Yonah tipped his hat. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Estee wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t realize the reckless legend was Irish.”

“British. Gotta work on my accent.”

They walked in, still laughing. Estee’s mother rushed over. “Estee! You look amazing. How are you feeling? Answer later, I can’t breathe, they’ll be here any minute!”

Estee blinked. Answer later? Um, okay. “Hi, Ma! This is nuuuts! Little Avigail. Did she call yet?”

Her father appeared and shook Yonah’s hand. “Not yet, we’re waiting.”

“On shpilkes!” her mother added.

Estee went around, kissing the grandparents, introducing herself to Yehuda’s family. They all seemed sweet, but she felt like yelling, “You don’t understand, I’m the kallah! I just got married. Still figuring things out. Not sure how my baby sister plans on doing this, it’s hard work.”

But she didn’t say any of that, just air kissed and shook hands, and smiled until the phone rang and the first shouts of mazel tov rang through the night.

And then followed a giddy hour of mazel tovs, l’chayims, and gushing brachos.

“Pssst.”

Estee spun around. Yonah was grinning at her from the family room.

“So sorry,” she excused herself from Yehuda’s grandmother.

She followed her husband into the room. They dropped on to matching easy chairs, looking out the arched doorway at the chaos in the living rom.

“Serious déja vu,” he said.

Estee meant to smile, but she ended up sighing. “Do you think it’ll be as hard for them?” she asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the sparkling couple, who were smiling at each other widely, cheeks flushed and happy. “Do you think they know that it’s all a roller coaster? Laughing one minute and feeling down the next?”

Yonah’s mouth turned down. “Is that how you think of marriage, Est? Hard? A roller coaster? Nothing else?”

Estee looked at him. She suddenly felt so tired she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stand up. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged and gazed at the chassan’s younger brother, who was trying to down a shot of whiskey. Estee watched the kid splutter and gasp.

Finally, Yonah spoke. “No, I don’t. Marriage is harder than I thought it would be, that’s true. But it’s also incredibly, unbelievably rewarding. I love that we do life together.

“You don’t feel the same?”

Estee looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “When you don’t get out of bed in the morning, when you ignore the things I ask you to do, like to put your plate in the sink, when I tell you how much your learning means to me and then you skip seder, you don’t make me feel like you like doing life with me. You make me feel like I’m a nag, like I’m in your way.”

She’d never voiced it aloud before, and suddenly, the truth of it all hit hard.

She would not cry at her sister’s l’chayim. She looked at the couple again, in their halo of bliss, laughing at something his rav had just said.

She eased herself to her feet and grabbed the wall to keep herself from swaying. “Whoa, head rush. Do not want to tumble out the door  and into the cake.”

Yonah remained sitting.

“Yons? You coming?”

But he didn’t answer. So she headed out alone, hoping the surrounding glitter would explain why her eyes were watering.

Rebbetzin Weiss’s house was just as she imagined it would be. Small but pretty, neat and homey, smelling like cookies.

“Welcome!” the older woman greeted her. “Did you find your way okay?”

Estee smiled, feeling shy. “Yes, thank you. And thank you so much for meeting me.”

Rebbetzin Weiss made a “it’s nothing” gesture as she settled into a chair across from Estee. “My pleasure. As I said, I don’t always have free time, but baruch Hashem, we managed to find a slot. So, tell me, Estee. What’s going on?”

Estee swallowed. She’d taken the time to write down some points, but now that she was here, she realized she was just going to speak from the heart.

“I got married nine months ago, baruch Hashem, to a really great guy. Really. Like a special person. Not to mention he comes from a very special family, baalei chesed, people who really see other people, you know?

“We’re both young, just 21 — well, Yonah’s turning 22 next month, but yeah, and anyway, we were just really, really happy. Like the engagement… I don’t know if anyone has been happier. Or more in sync. We just got each other.

“But then we got married… and it’s hard. Like really, really hard. And I just feel like it’s not supposed to be this way. Like it’s supposed to be easier. And even though nothing’s wrong, per se, I think the sadness of that brings me down. And friends of ours just separated after three months of marriage and I want to make sure that’s not Yonah and me…”

She stopped talking suddenly; the silence in the room seemed heavy. She could hear a clock ticking and the oven beeping.

Rebbetzin Weiss reached across the table and took her hand, just for a moment. “Estee. If only all young married women were as articulate as you. That was so well put.”

Estee blushed. Rebbetzin Weiss poured her a glass of water. “Here, make a brachah, and I’ll go get the cookies that have been cooling and turn off the ones the oven is beeping for.”

She returned with a tray, and Estee, who hardly ever ate in public, had no qualms about biting right in. “Wow, that’s delicious. I’d love the recipe.”

Rebbetzin Weiss grinned. “Of course. Estee, there’s so much to unpack here, but first, I just want to clarify: There’s no abuse or dysfunction here, correct?”

Estee shuddered. “No, no, baruch Hashem.”

“Wonderful. Well, then, Estee, I’d like to welcome you to the big girl club — the realization that dating and engagement are not real life. It’s not that you had a beautiful real life during engagement and now, somehow, it’s spoiled. It’s that you enjoyed a sketch of a pretty house, a neat, clean blueprint.

“But now that you’re actually building the home you dreamed of, you see fingerprints on the windows and dust on the furniture. Because it’s real. It’s tangible. It’s actualized. And that’s a huge brachah.

“We’ll get into the tools of how to communicate, how to manage expectations, how to build a relationship, but this realization is the first step. The flawless facade we all buy into before marriage is just that — a facade. And unfortunately, many young couples separate or give up because they’re seeking that perfect sketch, not realizing they won’t find that anywhere. And most of them find themselves in vicious cycles.”

Estee was suddenly starving. She took another cookie. This is what she had been looking for. Finally, at long last, somebody had the answers.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1943)