The rain was making visibility difficult.

He pulled into the nearest rest stop. “Restroom and drinks?” he asked.

She nodded, patted down her sheitel and the colorful bandana thing she was wearing on top of it, and opened her door.

“Wait!”

He ran to the trunk, pulled out the two umbrellas he still had stashed there from their dating days, and offered her one. He was rewarded with a genuine smile.

“So thoughtful, thanks.”

Why, he wondered, as they danced between the drops, was marriage sometimes so incredibly easy, and other times, it felt like he was trying to hold back the mythical boulder from rolling down the mountain?

She was being really mean about the whole Boston thing. Can’t a guy dream? In Boston, there was a big house with a yard and a fire pit and an adjacent mitzvah apartment, just waiting for someone to step in and fill it. And in Lakewood, what was the most he and Estee would be able to afford on a secretary/kollel budget? Wait, scratch that, on a photographer and kollel budget? A two-bedroom, then three-bedroom kollel apartment? Where would the kids play? Run? Dig?

Good thing Estee didn’t have access to his thoughts. For many reasons, actually.

They picked out Snapples and bags of over-priced chips and pretzels and then ran back to the car, laughing and breathless.

He knew he’d have to give in on the Boston move. He wasn’t an idiot, at least not most of the time. But for a little while, a guy could dream.

The cabin was adorable. She oohed and ahhed over the floral curtains, the log walls, the little lampshades on the sconces, and the huge stone fireplace.

“Oh, yeeeah,” Yonah cackled. “Just what we need after that storm.”

Estee pulled out a package of marshmallows and Yonah clutched his heart. “It’s like you see my soul,” he whispered and they cracked up.

“Better than a firepit,” she said.

He didn’t say anything at her dig at his childhood home, but his movements grew sharper, more focused. It was like his silence was filled with all the words he was holding back.

Why did he do that? She’d so much rather speak things out. She didn’t know how to approach him when there were these huge, invisible walls in place. She wished they could just talk everything through, always.

“Mmm, check out this farmhouse sink,” she said.

Yonah grunted; he was sweating, trying to light the fire. Well, now she was annoyed. Silence was annoying.

“How much did this cabin cost anyway?”

Because, honestly, it was her hard-earned money they were spending.

Yonah turned around, cheeks red. “Does it matter? We’re here to enjoy, can’t we just do that?”

“Fine,” Estee muttered. “Let’s enjoy.”

Bickering aside, it really had been a nice getaway, Estee thought, as she shook out the wheelie bag and stuffed it back in the closet. But maybe that’s how all outings with a husband were going to be? Chatzi bliss, chatzi aggravation.

It was good to be back in Lakewood, though. Nature was nice, but two days in the wilderness was enough for her.

Her phone pinged. She’d texted Ayala about Yonah’s dreams to move them to the boondocks of Boston. She’d regretted it as soon as she pressed send, but Ayala hadn’t answered. Until now.

At least your husband wants to do things.

Estee read it with surprise. Was she implying that her husband was lazy? Pinny was a great guy….

Yonah was washing the dishes they’d left in the sink before leaving — don’t tell either of their mothers — when someone knocked.

“Amazon?” Yonah called.

She thought back on recent purchases. “Not that I can think of. Although a surprise delivery would be fun. Can you get it?”

He went to answer. She heard voices and then, “Estee?”

She poked her head out of the room to find Yonah standing in the front room, looking flushed, and next to him was…

“Ma?” Definitely not the kind of fun surprise she’d had in mind.

“Hello, hello, Rosens. I’ve brought meatballs.” She handed Estee a small pot. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Estee opened the lid appreciatively. “Ma! Yum! Thank you so much!”

Mrs. Rosen gave her a little hug. “Of course! Yonah, how are you doing?”

“Great, Ma, baruch Hashem.”

“Amazing. So, now, what’s this I hear about you moving to Boston?”

It was like time had stood still. The room was awkwardly silent, then Estee decided to be brave and aim for an airy laugh.

“Maaaaa. We’re not moving to Boston. Just, you know, Yonah’s parents are moving on and people got kind of carried away.”

“We did not really get carried away,” Yonah said, his voice low. “We were having conversations about our future and working things out… betweeen ourselves.”

Estee squirmed.

Her mother pursed her lips. “My daughter texted me, panicking about moving to Boston and leaving her family behind.”

Yonah seemed to grow two inches. “And if Estee texted you, shouldn’t you advise her to speak to her husband? We’re married.”

“Okay, no problem, I brought meatballs,” his mother-in-law said stiffly. “That’s all.”

Yonah reached out and took the pot from Estee. “Wow, yum, thank you. We’ll put up some spaghetti and enjoy these.”

The subtext was clear: alone.

Estee grabbed her mother’s hand. “I’ll call you later, Ma, ’kay?”

The door had barely closed before she turned on Yonah.

“What. Was. That?”

He looked at her. “Estee. I’m so not ready for this conversation.”

And with that, he set the pot of meatballs down on their dining room table, spun on his heels, and went to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1022)