“Suri is bringing Magna-Tiles,” Eliana repeats. Rivi nods absently, rewriting the email to sound more conciliatory.

“I love Magna-Tiles!” Shira shrieks, bouncing on her bed with toddler enthusiasm. “More Magna-Tiles!”

Blimi scowls at her from the other bed. “No! Lego!”

“Magna-Tiles!”

“Lego!”

“Magna-Tiles!” The email falters, and Rivi finds herself writing the same words over and over. She can’t focus. They’re going to lose this suit, and—

“LEGO!”

“MAGNA-TILES!”

“ENOUGH!” Rivi snaps, her temper rising. “There will be no trip at all if I can’t finish this email!” The twins fall silent, their cherubic faces wobbling. Shira’s eyes narrow and a frown clenches up her face, and Blimi begins to sob, loud and unrelenting. Shira’s cries emerge at her sister’s distress, and soon they’re both wailing.

“Rivi, I can finish the packing without you….” Eliana says carefully.

“It’s under control,” Rivi says tightly. “Why don’t you head home?”

Eliana retreats. “Okay. I just thought… I thought you could use the help.” She gestures at the sobbing twins, the open suitcase, the discarded clothes on the dresser. There’s a tinge of judgment there beneath the hurt, and Rivi just wants this interloper gone from her house.

“I appreciate it. But I’ve got it,” she says stiffly, turning to Blimi. Blimi is the softer twin, a toddler who loves hugs and comfort, and she tries to gather her into her arms.

“No!” Blimi thrashes in her arms. “I want Tatty!” Rivi tightens her arms around Blimi, humiliated and helpless. “Tatty!” Blimi sobs.

“Tatty!” Shira bellows. Eliana slips out, pity in her eyes, and Rivi hates everything.

“It’s okay,” Rivi says, rocking Blimi. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry I yelled.” The phone with the unfinished email remains on the floor next to the suitcase, and Rivi tears her attention away from it to focus on Blimi. “Mommy’s here.”

“I… want… Tatty,” Blimi gasps between sobs, and Rivi is useless, all sharp edges and short fuse, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to make it right. Not when all the twins want is for her to go away, for them to be comforted by their warm, gentle father. Shira’s tears have become screams, and Rivi is relieved that Ezra is at Maariv and can’t hear any of this.

“Look,” she says, and she lightens her voice, glances at the time and then determinedly looks away. “How about we do something fun, just the three of us? Want to bake cookies for the trip?”

Shira perks up. “Chocolate chunk cookies?”

“I want to add the flour first!” Blimi says, tears forgotten.

“No, me!”

“Me!” They clamber off their beds and run toward the door, a whirlwind of action ahead of Rivi. Something loosens in Rivi’s chest as she watches them go, two tiny, adorable little girls in matching nightgowns who have her hair and eyes. She bends only to grab her phone and follows them out.

For all their enthusiasm, the twins are mostly a hindrance in the kitchen. Rivi situates them around the mixer and finds a measuring cup for each of them. They happily empty ingredients into the bowl, enthusiastic and giggling, and Rivi guides them through it. “Let’s check the eggs,” she says, holding up a clear cup. “Any red spots?”

“It’s all purple!” Blimi says triumphantly. She has yet to master her colors.

“That’s yellow,” Shira says, all mini-Rivi with the scorn to match. She tips the cup into the mixer.

Rivi laughs. For a moment, she thinks I can do this.

Sometimes, she finds herself taking a step back, as though she is watching herself from a distance. She imagines how she must look now, standing next to a mixer with her daughters, a perfectly competent mother doing stereotypical motherly things. It’s almost like pretending and finally getting it right.

“Should we put sprinkles in the dough?” she suggests. The twins beam. Rivi is going to be up all night packing, but it doesn’t matter right now. She’s got this.

The mixer runs, steady and rocking the table just a bit. Blimi pours in too many sprinkles. Shira eats chocolate chips whenever she thinks that Rivi isn’t watching. They are calm, happy with their mother, and when the front door creaks open, heralding Ezra’s return, the twins don’t budge from their spots.

“Late-night baking session?” Ezra asks from the kitchen doorway. He’s smiling, and Rivi finds it easy to smile back.

“We’re making cookies for the drive. I know it’s late for the twins—” she tacks on hastily.

Ezra shrugs. “They can sleep in tomorrow,” he assures her. “Wednesdays the boys have a program first thing in the morning. I can come late.” His eyes are gentle, and Rivi feels a flush of warmth. “It’s good to see you taking some time to relax. I know the Gibson case had you on edge earlier.”

