Adeena ran her finger along the armrest of the couch. Funny how she had never noticed how worn the armrests were. In some places you could almost see through the beige leather to the black underneath.

Avi continued. “Remember the two-toned stuffed gefilte I once tried, with the white fish mix outside and then a ground salmon filling in the center?”

Adeena examined the split seam of one of the couch cushions. The stuffing was pushing its way through.

Avi grinned and tossed the magazine toward her. “Not to brag, but I think I’d stand a great chance. This is totally my calling.”

Adeena pressed down on the pillow and more stuffing popped out. “Great chance for what?” she asked.

“Oh, come on,” he teased. “A little more faith in your better half.” He stood up to his full six feet and mock bowed. “Winning, of course.”

Her tea was cold and tasted bitter. “How could you win Avi?” Adeena asked hesitantly, “if you can’t even enter?” She leaned forward and retrieved the magazine from where it had landed on the floor, slowly turning the pages. “Look,” she said. “It’s advertised in the women’s supplement.”

She tried to soften her tone. “You are totally the greatest cook around, but this section is for females. I think the judges are all women.”

Avi snatched the magazine back from her, his face flushed. “I looked through it,” he mumbled, “and there were no rules about which gender could submit.”

Adeena’s mouth was dry. She felt bad hurting him like this, but someone had to let him know. “I think it’s kind of obvious, Avi,” she said gently.

Avi stood up, picked up his jacket and hat. “Shalom zachar,” he mumbled, and then quickly left the room, slamming the front door behind him.

The Magna tile tower started to wobble dangerously. Adeena sighed.

***

The kids had left for school already, and Avi would be back soon. She had to be quick. Adeena quickly fried the last pancake and started to slice some fruit. She heard the front door open followed by the sound of Avi’s footsteps, but she didn’t turn around. He walked into the kitchen and looked at the laden table. “Beautiful,” he said in a monotone. “Looks great.”

She looked up, wanting to meet his eye. “You know what this is supposed to say,” she said softly.

He shrugged and sat down on a wicker chair.

“I’m sorry,” Adeena said. “I didn’t realize how important this was to you.” She piled a stack of pancakes on his plate. “I think you should go ahead and submit. I have an idea how.”

Avi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“I’ll type it up for you, when you’re done writing,” Adeena offered. “And sorry my pancakes are nothing like your perfectly fried beauties.” He smirked at her obvious flattery, but a smile lingered on his lips. She had gotten through.

***

“I know I told you to call me in the evening, but I’m quite busy tonight. Adeena said apologetically, trying to block out the noise in the background. “I could try to fit in a gel at 11 tomorrow instead.” She switched her profile to silent.

She’d had turn down two clients already, but tonight was sacred. She was in the middle of typing out Avi’s submission. It was surprisingly enjoyable. Some of the stuff was pretty cool. Maybe she would ask Avi to make the Thai style lokshen for the soup this Shabbos.

“What on earth are you doing, Ma?” a voice drawled. Adeena whipped around. “Baila,” she gasped. “You gave me such a shock.”

Baila brushed back her brown frizz and squinted at the screen. “‘Potato pastrami rösti. Up your regular potato kugel a notch.’ Ma, who on earth are you writing this for?”

“It’s just something for Daddy.” Adeena said quietly. “Why exactly does Daddy need you to write up recipes? And giving them all these weird names.” Baila’s mind was clearly working overtime. “I know — it’s for sure for that cooking contest. Esty Glick’s mother is entering. Wait till I announce that my father is!”

“No!” Adeena said urgently, panic bells ringing. “It’s…it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Fifteen-year-old Yisroel looked up from his book, dark eyes narrowing. “Daddy is entering a cooking contest?” His face was flushed, and he had an almost hunted look. “If anyone hears, I’m on the next bus out…” Baila rolled her eyes, but Adeena turned and stared intently at the computer screen. She understood exactly where he was coming from.

