There were two other women on the next bench over. If this were Israel, she’d have totally gone over and introduced herself; she was her own person there. In Chicago, the moment she said her name, people thought of her in-laws. While her parents were also comfortable, she didn’t have that reaction growing up. Gross was a common name, and Brooklyn was bigger.

Be a big girl and say hi. Use their kids as segue, she told herself. It took everything to look deliberately at the two women, smile clearly when they noticed her, and say, “Your kids are so cute playing.”

They looked at her, looked at each other.

“Yeah, so cute,” the one on the right said.

“Are you new here?” The second one asked.

“Yes, we just moved.”

“Nice, what’s your name?”

“Shira Weissbrodt.”

There was a pause.

“Related to the Weissbrodts here?”

“My in-laws.”

There was a slow nod from both women.

“Cute,” the one on the right said, and then they turned their heads and resumed their conversation.

Was that it? That approach always worked. Kids were the best wingmen ever. It definitely wasn’t her. Was it her in-laws? Did she not qualify as new because she had family in town? These women were snobs. What happened to out-of-towners being nice?

Maybe there’s something they have to discuss, be dan l’chaf zechus, her Bais Yaakov education nudged her. Whatever.

She took out her phone and texted Ephraim. How’s your day going??!!

Amazing, he responded quickly. But I already got a ton of reading assigned.

At least we’ll have some time together when we go out later this week, she typed.

Five minutes later, there was Ephraim’s reply. About that… I don’t think date nights are going to be happening for a while. Sorry… we’ll talk later.

A lump formed in her throat. Alone in the park. Alone at home.

“C

an I help you?” The salesman, kind and balding, asked Eva.

She looked around the A440 Violin shop and took a deep breath. The scents of wood and polish triggered memories of her childhood. She inhaled deeply again.

“I’m looking to buy a one-eighth cello,” she answered. “For my granddaughter.”

He nodded. “One-eighth. So this must be her first cello, right?”

“Yes,” Eva answered.

“How are her lessons going so far?” He asked it more than conversationally.

Eva shifted her weight. “Well, she hasn’t started yet, I’ve just set a date for her first lesson.”

“I see.” He rubbed his cheek. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Eva nodded.

“You obviously care a lot for your granddaughter to be making this purchase.”

Obviously a but was coming.

“But she doesn’t know if she likes it,” the salesman said plainly. “She’s not committed to it. And even if she loves it, she’ll outgrow a one-eighth pretty fast.”

Before Eva could sputter a reply, he continued. “Renting, especially at the beginning, is a great way to go.” He gestured to the cellos and violins lined up in a row. “You’re getting top-of-the-line instruments, repair and maintenance are included. And you can always upgrade to a larger size when she’s ready. We also offer a rent-to-own option.”

Yes, but… Eva wasn’t satisfied.

“Why don’t you just want to take my money?” Eva always preferred clarity over politeness.

He chuckled.

“We take a lot of pride in our instruments.” He brushed his hands over a violin. “We don’t see them as ornaments, we want them to be used, to live the life intended for them. We don’t ever recommend purchasing the smaller cellos, we generally only rent those.” He paused and looked at Eva. “How many kids do you know who started on an instrument that they don’t touch today? It’s a waste, I tell you.” He seemed sincerely horrified at the thought. “Not even a waste of money, but of the instruments. Who are you, if you’re not doing what you’re meant to do?”

She looked around the room. It was large but congested with so many instruments. Violins hanging high on the wall by their necks, in notches, cellos beneath propped up and held in place.

He was right. He was wrong. She so wanted Racheli to have a cello she could hold and keep and know it would never be taken from her. It was too easy to access the memory of her parents requesting her cello and telling her that they were discontinuing lessons. They didn’t explain why, she was too young, but as she got older, she pieced it together: bad business deals, a rough few years, and she’d reached the end of instruction available to her as a frum girl. Her parents were oddly open in some ways but very insular in others.

“I can always buy a nice D Z Strad online.”

Maybe that would work. The salesman smiled lightly.

“You can. I won’t stop you.” He gestured around the room. “I’m willing to risk a sale in order to preserve the integrity of the instruments and music.”

“You’re stubborn,” Eva stated. “But I like the attitude and reasoning. Tell me more about the rentals.”

He smiled again and started leading her to the back of the store to the counter, and Eva felt a strange mix of sad and satisfied.

“ ‘No regrets’ doesn’t mean living with courage, it means living without reflection.” That line from Brene Brown had resonated when she’d first heard it. Did she reflect too much? Wouldn’t it be nice to have no second thoughts or memories asking her, “What if?”

She took out her phone and quickly texted Binyomin her thoughts. Should I buy or rent? Am I overthinking this? she ended off.

Thoughts are cheap, if you’re reflecting so much, do something about it, he shot back.

Eva stopped walking and looked around the shop. So much love, so much opportunity.

I’m adding it to my money list, she texted back.

Not commenting on your “list” now. But yes, whatever you do, I’m all for it.

Eva chewed her lip, no one seemed to care how she spent or didn’t spend her money. She caught up to the salesman. An idea had just come to her. A beautiful glorious one that felt like the answer.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to buy.”

He smiled apologetically, his palms open.

“But I’m not selling.”

“Wait, listen. I’m starting a community organization, giving children access to instruments and instruction. This cello will be my first.”

He raised a brow, trying to process what she just said. Eva knew the 180 sounded ridiculous. More carefully, she explained.

The salesman raised a brow. “How ’bout this? We’ll start off with a rental, a brand-new one-eighth cello. You’ll build equity right away, and as soon as you show me your 501-c-3 nonprofit papers, I’ll sell it. I’ll even give you great price.”

Eva beamed. Yes. This felt right.

“Deal.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 801)