The thing I really love about Ahuva is that we would never be friends if not for TourNTravel. Our personalities are just too dissimilar. I’m super-Type A about everything — my house, my clothing, my food. My kids are on strict sleep schedules, hotel or no hotel, and naps are not optional. And Ahuva, she’s Type… well, I actually have no idea, because I’ve never met anyone like her before.

We can be at the Pesach program, and I’ll be fretting because my 12-year-old’s socks are the wrong color cream — it matters, especially here. But then Ahuva will make her way to the lobby in a tichel and slides, schmoozing with guests. In the beginning it used to bother me; I was sure guests would be turned off by her. But as our programs became more popular, not less, I came to love her for her “let’s not get swept up by hotel mentality,” which, to be honest, is easy to get swept up in.

Now, knowing that no matter what I do, Ahuva will be there in her cozy Shabbos robes or long, comfortable maxi dresses, the pressure is slightly eased. “We’re not guests,” she always shrugs. “We’re staff.”

Most of my and Ahuva’s in-person interactions are over the Yomim Tavim and TourNTravel vacations, but we speak almost once a week and message constantly. I love getting her advice on things. She has such a fresh take on the world, and she doesn’t get bogged down by other people’s opinions like I do.

She’s like the sister who actually lives the same lifestyle as me — my own do not. Nor do they always approve of mine. “Don’t you want to make Yuntiff?” they chime in helpfully. “Don’t you want to host seudahs in your own succah?” So actually, I hosted for many years before Shneur started doing tours, and yes, I see the beauty in it, but also, I like not making Yom Tov. I like being wined and dined.

The worst comments from my sisters are how my Yamim Tovim aren’t “family oriented.” But they are, I want to scream. Shneur and the kids are my family. True, I can’t invite my parents for Pesach because they don’t mish. True, we can’t afford to offer my sisters free room and board to join us, and therefore, I don’t have Yom Tov together with my sisters. True, my husband is often busy with guests, even during seudos. But my job is to support my husband’s endeavors, and when I’m being totally honest with myself, I know that as much as he loves this work, he’s doing it to support me and my habits.

The point is that whenever I tell Ahuva something my sisters have said, she laughs and goes, “Chaya, they are their own people. You are you.”

That’s it. Nothing too profound or psychological, yet it grounds me every time.

I stretch and look around the orthodontist parking lot. Should I stay here and write up packing lists on my phone or should I run and fill the car with gas? I also happen to be starving. Speaking of which—

“You better be making your babka,” I voicenote back to Ahuva.

She sends back an immediate, “You know it!”

Awesome, I dream about her babka.

I pull out, speed over to the nearest gas station, wait for full service, and then pull into the orthodontist as Tzippy emerges, blinking in the sunlight. I’m grinning, still thinking about Ahuva’s messy, misshapen babkas that are just so delicious. Never mind that the program has a 24-hour tearoom with 24 different cake and cookie items. Ahuva’s are the best.

“What else are you bringing?” I text her back. The girl always has something up her sleeve, whether it’s a personalized game for our families or “staff kid” T-shirts for the kids. You never know with Ahuva.

Tzippy and I have our usual post-orthodontist ice cream date, which takes the edge off my hunger even though I’m still craving babka, and then we head home to greet the chaos.

Shneur is home, surprise of surprises, and he seems to be holding down the fort so I sneak upstairs to change out of my sheitel and get comfortable.

I peek into the playroom. Mindy and Yerachmiel are building a Magna-Tile city and Temmy is reading a book. It always cracks me up when they do this — look picture-book perfect until World War III breaks out. I tiptoe away before they can see me, mainly because I must caffeinate and eat a protein bar before serving dinner.

My phone pings, and I look to see what Ahuva has replied. But it’s my sister Shifra.

Hey Chaya, we booked, finally. I wish it wasn’t the same weekend as the hotel thingy, but that was the only Shabbos that made sense for the rest of the family. We’ll miss you!

Way to put me in a bad mood. I love going on tour, but I wish it wouldn’t conflict with the Braunstein family getaway. I mean, I understood. We were limited by pricing, and of the Airbnbs my siblings could afford, they chose the weekend most of the family could make it. I was out, but if they’d booked for the next Shabbos, Leah and Mimi both couldn’t come. Still, couldn’t a girl have the best of both worlds?

I put my phone on the counter with a frown and go to make a coffee. Doubly important now.

I’m just sitting down when Shneur sticks his head in. “How you doing? What’d Dr. Kramer say?”

He sits with his own coffee and we schmooze about retainers and payment plans for a while before it occurs to me to say, “Uh, why are you home, by the way?”