It was close to midnight when she finished typing Avi’s manuscript. He was already in bed, so she brought him the laptop.

“It looks great,” he said approvingly. “Thanks for all the work.” He smiled. “And the support.”

“I actually enjoyed typing it,” she admitted. “You had such great ideas. And you have to make those Thai noodles for the chicken soup.”

He was beaming when he handed her back the laptop.

It was now or never.

“Um… Avi?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if, um…” She swallowed. Why was her mouth so dry again?

“If…if we just submit the entry under A. Sondhelm. So—so that…” She saw him stiffen, and her voice trailed off.

“So that nobody knows it’s Avi Sondhelm?” he asked hoarsely. “So that it could maybe be Mrs. Adeena Sondhelm?”

She nodded mutely, wincing at the emphasis on the Mrs.

“Very clever,” he said. His voice was bitter. He lay back heavily on his pillow and switched off the light.

Why did she feel like a traitor when she was only trying to… well to protect him, really. Tears started falling. She looked at Avi, but he had turned to face the wall. All she could see in the blue light from the computer was the faint outline of his back.

***

The rolling lush green hills, the huge expanses, even the cows, were a welcome sight. Avi looked at Waze suspiciously. “This is like halfway across the globe and left,” he grumbled. “If you wanted to talk, we couldn’t just go to the bagel store?”

Adeena swallowed and stayed quiet. They had both taken off a whole day of work for this. “You’ll have no regrets,” she said with conviction. “And don’t worry, soon we’ll hit lots of traffic.”

It wasn’t long before her prediction was proven correct. She wasn’t really surprised. The event she was taking them to had been given sky-high ratings. As the lanes of cars slowed to a halt, and the sidewalks started to fill, Avi caught sight of an oversized sign with an arrow. “Food Expo 2019,” it read.

He gasped, and Adeena grinned. “Shame it’s not a Jewish one,” she commented. “But I think there are a couple of kosher booths.”

The place was buzzing, packed with colorful stalls and exotic smells. Adeena didn’t know where to turn first.

Right next to them, a British chef was giving a mini pasta demo, featuring a pesto with arugula and sundried tomatoes. His hands flew over the raw ingredients in perfect choreography, and Avi was entranced, moving away from Adeena to get a better view. As the demo wound down, and people received mini taster portions, Avi came back to join her. “That looks amazing,” he enthused. “I have to try that at home.”

Adeena grinned at his boyish excitement. “I’m starving” she said. “And there’s a kosher cafe called Portobello in the south wing, in aisle D.” It was an estimated 20-minute walk away, but it ended up taking close to two hours to get there with Avi stopping at almost every stall, talking shop with the chefs and checking out the latest culinary gadgets.

Adeena was ravenous and exhausted. As soon as they entered the secluded little cafe, she dropped gratefully onto one of the trendy toadstool-shaped bar stools. She sipped a glass of water and unwound as Avi perused the menu. It was a little quieter in the corner cafe, and the hubbub outside sounded almost like the sea, with its rolling waves crashing into the shoreline.

“You’re like a fish in water here,” she told Avi.

He looked up at her. “Surprised?” he asked.

She laughed. “Nope. Married to you long enough.”

He closed the menu and looked at her intently. “But?”

She was caught off guard. The mushroom stool wobbled, and she tried to get her bearings. Why was she suddenly so uncomfortable?

“It’s interesting,” she mused, playing with a pepper sachet on the table. “Here, it doesn’t bother me. It’s at other times, like at the Shabbos seudah, that it’s, well…”

“Strange and embarrassing, because this isn’t what men are supposed to talk about?”

Adeena jerked her head upward, and the flimsy barstool underneath her toppled over. “I didn’t say that. Of course you’re not strange. It’s just—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Imagine I was into carpentry and would start having detailed discussions about how… how I put together the closets!” she said.

The tense lines in Avi’s face relaxed and he chuckled. Adeena felt almost triumphant, as she picked up the stool and planted herself back on it.

