After a breakfast of overly salty pancakes, they sat down to plan their trip.

“Okay, we head to Vermont. We do dirt bike riding, then ATVing.”

“And blueberry picking,” Estee chimed in.

Yonah looked at her. “Eh?”

Estee pointed to the screen. “Look, it says there’s blueberry picking. Let’s do that. After we get all dirty.”

She raised her chin. He squinted. She fixed him with a stare. He snorted. And then they broke into laughter, eyes streaming, sides heaving.

“Fine,” he breathed. “We will go blueberry picking. After we go ATVing. And then back to the Airbnb for a little barbecue on my disposable grill.”

She felt a thrill of excitement. Yes. this was going to be amazing. The past seven months had been filled with ups and downs and turns, but finally, at long last, they were going to reap the rewards. In the meantime, they had two days to buy supplies, pack, and get ready for their big trip.

The salty pancakes were giving Estee a headache, so she went to the bedroom with the laptop to do a little work and rest.

She’d just made it to the room when the pancakes decided to make a reappearance. She bolted for the bathroom, and came out several moments later, shivering. Yonah had never seen her sick; she wasn’t certain she was ready for that step.

But she spent the rest of the day unwell, resting, trying to ignore the enormous list of things she still needed to do for their trip.

It was only when she woke up the next morning, not feeling any better but around 20 times worse, that it occurred to her.

Later, when her suspicions were confirmed, she went in search of Yonah. She found him rummaging around in the closet for the suitcase.

“Yons,” she said, a smile spreading across her pale face, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to go away right now.”

Yonah stared at her, confused. Then understanding dawned. “No.”

“Yes,” she grinned, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes, yes, yes.”

She’d never seen her macho husband cry before, but shanah rishonah was all about firsts, wasn’t it?

The thing about first trimester nausea is that it’s relentless. It’s brutal. And it strikes when you’re least expecting it.

Like late at night. Wasn’t it supposed to be a morning situation? She never knew when the nausea would hit like a tidal wave.

Yonah was so excited, it was actually adorable. But she was bummed about having to cancel their trip. Although, after being bedridden for a week straight, she would’ve been fine with the local park. Or parking lot, even. Anything aside from her stupid four walls.

Yonah brought her blueberries.

She couldn’t look at them.

Golda sliced the onions quickly and deftly, as though she had her own cooking show, dice, dice, dice, then slow saute.

Her onion soup was prize-worthy, and she knew it. She murmured Tehillim while she cooked, infusing the savoriness with the depth of her prayers, that all who eat from her soup be zocheh to the yeshuos they so desperately seek.

The side door creaked open as she was rinsing the knife.

“Mrs. R.?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Hi, Rikki! Come on in. How are you feeling?”

The girl looked tired. She’d been through so much in the past few weeks, had had to make such difficult decisions; it was hard for Golda to remember that she was the same age as Yonah’s wife. May they always only know health.

“Okay, baruch Hashem. Just not sure if we should leave and then come back for the procedure on the 19th, or stay and be here in case anything happens…”

Golda handed her the spoon to stir, knowing how the rhythmic movement can calm the soul.

She took vegetables out of the fridge for a salad.

“Well, I think the answer is how will you feel if you go back? Will you be calm and enjoy sleeping in your own bed? Or will you be too anxious to even close your eyes?”

Rikki smiled at her. “How do you make everything so clear? I would never be able to deal with all of this if not for you.”

She smiled brightly at her hostess, but her hostess had lost the ability to smile back.

She was moving. She was moving! She was leaving behind all the people who needed her… How? Why? What had she been thinking?

Of course she couldn’t leave. Rikki was here. And the Steinbergs with baby Yochanan. And what about Shiri and her mother? They all needed her.

Half an hour later, Dovid found her in the living room, sitting immobile on the couch.

“Looks like you ran out of steam,” he said.

“Didn’t feel like packing,” she muttered.

He plopped onto the couch. “Why?”

She couldn’t tell him! This whole thing had been her idea.

“Whatever.”

He leaned forward. “Don’t whatever me, Golda, let me in.”

He was a good man, Dovid. He’d understood that moving meant leaving everything behind. She had been too busy admiring bronze hardware to let it all sink in.

“It’s just… we’re moving, Dovid!”

And then she cried and cried.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1029)