What would she and Akiva argue about? Socks on the floor? Bills to be paid? Shabbos groceries? Birthdays? He was a Frankel. These things were non-issues.

They both had uncomplicated personalities and were likeable and laughed a lot. Marriage, in all honesty, was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

“I told you,” she’d hissed at Akiva as they piled back into the car, trying to keep her voice low enough that the kids wouldn’t overhear, but not entirely caring if they did. “I told you that this would rock the boat. Literally, it was all anyone could talk about.

“Shira looked like she was going into labor any minute, but did anyone discuss that? Or that Meira will be decorating the waiting rooms in the new hospital wing? Or that Mommy has a new wig? Noooope. Just, ‘Target? Really. Very blue, Libby. Nice and blue.’ ” She imitated her in-laws’ voices so perfectly, Akiva had to smile.

“It was mortifying.” Deena’s voice was stone cold. “Mort. If. Fying. I am calling Eugene and telling him that he better photoshop me out of that photo.”

“No, you’re not,” Libby snapped.

Who was she becoming? She wasn’t a snapper. That wasn’t her style. But she couldn’t seem to stop. An icy tightness had settled in her chest around a week ago and every time it got too tight, every time she struggled to breathe around it, she found herself lashing out at those around her.

Akiva glanced at her sideways. She ignored him.

Binny kicked her seat. “Everyone was talking about us,” he grouched. Like he actually cared. Or did he?

Libby felt like she was seeing everyone for the first time. Did Binny care what people thought of him? She actually didn’t know. Frankels kept their heads held high; they had no reason to look to the left or right to see who was watching them.

Eliana, sweet, quiet Eliana, piped up. “All the cousins laughed at us.”

Libby felt the iciness spread. Deep breaths. Deep, cleansing breaths. “They weren’t laughing at you, sweetie,” she tried to say. But nothing was coming out. Akiva turned into their driveway. Deena hopped out and marched toward the house, letting the front door crash behind her with a resounding slam.

She needed three Advil. Was that excessive? She didn’t care. She pulled her tichel back, then forward, trying to find an angle at which it didn’t feel like a giant hand was squishing her brain.

She squinted at Bnos Leah’s brochure, then at Kesser Torah’s.

Kesser Torah was fun and happy and so new it barely had a building. Bnos Leah was firm and solid and established and a bit staid. Boring, if you will. But dependable. A good solid education.

Akiva had loved the Kesser Torah vibe when they’d been pitching to Daddy. Maybe subconsciously he had been dreaming of it for Deena, even back then.

But Libby had put too much effort in, too many years spent ensuring she stepped lightly into the footprints of those bigger and weightier than her. She couldn’t just go skipping obviously down the forest path to grandmother’s house.

“Holistic learning…Warm, inclusive environment… Build a strong foundation, while nurturing the parts of your child that make them unique.”

Libby actually shuddered. This was so not her.

But maybe it was Deena?

Come on, just choose.

Even the voice in her head sounded exhausted. She looked at brochures again, flipped through them expertly, as if she knew what she was looking for.

Because maybe if she acted the part, then at some point, her brain would kick in and say, aha, exactly, that’s what we’re looking for. That’s where Deena is going to excel, where she’ll soar over the part where you pulled her out of the most prestigious school in town with no alternative. This is the school that will prevent, or at least mitigate, the years of therapy no doubt ahead of them.

Libby could just hear her now. “It was my mother,” she’d say. “My mother ruined my life.”

She shook her head, freeing herself from the traumatizing mental image. No, head shaking was not enough, she needed a good coffee. Was it normal that she kept waiting for Akiva to say no more Breville?

It was funny; she barely used it Before. Then, it was just something nice to offer guests. She had her coffee made in the beautiful coffee shop on Third, where all her friends got their coffees, rushing in and out, waving, wishing they could stay, but they couldn’t because their HIIT class started or they must make it to the city before traffic became unbearable, etc.

She finds it ironic now that she can no longer go to the little coffee shop on Third, that she actually has essential places to go. Grocery shopping. Car pools. Sock shopping. Why do her kids keep needing socks?

And she absolutely forbade anyone’s feet from growing after she’d turned a shoe over to look at the price in Heeled. Was that a joke?

She kept waiting for dormant instincts to kick in; for her to answer her kids casually and confidently when they peppered her with questions.

Well, if her adult instincts weren’t going to kick in, she was just going to steer into the skid.

“Eeny, meeny, miny mo,” she murmured into her mug.

She was about to choose a school through the age-old method of schoolyard children everywhere.

But then she saw something in Kesser Torah’s ridiculously long list of extracurricular activities.

In tiny letters, toward the top: “Drumming with Mrs. B.”

Well, that settled it then.

Kesser Torah, here we come.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 981)