Tziporah opened the fridge — and saw the three boxes of miniature cheesecake trifles Benny had insisted on ordering. She didn’t want to know how much they had cost

The guys left in a pack, throwing a few “Thank you, Reb Benny”s and one “Wow, Rebbetzin, amazing food” over their shoulders before closing the door. The apartment was silent.

Akiva, Chaim, and Yitz stayed behind.

“We’ll help you clean up,” Akiva said.

Gitty Lederberg jumped out of her chair, startled, as the three boys walked into the kitchen holding trays of half-eaten food.

“Whoa, I’d better go,” she said, and scurried to the door.

Tziporah watched her take in the sorry remains of the party: the shame spilling from the green tablecloths and bamboo plates, the last forced notes of song hovering in the air. Was she still jealous of the Mullers? Would she ever again wax poetic about her super-popular neighbors with their huge bochur parties and amazing singing?

The food kept coming into the kitchen. Mushroom fettucine, barely touched. Baked ziti, half gone. Puddles of sauce bathing the last remaining noodles of the penne a la vodka. The sushi platter that Tziporah had spent more than entire day’s salary on was mostly finished. But there were still so many pizza rounds, so much tuna salad. And all those dips….

The boys were bringing the iced coffee and soda back into the kitchen now. Tziporah opened the fridge — and saw the three boxes of miniature cheesecake trifles Benny had insisted on ordering. She didn’t want to know how much they had cost.