Yet at the end of the breakfast, when Menashe lingered at the table, looking like an injured puppy, Akiva was the only one who stayed behind to ask him what was wrong.

They watched Camille clean up in silence, murmuring thanks in unison. Well-bred, they were.

“Nu?” Akiva said, poking his baby brother hard in the shoulder.

Menashe didn’t poke him back, so something was obviously wrong. He just studied the grains of wood in the 15-foot oak table. Finally he looked up.

“Just still adjusting to life in the big city,” he said at last.

Akiva said nothing, waiting to see if Menashe was ready to share more.

He wasn’t.

Akiva stood up and stretched. “ ’Kay, Menash. Well, if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

Menashe smirked, puppy dog look gone. “That’s right, I’ll just look for you on the Oregon Trail, seeking your fortunes out west.”

“You’re a nerd.”

Menashe stood up as well. “At least I’m a nerd with money.”

There was something weird going on with her sister-in-law. Libby had never been close with Dassi; the couple had moved to Israel right after their wedding, and were bentshed with a bunch of cuties right away. They kept Dassi busy, no matter how much help she hired.

But now Dassi had gone from busy mom adjusting to life in the States to MIA on all fronts. And as the oldest sister-in-law, Libby felt it was her duty to step in and get to the bottom of things. It was also a welcome distraction from the steady scream of panic in her mind.

She liked Dassi; there was something vulnerable about her. You didn’t get a lot of vulnerable in the Frankel family, and Libby herself only had brothers who had spent most of their childhood trying to kill each other.

She looked at her reflection in the 18th-century vintage mirror in the foyer. She still looked like herself — sleek and centered.

Because, as her mom had always said when Libby was growing up, nobody had to know how much sleep or money you had.

She slung her Ferragamo over one shoulder, grabbed the Sienna keys. Her phone pinged.

You are cordially invited to the Toast the New School Year barbecue at Bubby and Zeidy’s. Bring your smile, wear the Miglio pieces. Eugene will be taking family photos at the fountain. Ciao!

The pieces?

And that’s when the bell rang.

They were gorgeous, the outfits. Perfection. Deena would love her two-piece, while the girlies would be thrilled to run around in the exquisite dresses, and the shorts and crisp shirts for the boys were to die for.

She fingered the materials almost reverently. Linen, 100 percent cotton, was that a hint of cashmere? She resisted the urge to bury her face in Mali’s little dress and reached for the second bag.

Yes, of course, perfect matching accessories for each one. Hairbands for the girlies, kippahs for the boys. She was pulling socks out of the bag when Akiva walked into the room.

The happy smile he’d been wearing disappeared at the sight of the ensembles draped around the living room.

“What’s this?”

She tried not to feel like she’d done something wrong.

“Your mother sent over the family photo session outfits.”

His ears grew red. “Well, send them back.”

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot and scream, “No, they’re mine!” like Mali.

“Akiva, our kids are not going to be the only ones in the wrong color in the photo. Rav Richter said to not make waves, to do things for shalom. I think the kids can wear clothing your mother sent. You don’t have to be so rigid.”

She stopped. She wasn’t a name-caller. She was starting to hate this new Libby.

But Akiva wasn’t listening in any case.

He grabbed the empty bag and started stuffing the clothing back into it like a madman.

“Why am I not surprised,” he spat out. “I ask for no gifts, I ask that they respect our boundaries. Does anyone listen? Nope. Well, I’m taking these gifts right back to where they came from.”

“Oh, yes, it will definitely be conducive to shalom if you march over there, screaming about boundaries,” Libby said. “I will return them. Can I have the bag?”

And she hurried out the door before he did something he would regret and she would resent.

She felt bad she’d never made it to Dassi, but these were unprecedented times.

Parking outside her in-laws’ home, she stared at the winding driveway for three long minutes before chickening out. She dialed Camille and asked her to come outside.

“Can you give this to my mother-in-law?” she said, her foot already on the gas pedal, ready to flee the scene.

“Of course,” Camille said coldly, and turned away.

Even the maid hated her now. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She’d stress about it more, but right now, she needed to go shopping for five light blue outfits that looked expensive and cost nothing.

Because she had nothing better to do than hunt for things that didn’t exist.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 980)