Everyone else was moving on. Only her husband was frozen in time

Winter 2007

When the frying pan is soaking and the sputtering flames fill the room with a grayish haze, Chavi sinks into the couch. Dovid leans back in the armchair. “Nice party, no?”

“Yeah.” She nods a little too quickly. “Nice boys.”

He smiles wide. “Right? I told you they’re refreshing.”

Is refreshing a code word for not very serious? There had been seven boys seated around the table as her husband spoke. Her gaze had bounced from the boy who played with the applesauce to the boy on his left who’d studied her ceiling light fixture the entire time. This was the glorious job her husband finally landed?

“Yeah, they’re refreshing. A little less serious than I thought, though.”

“Well, it’s a lighter matzav. But definitely serious. The guys work.”

“Okay… I just hope they appreciate you.” She tries to inject her voice with the right note of concern.

He spreads his hands and laughs, then looks up sharply. “You’re worried they don’t?”

She feels her head starting to throb. “No, no. I’m sure they do. I just want you to be appreciated, that’s all.” She picks up a stray plastic cup. She cannot tell him how her heart is sinking with the realization that he has been sold short, that his position does not adequately reflect his worth.

He stands up and stretches. “You know how the air gets all smoky when the candles fizzle out?” He slides open the window and a gust of fresh air rushes in. It doesn’t help. She already has a full-blown headache.

Three missed calls from Ita.

“What’s going on?”

“Chavi, honest question. But really, really honest?”

“Okaaay,” Chavi offers cautiously.

“My husband’s bochurim are having a siyum next week, and my dining room is too small for 38 boys. Any chance we can use your porch?”

“Gosh! Didn’t realize we were that fancy! Fine with me, just be careful about the noise 'cuz of the neighbors.”

Two weeks later, Ita’s making trips up the stairs with foil pans and Sternos. Chavi’s eyes open wide. “Are you having a wedding on my porch?”

Ita laughs as she kicks aside a sun-bleached Cozy Coupe. “Wow, Chavi, wow! I’m speechless. The view is stunning! Do you own the porch?”

“Well, we have a tiny one off the living room, but the roof belongs to the building. But we put up the railing and made it into a porch, and we’re the only ones who use it.”

Chavi helps Ita unload six pans of hot food. The porch is bathed in navy and gold, three folding tables from the gemach set up resplendently. Thirty-eight bochurim.

Ita gathers the foil covers, then looks around wistfully at the dotted hills and shimmering white buildings.

“Okay, Chavi. I’m not laughing anymore. You live in a penthouse.”