My cheeks burned. I watched as Chani wrote out a check, as Rivky counted bills. Slowly, I withdrew my wallet and reached for my credit card.

In Butter House everyone seemed to be having a blast, claiming the food was out of this world. I picked at my portion, trying to swallow past the barrier in my throat.

When the waiter approached us with the tab, my mother smiled and waved him over. “On me,” she said, chuckling.

The bill was $400. The amount Efraim earned every month from his tutoring work. My mother handed over her credit card and casually signed the receipt.

*****

Gowns!” my mother announced.

The girls squealed. There was a rush of petticoats and zippers, flashes of black and white and gold. I fluffed up satin skirts, safety-pinned fabric, tied bows. “Beautiful!” I gushed, hugging my princesses.

I met Rivky at the rack as we unzipped garment bags. “Ma never mentioned the gowns, right?” I asked, casually.

“Right. I guess she didn’t think about it this time.”

I eyed her closely. How was she all chilled about this? We weren’t talking about gemach gowns here. Ma had hired Rosie, gone to several fabric stores, and joined us for countless fittings. Whatever happened, she couldn’t have not thought about it.

“Twelve hundred dollars for a gown for one night?” Efraim had groaned. “Plus the girls. Libby, this is crazy. You’re not living in reality. This is miles out of our budget.”

I had tried explaining why gemach gowns wouldn’t do, but he didn’t get it. Now, admiring my reflection in the mirror, I pushed the memory aside. This was not the time to worry. My sister was getting married and I intended to enjoy every minute of this incredible night.

The wedding was, as Ma’s friend Chumie Zitron so aptly put it, insane. It was like a Vegas food show and HASC concert combo. The walls shook during dancing, and by the time the music crashed to an end, my bunions were fuming and my contacts stinging my eyes. Tired but happy, I trudged up the curved marble staircase to the bridal suite to change into flats and glasses. The wedding wasn’t over yet because the chassan’s family did mitzvah tantz.

When I opened the door, I stopped short. Efraim was deep in conversation with my uncle Luzi, both of them smoking.

My husband blushed. He knew I hated when he smoked, and he hardly ever did, maybe twice a year. Luzi must have offered him a cigarette. Okay, it wasn’t an ordinary night, I got that, and totally forgave him. I smiled and kicked my heels off. “Hi,” I chirped.

Luzi left the room.

“Well, mazel tov,” I said sweetly. “How was?”

“Nice. Beautiful.”

“That’s all?”

“It was the wedding of the century, but no surprise there, right?”

Efraim discarded his cigarette absently. There was something unnerving about him, a kind of fog over his face.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Yes, yes.”

I waited.

“Your mother didn’t mention the gowns, did she?”

I sighed. Couldn’t he let me enjoy the night without stressing me out? “No, she didn’t.”

“Libby, I have something to tell you.”

My heart skidded in my chest. “Okay,” I said slowly.

He popped his top button open, then clasped his fingers. “Luzi offered me a job.”

“What?”

“Yes, he has an opening for a warehouse manager.”

“Warehouse — a hi-lo driver guy?”

“And I’m ready to accept.”

*****

The echo of drums pounded in my head as I followed Efraim back to the ballroom. I pulled up a chair at the far end of the room. The badchan’s voice blared through the speakers, the Yiddish going straight over my head. Efraim, backslapping amigos from nine to five? How? What?

A platter of refreshments landed on my lap, chocolate truffles and freshly roasted nuts. I passed it on. A few minutes later a waiter approached me with a tray of custom sorbet pops, embossed with Mimi’s and Yehuda’s initials. I waved him away.

The badchan droned on. I picked up a few words, something about how beautiful, the chassan kallah starting their lives in Yerushalayim. It had been beautiful, those three years Efraim and I had lived in Eretz Yisrael as newlyweds. There were no worries back then as we flew back to New York to spend Yamim Tovim with our parents. Efraim had shteiged away, loving every minute, and we got our house as soon as we returned, as promised. Rosy.

Efraim’s words jarred in my ears. “A job or the house,” he’d said, simply. “Which one do you choose?”

But… operate a forklift? My chashuv, talmid chacham husband, to whom my parents had promised the world before the engagement?

How had this happened? We were failures. All my siblings managed to pull it off, learning and covering their expenses. And affording Chanel bags on top of that.

“Can’t you at least look for something a bit more prestigious?” I’d asked. “Something in the chinuch field maybe?”

