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The fabric looked like it belonged on a couch. And not a classy one. This was no majestic French Renaissance masterpiece. Not even a neutral piece for the den. It was the garish floral trying way too hard, way too obviously, and failing spectacularly. And she was supposed to wear it to her sister-in-law’s wedding in two months. And her brother-in-law’s wedding a month after that.

“We’ll all be matching!” her sister-in-law, Leah, the kallah, had said.

It sounded like a good idea at first. She didn’t have time to shop for gowns to coordinate. She was too busy with college and her own shanah rishonah. But after seeing the bolts of material, and the accompanying design, Deena wasn’t sure what to say, or do.

“Isn’t it gor-geous?” Shira crowed. Her other sisters-in-law chirped enthusiastically. Deena was busy with her phone. She snapped a picture of the material and sent it to her sisters’ group chat, captioned: Gag Vomit.

Grandma drapes, Ricky wrote back.

I think my ex-mother-in-law had a tea cozy in that material, her oldest sister Mimi chimed in.

You’re kidding, right? This from Shira.

I wish. You should see the dress design. Deena wrote back quickly.

She took a picture of the design, under the guise of gushing over it, and wanting to show the world, and quickly sent it off captioned Good thing I’m married because the design is old-maid patented.

Is that a whopper bow? Shira wrote.

OMG, it’s gonna make you look so fat!

What designs were they looking at, “nerd design for dummies”?!

Feeling both awful and vindicated, Deena quickly typed back: What should I do???!!! She added a bunch of horrified-face emojis for good measure.

And the chat went silent. All the horror, none of the advice.

Deena looked up at her sisters-in-law, who were poring over the design.

“Do you think we should add tiers to the skirt?”

Deena turned to her, as though she’d just noticed them.

“Tiers,” her sister-in-law repeated.

Deena shrugged innocently. She checked her watch dramatically. “Oh, I just remembered something! Gotta get home!”

Her sisters-in-law assured Deena they’d keep her in the loop. Deena left quickly.

As soon as she got into the car, she burst out crying. The tears surprised her — she wasn’t sure where that came from, probably early pregnancy hormones. But it didn’t make a difference why they’d come. Her first social event as a Mrs. and she was going to be a bloated couch!

She let herself weep for a few minutes until, as suddenly as they’d come, the tears were gone. She pulled down the mirror behind the visor to survey the damage. A waste of good mascara. Why was she crying? She wasn’t going to be a couch — she was expecting, and would get a proper gown to showcase her joy. Never mind that she probably would just look bloated at the first wedding. Adjustments would have to be made.

“What do you think?” She put her phone with the picture of the material in front of her husband’s face as they sat down to supper.

He looked at her quizzically, unsure of what was really being asked. “Nice?” he asked slowly.

“Men. It’s nasty drape material that your sisters plan on turning into a gown.”

“Oh.” Mendy exhaled.

“They have no taste. They are such out-of-towners. Like they wear white shells with everything, y’know?”

Mendy sat frozen.

“It’s a good thing both weddings are in Yehupetz so no one I know will see me. And that I’m pregnant, so I can make some alterations without seeming like a total JAP.”

Mendy picked at his lip.

“I’m gonna ask my sisters, see if they have any ideas,” Deena continued, though she had already solicited them with no response.

“You’re not telling them you’re…”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Not until after the first trimester.” She’d figure out some other way to get a response.

What color do you think complements this mess? she texted the group. Maybe I can get a complementing color so I’ll fit in, but not look like a hag.

It took a while for one of her sisters to read her message, Deena kept checking and rechecking. Finally, Mimi. There is no complementing that. Put on a garbage bag and you’ll outshine ’em all.

Shira was next. My mother-in-law is cleaning out her mother’s apartment and I think has a coordinating set of bedspreads, want them?

No really? What can I wear instead? I can’t do this to myself.

Quiet.

What does Mendy say? Shira asked an hour later.

Mendy is Mendy. Deena typed back. He stays quiet.

Smart man or a lemele? Mimi commented.

Don’t know yet, Deena wrote and added a wink.

Works for you either way, Mimi responded.

Three days later Deena was called in for gown measurements. She hesitated a moment. Should she tell the seamstress she was expecting? She had no idea what she’d look like in two months’ time. Six weeks in and she didn’t see any difference, but she expected to be thicker around the waist. She decided against it. It was none of the seamstress’s business; there would be fittings later on, things could be adjusted then.

Still, she did tell the seamstress, “I like a looser fit. Not so tailored, more draping style.” The seamstress raised an eyebrow at her and then gave her a small knowing smile.

“Isn’t it a stunning jacquard?” Leah said to the seamstress.

“Brocade,” the seamstress said.

“What?” Leah said.

“Is brocade, not jacquard,” the seamstress told her. And then she started explaining the difference in the pattern and weave between brocade and jacquard.

Deena rolled her eyes and turned around to text. My sil thinks it’s a jacquard, the seamstress corrected her that it’s a brocade… really who cares, but my sil is acting like she knows what she is talking about — so funny, is it terrible to laugh?

