Dassi felt her insides squeeze with hurt, and she couldn’t help but lash back. “Seriously, Shimshi? Haven’t I been through enough in the last decade without your unnecessary comments? I stay out of your life decisions. I think that’s probably the least you could do for me.”

She pushed her chair back from the table to get some space before her anger turned to tears. She found her four- and six-year-old nieces playing school in the den and flopped down on the oversized couch, much to their delight.

A few minutes later, the anger dissipated and morphed into hurt, so when Sara wandered in under the guise of checking if the baby needed a diaper change, Dassi muttered pointedly, “I got the message loud and clear.”

Sara sat down anyway. “Dass, listen. We love you no matter what, you know that. And while I think Shimshi’s communication techniques could use a little… polishing, I’m nervous about you.”

Dassi groaned. “Tell me why I thought that being a full-blown adult would ever mean I’d stop being treated like the baby in this family?”

Sara sighed. “You’re not being treated like a baby. I want to talk to you the way I would want someone who loves me, and who is concerned about something in my life, to talk to me, okay? Or you can say no, and we can forget this conversation happened.”

Dassi let that sit for a minute.

“Okay, fine. I’m listening, just spit it out,” she said grumpily.

Sara looked down at her lap and fidgeted, her hands betraying a nervousness that wasn’t apparent in her voice.

“All I wanted to say is, I don’t know much about Ari from you — when we talk, it’s clear that you want to avoid the subject. But I have heard quite a bit from Ma, and the things I’ve heard are mostly about his actions, but also a little bit about his reactions. I just can’t shake the feeling that a lot of what Mommy described scares me. The over-the-topness, the crazy planning and super fancy dates and blowing expectations out of the water, that’s not real life.

“Real life is someone who you’re not afraid to wake up at three in the morning when the baby is colicky for hours on end and you feel like if you hear his screams for one more second your brain will explode. Real life is someone who notices the engine light is on in your car and takes it for an oil change without mentioning it to you. Real life is someone who is happy to run to the grocery store for you at 11 at night the night before Erev Pesach even though he knows he has no idea what any of the vegetables on your list look like and the list is missing quantities. Do you get the sense that that’s who Ari could be?”

Dassi looked at her blankly. “Sara, I have no idea what he would be like in any of those scenarios. I have no idea what I would be like in any of those scenarios. I know that Ari understands me better than anyone I’ve ever dated. He’s interested in me. He cares about me, he can take care of me, and he sees a future with me. Can’t that just be enough?”

Sara’s face twisted in pain, and she glanced at the girls playing nearby before dropping her voice. “Dass. You were only three, much younger than Shimshi and I were when Mommy and Daddy got divorced, and you’re lucky for that, because there was so, so much you were shielded from. Daddy had a lot of money — he still does. But he used it like a weapon to control Mommy’s life. All of our lives, really. One minute he would be the best, most attentive father, playing with us, getting us whatever we wanted. But as soon as we said or did something he didn’t like, our house went from dreamland to the scariest place in the world, like that.”

Sara’s eyes were wet, and her voice shook. “Did you… did you ever see the pictures of them from when they got engaged? That look in Mommy’s eyes? It reminds me of you.”

***

Maybe it wasn’t so nice to admit it to herself, but Chayala had been dreading Pesach more than usual this year. At least she used to have her room to escape to, but now everyone was squished into three bedrooms, and Moishy still had to sleep on the pullout. She’d been roommates with Malky growing up, but now Malky slept with Goldie — who’d graciously moved to a blow-up mattress on the floor while Chayala was back home — and the two younger ones were together.

There was no den to read quietly in anymore, no backyard to get some air. Just her family in closer quarters than ever, pretending the elephant wasn’t in the room. Her mother, not surprisingly, seemed even more highly strung than usual. It was almost like she was trying too hard to please Chayala.

She’d been gunning for an afternoon nap when Malky opened the bedroom door and sat down on her own bed. “Oh, good, it’s just you. I’ve been trying to corner you all day, there’s nowhere private to talk in this tiny place,” she said.

“What’s up?” asked Chayala, rooting through her half-unpacked suitcase for a silk scrunchie.

Malky swung her feet, looking for a moment like a 12-year-old, not the self-assured 24-year-old accountant she was in real life.

“Well…” Malky hedged. “There’s something. I know you told me years ago that you wanted me to date, and you know I did a little, but nothing special.”

Chayala knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

Malky went on. “Until… Raizy at my office redt someone, and it’s only been a few weeks, but… I think it could be something.”

Chayala’s breath caught. “Malky, are you serious?” she exclaimed. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard! Omigosh, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now, you sneak. Tell me everything, immediately!”

Malky’s voice turned shy. “His name is Eli Kaufman. He’s really nice….”

***

One excellent nap later, Chayala found her mother in her usual spot, the high-backed chair at the foot of the dining room table, saying Tehillim. Chayala sat down next to her, and when she got to the end of the perek, her mother looked up at her.

“Malky mentioned her news,” said Chayala simply.

Her mother’s face fell. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sure it’s so hard for you. Are you okay?”

Chayala leaned forward, and her eyes shone.  “Ma, am I okay? I’m more than okay! This is amazing! I’m thrilled for Malky, and this boy literally sounds perfect for her.”

Her mother’s smile was uncertain. “Are… are you sure? I know we’ve discussed it in the past, but thinking something is okay in theory doesn’t mean that’s how you feel.” Chayala’s mother searched her face for a long moment.

“Of course, you love your sister, sheifele. But it’s okay to have some mixed feelings about this, too.”

“I don’t,” said Chayala quietly, firmly. “Ma… do you?”

Her mother looked down at her sefer Tehillim.

“Chayala, I’ve been davening for the same thing since you were born. All I want in life is for all of you children to be happy. I want other things for you too, of course, but at the core of it all, that’s all I want. And we live in a world where happiness can be tied up in a very specific package, and when that’s not the reality, yes, it’s painful for me. A mother wants good things for her children. And when it happens for one of you and not the other—”

Chayala didn’t let her finish. “Ma, I love you so much. And I know that when it does happen for me, the happiness I’ll feel will be amplified in you a thousand times. But I also know that me having to wait longer than I want doesn’t mean that Malky should also. Ma, the plan Hashem has in mind for me is out of my control, but my happiness isn’t.”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 841)