Dini wasn’t sure what she was talking about; there was still assorted debris left from Shuki’s hurried packing. Hero worship, she heard Bracha’s sardonic voice in her head. She shrugged, amused, as she swept away several of Shuki’s empty Doritos bags from the couch and invited the girls to sit down.

“What’s up?” she asked, settling down on the recliner opposite them.

They looked at each other for a moment; apparently, Sarale won the silent vote, because she leaned forward to speak.

“So, crazy story, but Penina and I were talking earlier this morning and it turned out, we’d both had the exact same conversations with our husbands last night. And, since we had no clue what to say or who was right, we decided to come to our awesome mentor for wise advice.”

Sarale flashed her a bright smile. Dini tried to smile back. Ugh, she was very much not up for wise advice at the moment.

Biting back a sigh, she said, “What was this conversation?”

Penina jumped in. “Actually, it was about Chesed Tzirel.”

Dini stiffened.  “Oh?”

“Yeah. Rafi saw my list of people I was planning on contacting for the campaign, and he was like, whoa, my yeshivah’s about to have a fundraiser, we can’t use up all our relatives on Chesed Tzirel.” Penina stuck her chin out. “And I was like, why not? Chesed Tzirel’s amazing, look how much they’re helping people. And look how much I gain by being part of the volunteer club. But he still insisted his kollel comes first.” Her face darkened.

“Yisroel said almost the same thing,” Sarale said. “But, of course, his issue wasn’t about his own kollel, they’re not having any fundraiser as far as I know. Not that they can’t use one, they give barely any money.” She frowned. “His issue was about asking people for money, period. Not that I was surprised, but he started crossing off every one of his relatives I’d put on my list. He was like, no way, they have no money, or they have their own mosdos to support, or, how can you ask my parents when they help us so much already? Ha, as if—” She caught Dini’s warning glance, shot a swift look at Penina, and bit her lip.

She spread her arms out. “So who’s right? Our husbands or, um—”

“Or me.” Dini leaned back in her chair and smiled. “You don’t really expect me to answer that question, do you? I’m kind of biased.”

Sarale looked at her in dismay. “No, seriously?”

“Yup, seriously. I really am.”

She rubbed her eyes. This was just what she needed right now. Just when she thought she’d gotten all her volunteers on board and raring to go, she had a revolt of the husbands. Who would’ve thought she needed to run ambassador spouse events?  She could, though. Shuki could do, like, a beer, barbecue, and kumzitz matzav.

Oh, right. Shuki was on his way to America.

She needed a time out. She stood up. “Drinks, anyone?”

From the kitchen, she heard Sarale and Penina talking.

“What are you gonna do if you can’t call any of your husband’s relatives?” Penina asked.

Sarale sighed. “I’m not sure. I so badly want to win that Swiss vacation.”

“That new sheitel!”

Dini pursed her lips. Were the prizes the only reason they cared about raising money? What happened to gratitude? Or good ole tzedakah for a worthy cause?

She suddenly laughed. Oh, my goodness, she sounded like Ayala! Wasn’t this the reason she’d set up the prize system to begin with? Hello, it was working!

She headed back to the living room, carrying a bottle of iced tea and a plate of cookies, just in time to catch Sarale lean toward Penina, eyes burning intently, and say, “Dini said we should try to find people who have some connection to Chesed Tzirel. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Ayala left the Aaronsons’ apartment smiling. Visiting the sweet elderly couple always did wonders for her mood. With Mrs. Aaronson, life was good, Hashem was so kind to them, and if they were going through a rough period, well, things were sure to get better soon.

She had to admit, she held her breath when she arrived, waiting for Mrs. Aaronson to say that Dini had asked her to be an ambassador for the campaign; as far as Ayala was concerned, that would have been the final straw. She’d decided not to raise the subject when she’d spoken to Dini, other than a general question about how the fundraising was going. Dini had answered, “Super!” and then had told her that she’d be getting her personal ambassador page link soon (“of course, as head of the organization, you’ll want to take on a respectable goal”), which had made Ayala stammer uncomfortably, realizing Dini was right, and seek to end the conversation sooner rather than later.

Fortunately, Mrs. Aaronson had not mentioned anything about Dini or fundraising, so Ayala had breathed a sigh of relief and told herself that, after all, she could rely on Dini’s judgment.

As she walked home, she dialed Zev. Mrs. Aaronson had shared one significant piece of information: The apartment next to hers was up for sale. How perfect for Ma and Ta! To have neighbors like the Aaronsons, and in a building just two blocks away from Ayala.

Zev was less than enthusiastic.

“Ayala, they’re not ready to move. You heard them as well as I did. I don’t think you should be forcing this. You know that Ma and Ta don’t do well with change.”

Ayala pressed her lips together, feeling a surge of irrational anger. Suddenly Zev was the wise one who understood their parents’ needs better than she?

Wise… She heard Naftali’s voice in her head, from last night: Are you sure this is such a wise decision? And Bracha’s snort: Just what you need, another full-time job. Where, exactly, will you find the time to care for your parents?

What made it worse was her own honest voice, which had to admit that they were probably right.

Frustrated, she said, “Don’t you realize that it’s in your best interest to encourage them to move? That — that it’s either going to be me taking care of them, or you and Shaina?”

There was silence for a moment. Ayala thought she’d made a winning argument; Zev knew very well that Shaina was not interested in caring for his parents.

He chose to punt. “We can discuss that down the line, when they reach that stage,” he said lightly. “Hey, speaking of Shaina, she told me to send a message to you.”

“Yeah?” Her sister-in-law rarely had anything to say to her outside of common politeness.

“Yup, she said to tell you that she, uh, saw Chesed Tzirel’s big music video being promoted by — what’s her name again? — some major foodie influencer — Zivi — no, Zeesie Stark.”

She stopped walking. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she said she was really impressed with what a big splash you guys are making.”

Ayala felt her blood run cold. Foodie influencer? Big splash? Music video?

She needed to speak to Dini, pronto.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 904)