“Chinuch doesn’t pay. Believe me, Libby, I’ve been hunting for a while,” he’d said. “I have no marketable skills, no experience, no funds for schooling. I can always leave if something better comes up.”

I shivered, my head spinning. Desperately, I texted Efraim. I’m shaking!!! This makes no sense!

It took him forever to respond. We have a problem. Can you think of another solution?

Weakly, I dropped my phone into the recesses of my beautiful, beautiful gown.

*****

When the children were finally shepherded off to school after a late post-wedding morning, Efraim and I sat down for breakfast.

“My friend Leah once mentioned tuition discounts for kollel families,” I said. “Ever knew that?”

Efraim cackled. “Seriously, Libby. Do you think we qualify for a break after we spent Succos in Eretz Yisrael with the entire family?”

“We didn’t pay for that trip!”

“Explain that to the administration.”

I crumbled a piece of toast. “My parents make huge donations to the school every year. How does any of this make sense?”

He sighed. “You’re right, it doesn’t. Look, Libby. Things are going to change. I’ll have this job, we’ll have a steady income. We won’t need tuition breaks.”

Gracias, amigo.

*****

“Hold my rings?” Mimi asked me at the sink.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Tirnauer.”

Mimi washed and I dropped her rings back into her palm. “The kedushin ring goes under the diamond ring, not over,” I chided her.

Mimi raised her brows. “Oh, really? I thought it was safer this way.”

I chuckled at her innocence.

My sisters and I had reserved the last night to host our sheva brachos, to end the simchah with a bang. Everything had fallen into place: menu, music, centerpieces. In the dim lighting of Piccolo, my mother’s face glowed.

The wait staff was making the rounds with palate cleansers when Efraim texted me. I should’ve stayed home and saved the money my portion costs.

I ignored the message.

Throughout the evening, I couldn’t tear my eyes off Mimi. First because she looked so absolutely beautiful. There was something about a Ruchi Amit wig, I couldn’t deny it. But mainly I was focused on that dreamy shine in her eyes. A girl with a blissful future ahead of her. Beautiful marriage, beautiful house, and Torah on top of all that. How well she’d davened.

How many years had passed from the time I was that girl?

I wanted to shake my sister. Don’t do it. You’re walking into a trap. It’s all glamor, glamor, glamor until poof, one day it explodes and you face a reality that’s so scary, you want to hide from the world.

I gripped the handle of my steak knife. Maybe not. Maybe she’d be smarter.

“Hey, what’s up with this dessert?” I heard Chani ask.

I turned to look at her plate, just as a waiter slipped a portion in front of me. It was the Mont Blanc flambé we’d ordered, and next to it, a fortune cookie.

Who had ordered fortune cookies? Weren’t these things passé?

My sisters and I exchanged quizzical looks.

“Open them!” my mother ordered, laughing.

Ah, so she was behind this. I cracked my cookie open.

You will be going on vacation to Vail, Colorado, for five days to unwind after the wedding frenzy.

My mother was laughing uproariously.

“Maaaa!” Rivky shrieked. “You’re a riot.”

My sisters squealed and high-fived. “How? When? Oh, Ma, this is totally wild! What made you think of this?”

My mother beamed, babbling about her plans. I dug my palms into my seat.

Five days of vacation.

Wow.

My brain roiled. I knew vacation. My mother treated us to vacations all the time. She sponsored tickets and sometimes also the lodging and car rentals.

We’re losing the house.

My sisters were shouting excitedly, asking questions, making plans. I couldn’t follow what anyone was saying. Five days. I’d just taken two days off from work for the wedding. This trip would cost us another week’s salary.

I tried picturing the Vail mountain range, snowcapped peaks, skiing down white slopes. But the only image my mind conjured was that of a huge warehouse, Efraim in a company sweatshirt sitting in a forklift and shouting orders at a bunch of sweating workers.

After bentshing, the crowd lingered, holding on to the last moments of simchah before returning to regular life. The band kicked off a lively tune and the men broke into a dance.

I couldn’t take another minute of it. I sent my nephew to call Efraim to the mechitzah.

“The babysitter…” I started. “Should we leave?”

“I’m ready,” he said. “Wait, I’m hearing something about a trip?”

I twisted the chain of my evening bag around my finger and waited for him to make a snarky comment, something about the vacuum, the mortgage, the gowns, the kollel tuition discount.

But his words surprised me. “I’m happy for you,” he said sincerely. “You deserve it. I know how stressed you’ve been feeling lately. You need a break.”

