“Dassi,” he said again. “Let’s get the facts straight. Before that silly hat game, did you feel like things were going well? Hashkafically, life plan, family background, personalities clicking, did you feel like we were on the same page? Because I’ve never connected with someone the way I have with you, and I have to know if you felt that, too.”

Her cheeks burned with the forwardness of the question, but she felt like she owed it to him to consider it seriously. “I thought things had been going well, yeah. Which is why I was so upset by that phone call.”

“A phone call that we both remember completely differently. So let’s settle and say it was somewhere in the middle. We both had heightened emotions. Would you let one conversation that was a little less than ideal derail everything good we had going before then? Like, I imagine my life with my future wife to be pretty happy, overall. But would I want her to throw in the towel  after we have one silly argument? Life isn’t perfect a hundred percent of the time.”

Dassi frowned. After that phone call, she’d been so resolute, her clarity the one thing she could cling to in this whole stressful parshah. So why do I feel myself softening? Is my inner compass so off target that I read him all wrong?

Dassi’s mother was sitting in her favorite spot on the couch, but as soon as she heard the front door open, she sprang up.

“Hi, Dassi, how was it? Did he take it well?” Her voice was soft, like the way you’d speak to a scared animal.

Dassi allowed herself to be steered over to the couch. She kicked off her shoes and sank down into the damask.

“It… I… we didn’t exactly break it off.”

One perfect eyebrow shot into her mother’s hairline. “Maybe you should start at the beginning, sweetheart.”

Dassi sighed. “Okay. He was planning some nice boat ride, but I was super anxious because I went into it thinking I wanted to break it off. So I asked him if we could skip the date plan and just go for a walk.”

Her mother clucked sympathetically.

Dassi forged on. “He got really upset. I know he loves planning these elaborate dates. And then the stress of him being so disappointed, mixed with the stress of me wanting to end it, got me so flustered that I just told him then that I don’t think we should keep dating.”

“Wait, so you did break it off?”

“Well, not exactly… we talked through a lot of things. And I think I overreacted after our phone call on Monday. Honestly, he remembers the conversation totally differently and I think that maybe I didn’t really think about it from his perspective, and the beanie joke was obviously a big deal for him, which I can respect even if I didn’t see it at the time. And like, I want someone who can understand my perspective even if they think I’m being irrational, right? So… so maybe I should treat him the way I would want to be treated, no?”

Her mother sighed, and Dassi thought she heard relief. “If it helps,” said her mother, “after the way you were so upset this week, I made some more calls to see if there was something I  missed when I did research the first time around. And I spoke to a few of his friends who told me something really crazy!”

Dassi bit her lip. “I’m not sure I want to hear it if it’s going to confuse me even more,” she said.

Her mother laughed. “No, no, it’s good. I heard from a few people that he’s a huge baal chesed who would give the shirt off his back to help someone out. The story his old dirah mate told me was that when he was in yeshivah in Israel, his rebbi was making a wedding, and Ari found out that they desperately needed funds. Without asking anyone, he collected 100,000 shekel for the rebbi!” Her mother paused, her emotions welling up. “That kind of generosity? That’s someone you can depend on to take care of you. I’m happy you’re seeing this through.”

Chayala slowly walked through the apartment building and stood outside the unfamiliar front door. She suppressed a wave of sadness. She’d spent her entire life going up the same five steps in front of the same white, screened-in front door that she’d opened with the same combination lock since she’d been old enough to reach it. She’d colored in chalk on those steps and decorated that door when her mother brought her sister Malky home from the hospital.

Now they had a steel door that was painted black like every other one on the third floor, and it had a lock with a combination she didn’t know by heart. She sighed and knocked.

“Chayala!” her father said with obvious surprise and delight. “Mommy’s at a vort, zeeskeit, but come in, come in.” He let the heavy door swing closed behind her and gave her a quick hug.

She pushed down her melancholy and flashed him a smile. “That’s okay. I was a block away picking up groceries, so I figured I would just drop in. It’s Hashgachah, anyway, that Mommy isn’t home because I wanted to ask you if you could look into the shidduch that Mrs. Gutmacher just redt me. I’ll send you the résumé.”

Her father hesitated, then he cleared his throat, his eyes not meeting hers. “Of course… as soon as I have some free time. It’s been a little crazy here.” His weary tone made her search his face, and with a start she realized how weathered he seemed. Old, all of a sudden.

Chayala sat down heavily on the velvet couch they’d moved over from the old house. “I know you’re so stressed, I don’t mean to add to it,” she said. She pulled herself forward to the edge of the seat. “Are things… going okay? Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked tentatively, desperate not to overstep, but equally desperate to make things right.

He smiled wearily. “If there was a way you could help, I would tell you, believe me,” he said. “Right now, I need to sit tight and trust that Hashem sent me the right shlichim to make sure the truth comes to light. Sitting tight in this scenario is just easier said than done.”

“Wait, does that mean there’s evidence out there that will clear your name?”

“They’re looking through the last 20 years of files from the company. I’m sure there’s something that shows I had nothing to do with this craziness, and as soon as the lawyers find it all, they’ll build a strong case, and that will be that. Meanwhile, it looks like Mike really covered his tracks so it’s not as simple as I’d like it to be.” He sighed again. “We’ll be okay. We just have to make sure Mommy doesn’t worry too much,” he added, with a wry laugh that had 30 years of marriage woven into it.

“There must be something we can do! Twenty years of files could take months to get through—”

His eyes flashed a warning, and he cut her off. “Chayala, I’m not even allowed to check my emails. I know you want to swoop in and make things perfect, but just this once, I need you to be patient and stay out of it.” His voice was loving but firm, and she felt hot tears gather behind her eyes. She forced them back.

“Ta, you can ask me to do anything, but please don’t ask me not to try.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 834)