Ezra is behind her, and he looks just as angry as she feels. “Rivi, can’t we just have one meal without you provoking her?”

“It’s so nice to see you.” There’s nothing quite like a lie presented between gritted teeth, enclosed in a tight smile.

Clutching her pan of strawberry kugel, Rivi does her best to smile back at Atara. “This is for you. We really appreciate the invitation.”

“Well, you know, it must be such a struggle for you to get home in time to make Shabbos during the winter months.” Atara’s face gives nothing away. She takes the kugel. “Does it need to be heated up? It’s a little late—”

“Oh, no, I usually serve it at room temperature.” Every sentence feels like weaving through a minefield, dodging potential explosions. “The strawberries get a little soggy when it’s warm.”

Atara recoils. “Strawberries?” She shoves the kugel back at Rivi, horrified.

Boom! Rivi suddenly remembers a vital fact that had escaped her last night, when she’d been so desperate to do something that she’d been unforgivably stupid. “Oh no. I completely forgot that Perri is allergic.” Said six-year-old hears her name from the dining room, sees the kugel in Rivi’s hands, and lets out a squeal of fear.

“I’m so sorry. I’m—” She lurches forward from the foyer, throws the kugel into the kitchen garbage. “There, that’s settled. I’m so sorry,” she says again.

She wishes Ezra were here to defuse the situation with a few easy words to his sister, but he’s still at shul with the other men. And maybe he wouldn’t have spoken at all, just stood behind Rivi in silence. He could have said something last night, she thinks with unfair resentment. Not that she’d discussed her plans with him.

Maybe he’d also forgotten.