Shira took Racheli’s hand, walked to Dovi’s room, gathered him, dressed the two in matching duds, and headed downstairs. She kept her ears peeled for movement. Was her mother-in-law home? Shira couldn’t figure out her schedule, and she still didn’t know what to do around her, especially when Ephraim wasn’t around.

Shira knew she technically had run of the house, but she didn’t feel comfortable using that permission. For instance, did her mother-in-law really not care if she put music on over the in-home sound system? Did she really not mind her taking over her kitchen? This housing arrangement wasn’t meant to be permanent, but it was only two weeks in, and Shira was ready for her own space.

Clarissa was puttering around the kitchen, washing dishes, replacing garbage bags. Shira smiled at her and propped the two kids on bar stools at the island. Clarissa immediately stopped her task and started taking out bowls and cereal and oatmeal.

“Do the kids want eggs?” she offered.

Shira waved her off with a hand. “Cereal’s fine.”

“I want eggies,” Racheli piped up.

Clarissa smiled and pulled out a pan. Shira took the few moments while Clarissa fussed with the food to take inventory of cookie-making ingredients. Flour, sugar, brown sugar, vanilla… Clarissa seemed to be watching her as she opened every cabinet.

“Are there any sprinkles in the house?” Shira asked her, pulling out a drawer in the pantry and trying to peer in deeper. She’d always kept a stash of different toppings in her pantry in Israel, it was such a fun treat for the kids.

“No sprinkles.”

“You sure?” Shira reached over and turned the flame on, then wandered to another shelf and shifted boxes around to see deeper.

“No sprinkles,” Clarissa said firmly.

She would know, Shira noted. This wasn’t her mother-in-law’s kitchen; it was Clarissa’s kitchen, and her mother-in-law visited sometimes.

“Okay, I’m gonna pick up sprinkles and then I’m gonna bake with the kids.”

Clarrisa nodded but her brow was raised. What didn’t she approve of — the shopping? The baking with her kids? Shira was not her mother-in-law; Clarissa should have realized this already.

It took longer than expected to get the two kids into the car, pull out of the driveway, and make it through the unfamiliar Chicago streets. Shira hunched over the wheel, trying to see if there was oncoming traffic coming down Devon. She pressed and the car lurched forward. An elderly woman standing across from the Center for Torah and Chessed was giving her looks. Shira tried to pretend she didn’t notice her.

“You’re doing great,” she said aloud to herself. She’d barely driven in five years; she hadn’t missed it.

“You’re great, Mommy! I’m so proud of you!” Racheli echoed in the back. The “proud of you” sounded condescending. Shira giggled.

“Thanks, cutie.”

“No, you’re a cutie!”

A car was beeping aggressively behind her, and Shira couldn’t figure out why. Was it his alarm? She looked into her rearview mirrors. The driver was gesturing, pointing to the right.

Oh, right. You could make a right on red in Chicago.

Again, she inched forward. An oncoming car beeped. She slammed on the brakes and tried to catch her breath.

Shira looked back at her kids.

“How we doing?”

“I need to go,” Racheli said.

“I know, me too,” Shira said, realizing a moment later what her daughter really meant.

She turned her blinker to the left, back home, the guy behind her let it rip on his horn. Shira tensed her muscles and then tried to let it pass through her.

“So much noise, Mommy!” Racheli said.

This was such a different reality for her kids. Israel was full of people and life, and America was cars and people alone in their own homes.

“Noise!” Dovi cried, the edge of his toe reaching the back of Shira’s seat as he kicked.

The light changed, finally. Shira moved into the intersection to make a left, deliberately looking away from the driver behind her as he drove up alongside. She could see his face and gestures in her peripheral vision, it didn’t take much imagination.

As she pulled into the driveway, Racheli said, “Mommy, I’m wet.”

Deep breaths, Shira told herself, deep breaths. At least she didn’t have three flights of steps like in Israel. Count your blessing, Shira.

She changed Racheli and was ready to put Dovi in for a nap when Racheli whined.

“I want sprinkle cookies.”

Shira sucked her cheeks and tried breathing again. It didn’t come easy. She could leave the kids with Clarissa. But it felt wrong. The other Northwestern wives were busy hustling, the least she could do was take her kids shopping with her.

Back into the car they went. She missed her walks to the makolet with the kids in the stroller.

Walking into Jewel was weird. She supposed it was normal to shop in non-Jewish chain supermarkets. But growing up, she’d mostly only shopped in Pomegranate and Moishe’s.

Shira looked at her list. She’d added a few things she wanted to buy, her mother-in-law kept the house stocked with her usuals, but Shira was hoping to bring her own taste of home back.

The aisle of greens beckoned her; she was excited for checked greens. There was the usual bagged salad, romaine, iceberg, euro mix, but nothing exciting, no checked spinach, arugula, or even checked dill.

Does Chicago sell fresh checked herbs? she texted Danielle.

She didn’t know who else to ask—not her mother-in-law. She knew enough not to text the Northwestern group, even she knew that checked greens equaled more money.

Once in a very blue moon. Don’t count on it. I used the frozen stuff.

Thanks, she texted back.

Seriously? she thought. This place was a food desert, but if she complained, everyone would just think she was entitled. The thought made her want to cry.

“Could we get sprinkle cookies?” Racheli asked again. Shira looked down at her daughter; she’d lost all patience for this good-mommy, supportive-wife charade.

“Sure,” she answered, leading Racheli to the packaged baked goods aisle, where she found classic, flower-shaped, vanilla-and-chocolate with sprinkles on top cookies. She was not baking today. “Guess they’re not that backward,” she muttered to herself.

“These taste best when they’re cold,” she told Racheli as she put the container in the cart.

“I want one now.”

Shira shrugged and walked herself and the kids to the self-checkout. She didn’t bother with a bag.

Back in the car, she gave out cookies to the kids, they ate happily, she ate too many.

She inhaled deeply; tears leaked out on the exhale. Was she seriously sitting with her kids in a car in Chicago eating packaged cookies while living with her in-laws?

She picked up her phone to call Malky, her old neighbor in Israel. No one answered. Shira calculated the time mentally, 5:30. No wonder, Malky was probably busy with supper, feeding the kids in the chatzer. It was Monday, she’d be going walking with Toby at 8. Shira took a deep breath, she wasn’t going there, not now, not helpful.

Her phone dinged. Malky?!

It was a text from Ephraim.

Hey, just checking in with you, first day is going well. Intense, but amazing. How are you doing?

Shira wiped her eyes, leaving a mascara trail on her hand.

Great! She texted back.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 803)