The email! Rivi casts an eye at her phone, then forces a smile. “She can wait a little longer for my input,” she says. “Blimi, why don’t you get the baking sheets? Shira, can you find the parchment paper in the cabinet?”

The girls scamper across the kitchen. Rivi itches to grab her phone. The unwritten email lurks in the background now, a reminder of what is still to be done tonight. Packing. Email. She’ll have to finish the cookies when the girls get bored. They have to be put to bed. She needs to make a shopping list for Ezra tomorrow. Probably more emails. Are the boys still playing board games with Gabe in the basement? Have they started their own packing?

“Rivi.” It’s Ezra, moving to stand beside her. “Do you need a hand with this?”

“It’s fine. We’re having girl time,” Rivi says, pushing aside the rest of tonight’s responsibilities.

Ezra frowns, mock-disappointed, at the twins. “Does that mean I don’t get to lick the bowl?”

“Yup!” Shira informs him, smug, and tucks herself beside Rivi. “Just Mommy and Blimi and me.”

And then, a blindingly shrill noise, vibrating against the kitchen table. Rivi’s phone. The screen reads Janice Gibson, and Rivi is frozen in place, the decision before her an impossible one. They need a game plan now for the meeting tomorrow. The cookie dough sits in front of her, the phone taunting her just beyond it, the girls returning to the table with the clang-clang of the baking sheets against a chair as Blimi climbs back up.

The phone stops ringing. Rivi hesitates. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll cut the parchment paper and—”

The phone comes alive again. Janice is calling back, insistent, and Rivi grimaces.

“It’s fine,” Ezra says, reassuring. “I’ll finish up in here. You take the call.” He slips into her spot at the table with ease, guides the girls so fluidly that they hardly seem to notice that Rivi has disappeared.

Rivi steps away, picks up the phone, and talks Janice down, pacing through the living room as they discuss new angles.

The call goes on for nearly an hour. The house smells like fresh cookies, the twins are fast asleep, and Ezra is just finishing chazarah with Meir when Rivi hangs up. She heads into the kitchen and tries a cookie as she cleans the table. There are far too many sprinkles. The girls must have loved them.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sensing Ezra’s eyes on her. “I left you with all of this.”

“Hey, I got to lick the bowl. No complaints here. And the girls were happy.” He says it so simply, like that’s reason enough to make it all worthwhile. Rivi’s chest aches. “Did you figure out everything with your client?”

“I think so.” They have evidence to undermine the new deposition, and she thinks that the company will probably settle tomorrow. “I’ll finish up the packing now.”

“Take a minute. Don’t subject yourself to any more of those cookies,” Ezra urges her. He digs into the pantry and emerges with a parents-only mini chocolate bar from their secret stash. “You deserve a break.”

“You deserve a medal,” Rivi says ruefully.

Ezra shakes his head. “I’m just your second-in-command. Speaking of,” he says, perking up, “I don’t know if Gabe mentioned it, but when we went to your father’s house on Motzaei Shabbos, it was packed. Lots of old photos and memorabilia. I was thinking that next week, Gabe and I could work on emptying it out.”

Rivi tenses. There are moments now, several weeks in, when Rivi can go through hours of the day without a single reminder that Abba is gone. After all, his disappearance hasn’t altered her day-to-day life in any way. But when it hits her afresh, so do knotted, complicated emotions, and her mood begins to falter.

“I’m going to take care of it,” she says, and she tries for a light explanation. “If I have my husband do any more of the work than you already do, Suri and Atara will never let me live it down.”

Ezra scoffs. “You should have seen Atara’s room when we were kids. And Suri’s one to talk, when your work is pretty much the only reason they’re making their mortgage.”

“Suri doesn’t know that,” Rivi points out. Ezra has been taking care of it quietly, protecting his brother’s image and house. “She just sees me as—”

“You have to stop letting Suri and the others dictate your decisions.” Ezra shakes his head. “I want to do it.”

“So do I. I just have to get to it.” It’s another thing to add to her plate, but she’d rather waste weeks of nonexistent free time on Abba’s house than leave it to Ezra. It isn’t even just her sisters-in-law. Mostly, she can’t bear the thought of Ezra spending so much time in the home where she once lived, a place that makes her feel itchy and ashamed.

“It’ll be cathartic,” she insists, and she puts extra force behind that, enough that Ezra doesn’t push the idea again.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 907)