I looked down at my shoes, my brand new Manolo Blahniks. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

*****

Rivky outdid herself with the itinerary. We’d barely checked in to our hotel and we were off snowmobiling. Whizzing across snowy trails, crisp air filling my lungs, I felt light and carefree. Efraim had been right; I needed this.

We returned to the hotel exhilarated. “Let’s go down to the spa for massages after supper,” my mother suggested. “And after that, we should do an early night. The idea is to get some rest, right?”

But after we’d all turned in, I lay awake, restless, my thoughts racing. What was I doing here? Efraim was preparing to accept that degrading job Luzi had offered him, to save our house from foreclosure, while I stayed in some five-star resort, getting massages and sledding down mountain slopes.

After an hour, I gave up and got out of bed. In our suite’s kitchenette, I set water to boil, absently flipping through tourist brochures.

“Hey, why are you up?”

I swirled around. It was Rivky.

“Gosh, you scared me. Guess you also can’t sleep?”

“Yes, it’s always this way when I travel. Not my own bed and all that.”

I prepared two cups of tea and we sat down on barstools.

“Rivky,” I said slowly. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

She looked at me curiously. “Let’s hear.”

“Don’t you think it’s crazy? You know, this whole trip and everything?”

“Totally wild, isn’t it?”

I sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“Tatty and Ma are incredible. They’re so generous, they give us so much. Always treating us to luxuries.”

“R-right,” Rivky said cautiously.

“It’s just… this lifestyle. It’s not standard. How many people do you know whose parents buy them such big, beautiful houses, take them on over-the-top vacations?”

“What are you trying to say? We’re lucky, I’m aware.”

“Because it’s expensive. I mean, our husbands are in kollel — it makes Tatty so happy — but do you have any idea how much it costs to repair a central vacuum system?”

Rivky was quiet, eyes fixed on her tea.

“Tell me how you deal with it. It’s — it’s killing me.”

“It’s a struggle,” she said tightly. “But I’m grateful for whatever they give.”

My throat burned. “Look, you seem to manage just fine. Eh, for all I know, Tatty pays your mortgage every month.”

Rivky smirked. “Yeah, right. Probably.”

“So explain it to me!” I cried. “My husband would love to buy me a Chanel bag. A Gucci, a Louis Vitton, a Hermes for that matter.”

“Excuse me,” Rivky hissed. “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I sat down again and stirred my tea. “You think I’m an awful person. Sitting here on an all-expenses-paid vacation, complaining. How greedy, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What should I tell you? It’s not all-expenses-paid. There’s a huge price tag. The learning condition. Tatty’s point of pride, all his kids staying in learning, Torah u’gedulah. I don’t know about you, maybe you have a money tree in your backyard, but for us, it doesn’t add up.”

“Frankly, Libby, that’s disrespectful. You can’t talk like that.”

“We’re going to ruin his beautiful picture, Rivky. Efraim is leaving kollel.”

The room was still. Rivky gazed at me, sucking in her cheeks.

And suddenly, her eyes welled up. She dropped her head into her hands, shoulders heaving. “You won’t be the first,” she whispered.

My breath froze. What?

“Shimon works,” she sobbed. She reached for a tissue. “For a long time. Years. He’s a real estate broker. A businessman.”

“Does Tatty know?” I asked, my voice quivering.

Rivky shook her head.

*****

Reality grabbed me in its clutches within minutes of my return. That’s the thing with vacations. You cut off completely, but when you return, it’s as if you’d never gone away.

Work was stressful, racing to catch up on the week I’d missed. And after being away, the house needed a thorough cleaning. “I don’t understand why you don’t hire cleaning help,” my mother admonished me. “Julia is a brachah in my life. I would never manage without her.”

A 30-hours-a-week brachah. G-d bless us all.

But I wasn’t feeling resentful that day. I hummed as I swept and washed and scrubbed.

During our half-hour suppertime block, Efraim broke the news. “Luzi called me. I told him I’ll start on Monday.”

I put down my fork. “No, you’re not,” I said slowly.

“Come on, Libby. We can’t think about our pride now. We have to do the responsible thing. We can’t afford this house, I can’t afford to start school at this point. We’re not going through this again.”

I lifted my eyes. “I think we should. One last time.”

Efraim knotted his brows.

“There is another option,” I started.

“Let’s hear.”

“We can call Shimon.”

“Shimon?”

“Rivky’s husband, yes.”

“Don’t tell me. The house?”

I took a deep breath, nodded slowly, and said, “I think it’s time to sell.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 620)