Dassi chuckled as she put Susie in gear and eased out of her spot. “It’ll be nice to get to see how the other half lives. But mostly I’m thrilled that you chose me for your little Shira-bellion. Chayala and Aly would never, but still.”

Shira laughed. “Hey, you were my first choice. And besides, practice makes perfect, no?”

Dassi kept her eyes studiously on the road. “Why, what have you heard?” she teased.

Shira kept her tone light. “Nothing, silly, I just know you.”

Dassi grinned. “Fine, fine, if you’re begging, I’ll tell you what’s going on.” She ignored Shira’s amused snort. “So, last night was our seventh date, and I know that’s so early, and I always promised myself I wouldn’t commit before at least two months of dating, but something is different with this guy.”

She fell silent for a long minute which, Shira reflected, was more telling than anything else.

“It’s crazy, he notices the things about me I wish I noticed about myself. He… sees me in a completely different light from everyone else. He has this way of drawing you into a conversation, and I just lose focus on everything else besides what he’s saying. We literally agree on everything. We’re so on the same page, it’s crazy, and I would think it’s annoying if it wasn’t so great.”

She trailed off, but Shira held her silence.

“It’s funny, because you know me, I’m so cynical about dating after all these years. I’ve been burned so many times by so many people. And I started this the same way — with an eye roll and a mental running commentary. But this guy totally broke through all of that. I hate the word charming, but he really charmed me, what can I say?”

Except for his reaction last night, she thought. But really, one weird moment in a great night shouldn’t negate everything else that was going so well. She almost said it out loud, because Dassi wasn’t one to censor herself, and really, there was no better judge of character than Shira. But why freak her out when it’s probably nothing? She remembered what her mother had said the night before. When you find something good, you give it every chance you can.

Dassi looked at Shira, expecting her friend to mirror the same hopeful happiness she was allowing herself to feel, but Shira’s face betrayed nothing. “Wow,” was all she said. “It sounds like you’re really taken by this guy.” Her hands were relaxed in her lap, her expression open.

Dassi noticed. “Hey, stop with the therapy reaction. As far as I remember, I’m not paying you for this session. Tell me what you think, seriously!”

Shira looked awkward all of a sudden, but then her face grew serious. “I think it’s great you have such a connection with him,” she said slowly. “But some of what you’re describing sounds a little bit intense at this stage of the game. If you were my client, I’d tell you to slow things way down, and keep your eyes open for anything that gives you a weird gut feeling.”

Dassi rolled her eyes and deliberately ignored the gut feeling comment. “Well, good thing I’m not your client!” she said with a half laugh. “I think you’re being a taaaad dramatic, Shir. Maybe I’m not explaining him well enough, but trust me, in person he’s super thoughtful and considerate. Are thoughtful and considerate diagnostic criteria in the DSM-5?”

Shira chuckled, and Dassi felt a rush of relief as they pulled up to their favorite clothing store. “I’ll let you change the topic for now, Dassi Rubin,” Shira said, “but think about what I’m saying.”

Dassi pulled into Club Mali’s parking lot and killed the engine. “I’m thinking… that it’s time to engage in some retail therapy as the financially stable and deserving married ladies we are.” Shira grinned. They both flipped their mirrors down for a last second spot check.

“Ready?”

“The readiest.”

Club Mali’s door tinkled, not that anyone could hear the chimes over the usual Sunday crush. Crowded, but not their crowd, so the risk of running into their mothers was calculated and dismissed. Dassi turned sideways to squeeze through the racks.

“Strategy time!” said Shira. “Start at the back and work our way up, otherwise we literally may never get out of here.”

“Done. Immediately call for backup if either of us sees someone we know.”

Shira ducked to avoid a mother and her teenage daughters on the way to the register, each buried under a pile of clothes. And where there were mothers shopping with daughters, you could usually find— “Hi, can I get you started on a fitting room?”

Dassi turned around, a slow smile spreading across her face. She eyed Shira meaningfully. “You absolutely can! My sister-in-law and I are looking for some cute new pieces. I need a dress or two for sure, maybe some other stuff. Shira?”

Shira chimed in, thoroughly amused. “I could definitely use some new work clothes.”

The sales girl was one of those overly eager-to-please types, and she smacked her gum loudly as she surveyed Dassi and Shira openly. “I have the perfect set that you both need to try, it just came in. Not ribbed, we’re way over that. And we have a new shipment of Pink Paisley dresses that would be perfect for you.” She nudged her chin at Dassi. “Let me pull a few things. What are you, a six?”

Dassi laughed. “If my mother-in-law asks, say I’m a four.”

The salesgirl laughed, as expected, and scurried off in search of her commission.

Shira leaned in close to Dassi so as not to be overheard. “I would cool it with the mother-in-law jokes if I were you, honey. You might slip and make one on a date, and that would be hard to explain.”

Dassi laughed. “Okay, but how many times have we been here? And how many times has someone just randomly started a fitting room for us? Never. If this is a one-hour fantasy, I will be milking it for all it’s worth.”

She had started toward a rack of promising bomber jackets that caught her eye when she felt a warm hand heavily on her arm. “Dassi? Dassi Rubin? I didn’t hear you’d gotten a mazel tov, when was this?” Dassi gaped into the face of her high school’s extracurricular advisor, who was making such a scene that the 20-something manning the register peered around her current customer to get a good look.

Dassi scrambled for words. Luckily, she didn’t need them. “I knew you’d get married eventually. I was just telling that to your mother when I saw her a few months ago at the Klein wedding. She didn’t breathe a word about you. You look so good settled! Practically glowing!”

Shira finally came to her senses and swooped in. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but Dassi, I really need your help with something.”

Dassi turned to Mrs. Rothman apologetically. “So sorry, great to see you!” she said as she backed away, Shira close by. Abandoning their fitting room, they slipped out the door toward Dassi’s car, gasping with laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” breathed Dassi, wiping her eyes. “My mother might actually kill me if she gets wind of this.” She caught her breath, then whipped off her beanie resolutely and threw it in the backseat. “You know what? I don’t care if she does. That was amazing. I’m never going shopping single again.”

Back in Club Mali, a curious 20-something shop assistant couldn’t resist. “Was that Dassi Rubin I saw you schmoozing with?” she asked her customer casually as she rang up two three-quarter sleeve black shells and a single black pencil skirt. “I went to camp with her. What’s she up to now?”

Mrs. Rothman glowed with satisfaction. “It sure was, and I knew some lucky guy would snap her up eventually. She went through so much with her parents’ divorce, she really deserves this.” She gathered her bag by its plastic handles and fumbled to sign the proffered receipt. “I shouldn’t say anything. A good girl is a good girl!”

As the door jingled, announcing Mrs. Rothman’s exit, Ayala Steiner hit speed dial.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 831)