So funny! Ricky commented quickly.

Shira sent an emoji of the smiley laughing so hard tears were coming out of its eyes.

Leah was showing the seamstress the design. “Do you think you can do it? What do you think of it? I did it myself,” Leah said.

The seamstress waved her hand. “Is fine. You look beautiful,” she said in her halting English.

Deena tried to make eye contact with her, somehow signal an S-O-S — the design was all wrong, needed an overhaul, material too ugly, too heavy, something. But the seamstress was rolling up the swaths of material and requesting deposits and offering dates for a first fitting.

“When does it work for all of us to come?” Leah looked around the room, to Deena and her other two sisters-in-law.

The other two started rattling off openings in their schedule. Deena saw her chance.

“My schedule is always changing, I’ll come for the fitting myself.”

They all looked at her sympathetically, obviously feeling bad that she couldn’t join in their solidarity and sisterhood.

“Whatever works best for you,” Leah said sincerely.

Deena exhaled long and smiled broadly. “Don’t worry about me,” she reassured them.

“Your sisters are so cute,” Deena told Mendy later, after supper. “They’re so nice and so sweet and concerned. I feel bad, ’cos I didn’t want a time to work ’cos I wanna go myself and maybe fix up the gown, do something different and they won’t see. But they were so nice about it. Like they felt bad for me.”

Mendy had a perplexed look on his face, but Deena just kept on talking. “I know you’re wearing a pink-and-silver paisley tie for the wedding — which is like, so crazy nice of you. But I can’t do that. Like women, we can’t do that to ourselves.”

So this is the plan, Deena texted the group after dinner. I’m designing a new gown, getting new material, maybe I’ll use this… stuff as an accent and I’ll complement them all — that’s not too bad, right?

It was quiet for a while until Mimi wrote, Look, Deena, this whole gown thing stinks for you, but your plan is begging for Mendy’s family to hate your guts.

Really??? That bad?

Yes. Too late now to say you hate it all and to change it. Unless you have some stellar reason why the gown won’t work.

So if I have a reason I can do it?

The only reason that would fly is if you were expecting and needed a gown to accommodate.

Deena went quiet.

Not sharing anymore, Deena? Mimi pressed.

Finally Shira appeared. Shtikah k’hodaah, with a winking emoji.

When you due? Ricky piped up.

Deena stared at the phone in horror. How did this come out? Mendy would be so upset. What happened to their privacy? How did a conversation about her dress turn into a pregnancy announcement? They hadn’t even told her parents or his parents, and all her sisters knew. And the seamstress knew, she was almost sure of that.

She felt heat and this time recognized that tears would be next. She didn’t want Mendy to see, to know. Quickly, she clutched her stomach and ran to the bathroom.

“You okay?” Mendy called after her.

Deena didn’t answer. She wouldn’t be able to mask the break in her voice.

She sat down on the side of the bath. Breathe, she said to herself. It’s not a big deal. So your sisters guessed. You didn’t confirm. You could just tell them to keep their mouths shut. It’s not a big deal, not a big deal, not a big deal, she repeated to herself. Her breathing settled, the tears stopped. She looked in the vanity mirror; seriously she’d have to start wearing waterproof mascara. She took a Q-tip and worked on reducing the raccoon shading around her eyes.

She went back to the living room. Maybe Mendy would want a snack or something. She was starving, though they’d finished dinner only a half hour ago.

Mendy didn’t look up when she came in.

“Do you want a snack? Chips or something?” Deena asked.

Mendy was quiet. That wasn’t unusual. Mendy was often quiet, Deena knew.

She turned back to the kitchen to fix herself some chips and salsa. Mendy’s voice came low and serious from the other room.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “I picked up your phone to use the calculator, I left my phone in the car.”

Deena froze.

“It was opened to your sisters’ chat.”

The heat was rising in her. She turned around and this time let her husband see the tears well and spill forth.

“You’re crying?” His tone was incredulous. “You’re crying?”

Deena felt the burn of shame rise in her. She covered her face with her hands and ran to the bedroom; she tried to hold in her sob, but it escaped in the hallway.

“Deena? Deena!” Mendy called after her, sounding contrite.

Again she found herself crying. At least her pillow was comfortable.

The conversation. He had read the entire conversation that started days ago. He knew she hated the material and design, but her sisters were so funny and so mean. She gasped, and remembered — Mendy had been mentioned, and now everything was worse, much worse. My world is over, over, over, my world is over.

There was a light tap on the door before it opened. Mendy. She couldn’t look at him. Deena buried her face in the pillow and turned her body to the wall. The door creaked and she heard his frame settle in the rainbow-patterned beanbag seat she’d brought from her old room in her parents’ home.

“Your world is not over,” he said quietly.

Did he know her that well?

It was quiet, her turn to say something.

“You don’t hate me?”

He paused. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m not so happy with you right now, but…” He trailed off.

“You’re not divorcing me?”

A laugh burst from Mendy.

“Don’t laugh! I’m so serious!”

“No, I’m not divorcing you.”