“It would be well, weird me for me to see you into other types of nails,” he said.

It was corny, but she smiled anyway.

“But if it was important to you, I would back you all the way.” He looked past her, as if searching for something. Adeena turned to see where he was looking, but there was just the wall.

***

It was going have to be macaroni and cheese. There was no time for anything else.

Adeena tipped the pasta spirals into the steaming water. The phone buzzed. It was probably Miri, calling to cancel her pedicure.

“Hi, Mrs. Sondhelm?”

This was someone new. Friendly, but with a professional ring.

“Speaking. Are you calling for an appointment?”

There was a pause.

“This is Chavi Itzkovitz from Iton Magazine. I’m actually calling about your submission. For the Food Feud.”

The pasta pot was bubbling over.

So was the woman at the other end. “Your recipes had such a fresh feeling. And the writing was superb. Quirky, humorous, and with lot of passion.”

Adeena felt her face burn.

“We’d like to you to come into the office for a meeting.”

Adeena put the pot down, hard, on the marble counter. Cloudy, starchy rivulets of hot water spilled over.

Her natural honesty came through. “Actually,” she said frankly. “My husband, Mr. Avi Sondhelm, submitted the entry.”

There was silence. It spoke volumes. Adeena felt almost gratified by the woman’s evident shock. See; it wasn’t only her!

“Oh, okay,” the woman said. She sounded thoughtful. “Let me think this over. We will be in touch.”

***

Adeena had hardly seen Avi all evening. She went into his study. The computer was on, but he wasn’t there. She glanced at the screen. A draft of an email was open. Iton magazine? Editor?

She quickly closed the heavy wooden door. She didn’t want her teenage kids to see this. Heart pounding, she scrolled down to the beginning of the thread.

Dear Mr. Sondhelm,

We received your entry to the Food Feud. It was a simply outstanding submission. Fresh, engaging, and sophisticated. What was most intriguing to us, though, was the fact that you are male. It gave a totally different twist to the submission. We’re always on the lookout for new angles and think that running a culinary column in the magazine from a regular guy like you who has a passion for cooking would appeal to our readership. We would be interested in meeting you to discuss this further.

Chaim Weissberg

The room’s thick paneling, usually so comforting, felt suffocating. This was Avi’s dream, and her, well, her nightmare.

She sucked in a lungful of air and quickly scrolled down to read the draft of Avi’s reply.

Hi Chaim,

Thanks for your email. I enjoyed putting the entry together and am flattered by the compliments. A cooking column is something that really speaks to me. Regretfully, at this stage I am unable to take this on, but should things change, I will be in contact. I just wanted to…

He had left off mid-sentence

Adeena exhaled slowly. She should really just get up and go now. Unlock the studio, take out her next client’s favorite colors. Burnt Caramel. Or was it Bare Beige?

She gazed around the room desperately and saw the pictures she’d hung on the wall. Avi teaching Baila to bike, she gripping the handlebars in fear, he standing behind her, eyes sparkling. Avi and her at Mendy’s bar mitzvah. Avi was almost glowing in that picture. Avi with his friends at the Swimathon, exuding energy and life. So Avi!

Then other pictures came to mind. Avi’s crushed face when she cut him short at the Shabbos table. Avi at the cafe, looking right past her, a resigned look in his eyes.

She could hear a car pulling in to the driveway.

Maybe it was good that there was no time to think. Now or never.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

Avi. I just saw the draft of your reply. Hope you don’t mind that I read it. I am so relieved it was only a draft. Go for it, Avi! U will be amazing, and I will be your greatest fan!

Just don’t forget those Friday night noodles I’m still waiting to taste 🙂.

She pressed the save button and raced towards her studio. Nothing was in the oven, but for some reason, the house was filled with the fragrance of Avi’s citrus chicken. She slowed down and let the scent wash over her. It smelled like spring.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 640)