He looks at me silently for so long that I get nervous.

“Shnay? What’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s… whatever.”

Two whatevers from brisk, business-like Shneur? Okay, now I’m officially nervous.

“Shneur! What on earth is going on?”

And then he says words I never thought I’d hear him say: “I can’t work with Akiva right now.”

I think my jaw hits the ground. “Akiva? You can’t — what? What happened?”

He mumbles something just as the kids bound into the kitchen, complaining and kvetching, so I miss it. All I can think is: so that’s why Ahuva isn’t messaging me back.

Idon’t get the full story until two days later. First, I get to watch Shneur answer a myriad of phone calls, make snappy, irritated remarks to various unseen people, and manage to sound highly annoyed but still professional at all times.

Apparently, Akiva hired a scholar-in-residence for the summer program, and Shneur did not approve. All program hiring is Akiva’s responsibility, but the two always sit and mull it over and argue and at long last agree. Except this time… they did not.

Shneur told Akiva to cancel, they’d pay him a silence fee, but Akiva refused to back down. So I understand. Now, Shneur’s been left to deal with canceled clients and panicking loyal clients, explaining that the summer program is geared toward a different group, but the Yamim Tovim will be back to regular programming.

I ask Shneur if it’s true, and he tells me that yes, plenty of people signed up for the summer program after seeing the advertised program. But they are a different clientele than the ones Shneur worked years to build, and he is not down for it.

“And I made that VERY clear,” Shneur snaps. “I told him no, I did not want this man’s name on our ads and on our program, and he blatantly ignored me. And now, I have to deal with the fallout. I’m not worried about Succos, we lined up Rabbi Berger last year, and I just got off with Katzenstein, he’s still bringing his family. So is Halb, I spoke to him yesterday. I’ll get over it, but I need a break, Chaya, I’m sorry. We are not joining the summer program. Akiva loves this guy so much, he can spend the week with him.”

I’m speechless, which is unusual for me, but it’s fine, because Shneur is still talking.

“Akiva made this mess. He can deal with running the program all by himself. All the logistics are in place, all the guests are confirmed, the staff has everything they need. I just forwarded the list of allergies and linen quality preferences. Let him run around all weekend. I’m around, just working from home. I need a break.”

ITtakes me all that day and the next to process what Shneur’s saying. No summer program.

“Shnay, are you sure this is what you want to do?” I ask tentatively, handing him an iced coffee. “You’ve really, you know, thought this out?”

“Positive,” he snaps.

I don’t get it, but whatever, it’s not my business. Point is… I guess I’m not going anywhere this summer. I wonder if I can coax Shneur into an Alaska tour, that’s always been on my bucket list, and maybe he’ll want to be a guest for a change.

And then the family chat starts pinging with plans and logistics for the Braunstein Shabbos. I’d meant to mute it, but now I see the Hashgachah. We can join the family getaway. Silver lining?

I head right to Amazing Savings and purchase a blow-up pool and inflatable toys and then text Shifra to add me to the cooking spreadsheet.

Steer into the skid, am I right?

Ahuva texts me as I’m buying the paddle ball sets Shifra asked me to buy.

Guess you’ll have to make your own babka. Send me a pic!

Oh, this is too awkward. What’s going on in her head? Is she thinking about me? Is she upset at Shneur? Does she think Akiva was right? Wrong? Is she upset at me?

I don’t reply, because I don’t know what to say.

The next day, she texts me her recipe, and I type a funny message about bringing perfectly shaped loaves to our family Shabbos. I add elaborate cake and frowny face emojis and I’m about to press send when Shneur comes out of the study, muttering to himself.

Whatever he said he was doing gladly, he is very, very not.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, trying to keep the grumpiness out of his voice.

“Just something Ahuva said,” I say, gauging his reaction.

He doesn’t answer, just shrugs, but I can tell it bothers him.

He goes back to his study and then drifts back out suspiciously.

Is he waiting to see if I’m texting her?

Um, okay.

What should I do? What exactly am I supposed to do here? My closest friend’s husband and my husband aren’t speaking.

Clearly, Ahuva doesn’t want to get swept up in this boys’ drama. And I have no idea what I should do. Support my husband by not talking to Ahuva as long as Shneur and Akiva are not speaking? Or can Ahuva and I carry on and hope the men will work it out?

I stare at the babka recipe, eyes glazed. Both options make me feel yuck. I don’t know what to do. Ff

Contribute to this column as a Second Guesser! Email your response, including your name as you want it to appear, to familyfirst@mishpacha.com with Second Guessing in the subject.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 948)