Deena exhaled and sat up. Mendy dwarfed the beanbag chair. It was funny, but she dare not laugh. He looked sad.

“I feel…” Mendy started. He spread out fingers, looked at his palms. He struggled for words to speak his mind. “Exposed.” There was a long pause. “Betrayed.”

Deena nodded. “Go… go on.”

“I knew most of what you said, you told me how you felt about the gowns, but—” He waved his hand helplessly. “On the chat everything is so much harsher. And you said things, or didn’t say things, and it hurt.”

His voice picked up steam. “You insulted my sisters, and that feels like an insult to me — I don’t know if you meant it like that, but it feels like that, like you’re making fun of where I come from, of who I am.”

She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn’t look up to meet his eye.

“And you didn’t stand up for me. Do you think I’m a lemel? Do you think I’m smart? Tell me, Deena,” he pleaded, “don’t tell your sisters.”

Deena hung her head. Mendy plowed on, his voice rising. “And your sisters know you’re expecting, don’t tell me it’s fine because you didn’t confirm — you didn’t have to. This is our life! My life. It’s private. We didn’t tell your parents, we didn’t tell my parents — and your sisters know because you’re upset about a gown. Really, a gown? That’s all it takes for you to betray us?”

Mendy stopped. He was finished.

Deena wept.

He waited.

“I’m sorry,” Deena whispered, barely audible.

Mendy stayed silent.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated a little louder.

He met her eyes — his mad and tired, hers fearful. “For what?”

“Everything.”

He shook his head. “You can’t just throw an ‘everything’ blanket over it all and think you’re done.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Why did you start crying when I said I had read the chat?”

Deena looked away again, “I knew what the chat said… what I said, what my sisters said, and, and…” She fumbled for words.

“You knew, and what?” Mendy prompted.

“There were things I shouldn’t have told my sisters. Things my sisters said I should have let pass. I shouldn’t have shared our news just because of—” Deena stopped. She couldn’t say the word. “A gown,” she said finally. She couldn’t look him in the eye, she couldn’t look at him at all. Her shame kept her head bowed, her eyes focused on the large sequined butterfly on her sweater.

They were learning about butterfly life cycles in her biology class. How they spin cocoons, and develop wings, but if ripped out too soon, they were crippled for life, never being able to fly, to soar. Deena picked at a sequin that stuck out at an odd angle. Why was she thinking of butterflies? Her marriage was in jeopardy.

She stole a glance at Mendy, his head was bowed too, his slumped shoulders seemed more wounded than mad. I’m a terrible person, Deena thought. Mendy had been coming more and more out of his shell since they were married, talking more, and stuff, and now… Her thought trailed off, and she pulled at the errant sequin again; it came off.

That’s what I did to him, came the horrible reckoning. I ripped him out of his cocoon. Oh, my. She breathed out. I am the worst wife ever. Deena pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the tears. Mendy just sat there, his face turned to the side.

Deena took a deep breath, maybe she could explain it, maybe he’d understand. “We were always a chevra, me and my sisters. Four in four years, my mother used to say. Nothing ever broke us apart. Mimi’s divorce just brought us closer, us against the world.”

She stopped. Suddenly Deena understood something she never had before.

Mimi once told Deena in an offhanded way, “You should never have to choose between your husband and your sisters.” That was six months before she divorced. Deena was single then, it meant nothing to her, but it all made sense now.

“I choose you.” She met Mendy’s eyes.

He looked at her, understood her intent. His shoulders straightened and his brow lifted. “What are you going to do about the gown?” he asked.

Deena hunched her shoulders. “I told you before, it’s Yehupitzville, no one I know will see me. I’m not gonna hurt your sister’s feelings at her wedding.”

“What about your sisters?”

“What about them?” Deena suddenly felt tired and anxious again. Mendy held up her phone, notifications from the group chat flashed.

Deena took the phone from his hands, and pressed the button on the side. The screen faded to black. “I choose you,” she said again.

They fell silent.

“Is that it?” Deena said after a while. She was feeling calmer now.

“Is that what?”

“The end of our first fight?”

Mendy looked around the room in surprise, as if looking for confirmation from the furniture and walls that that’s what had just happened. Then he shrugged.

“Oh,” Deena exclaimed, bouncing up from her bed. “I can’t believe we did it! We’re like mature people, doing the communication stuff they’re always talking about. We should get a trophy!”

Mendy’s shoulders tensed. “You’re not going to tell your sisters,” he said quickly.

Deena’s eyebrows shot up. “What? No! Of course not.” She frowned. “I said I choose you, I said I—” Deena stopped. “You don’t believe me.” Her ever-active hands fell to the side limply.

“I wanted to believe, I did. But then you said we should get a trophy. Who else would give you a trophy on your first fight but your sisters?”

Deena burst out laughing. “I’m not telling my sisters, but I’ll always be a drama queen. I don’t think I can change that much in ten minutes.”

There was visible relief in Mendy’s eyes.

“End of our first fight?” Deena offered again.

Mendy nodded and smiled broadly. “The end.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 537)