“What’s going on?” he asked, and there was a sincerity in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long while. She felt a pinch behind her eyes.

“I’m trying so hard to give people the gift of music. I have the resources and the teachers, but everyone thinks it’s frivolous and unnecessary. They don’t get music, and I wish they’d just listen for a second, see what music can make them feel, what it can do to them. And then I thought I’d just do it all on my own. I can do that. But when I spoke to marketers and nonprofit leaders, they doused whatever embers I had left.

“And now I just tried playing the cello for the first time in 35 years and I’m terrible. I always thought I could’ve been something, but I’ve been deluding myself all along. Why am I even bothering with any of this?”

She said this in a breathless rush, not making eye contact with the man.

“Music is magic. You’re not wrong. But there are many forms of creative magic, and everyone is attracted to different ones. We just happen to have chosen the best form.” He winked. “And then there are those who don’t understand creativity, and I hate to say this, but they live a kind of soulless existence.”

They both chuckled.

“There’s no point in gifting people something they don’t want. They’ll never appreciate it, and you’ll wish you hadn’t squandered it on them, you’ll wish you’d kept it for yourself.” He paused. “So do that. Gift music to yourself in a way you haven’t done yet.”

It was quiet for a long moment.

“Pass me that cello,” he said.

Evan handed it to him. He picked up the bow and played a few chords.

“Just as I thought,” he said. “Hopelessly out of tune, that’s why I came to the front, because I heard that.”

He smiled and offered the cello to Eva.

“Remember how to tune them?”

Eva nodded, but stayed seated. He was right, what he had said resonated so deeply she didn’t even question it. The only question was, now what?

Hey

What’s up?

Shira messaged Rikki. She’d had to take a deep breath before hitting Send, but she was doing it, she was going to have agency, put herself out there and try, for real.

Rikki and Malky had been so nice and fun and normal on Simchas Torah. Maybe they could be more.

Her phone pinged. Shira grabbed at it. Rikki had responded.

Hey, perfect timing!

What do you mean? Shira tapped back quickly.

Me and Malky are going to Little Bean and were wondering who else to invite to make it a cute group — wanna come?

Little Bean — that was that cute kids’ playground and café, she’d heard of it, but would never go by herself.

Sure! She responded right away. Was that too fast, was it uncool? She didn’t really care at this point. Racheli and Dovi were running around in pajamas. Hopefully they weren’t leaving in 30 seconds.

An hour later she found herself sitting at the café, watching Racheli and Dovi run wild in the mock town playground. It was an interesting place. Tasteful, cavernous, kid-focused. There were all types there, a few other frum moms, some too well-dressed for a kids’ activity, then some crunchy granola type.

So out of town, her brain said. It wasn’t a bad thing, Shira noticed, it just was. She listened to Rikki and Malky chatter about making Zara returns and if Chicago would ever have as good a dip selection as Lakewood.

“I know I can make the dips myself for a fraction of the price, but it’s not about the money, or even the taste,” Malky was saying. “It’s about the convenience, and the treating yourself for Shabbos. It’s an experience. People don’t get that. They think it’s all about money. It’s not.”

Shira didn’t know if Malky had money or not, but it was nice that someone seemed to get her perspective a little bit.

She wasn’t clueless; she knew people made do with a lot less than she did, but to have anything she spent on looked at as wasteful hurt. What did people expect, that she should just hoard her money? Give it all to tzedakah? Supporting businesses could be a kind of chesed, she thought, and felt proud of her insight.

Racheli waved at her from across the room. Dovi was hogging the slide; she should probably move him to another area. She looked around the room again; the other frum mother was buying something. They had kosher options here? Cool. Shira looked down at her bag that she’d hastily stuffed with cheese sticks and crackers.

She took a deep breath and felt a calm that had eluded her for a while. This was nice, this was normal. She could reach out, she could make friends, she could do things by herself while Ephraim was in school. Things didn’t have to be perfect, she just had to feel like she played a part.

Her phone pinged. She looked down. It was a text from Ephraim. He was with his study group, this was sacred time to him. Why would he text her?

She swiped up to read it.

Hey, I made reservations at Shallots for us tonight. We need to talk.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 816)