“Should I tell her that I did all the laundry in my house when I was growing up?” Libby asked as they hurried out to the garage.

Akiva smirked as they slipped into the car. “Nah, don’t want to traumatize her delicate soul.”

They laughed, and he sped down the block.

Dinner was lovely. The perfect ambiance of guilt and blame, delicately combined with duck confit and citrus fennel rice. Akiva held out his wine glass more times than necessary; Libby made a mental note that she was now the designated driver.

Dassi was still in Miami “having work done,” of course, so Menashe was flying solo, but he seemed fine.

Ma even commented on how cheerful he was. He laughed at that and gave her a kiss as he went to refill his plate from the buffet.

Akiva looked at Libby and gave a subtle grimace. She choked on a laugh. They never used to do this; they used to actually be a part of the scene instead of just playacting it.

And then dessert came out, classic poached pears with ice cream, Daddy’s favorite, and the gloves came off.

“Meira, tell us what you’re up to with the hospital wing,” Ma said, cutting into her pear. She then turned to Akiva. “Meira is decorating the new wing.”

“I know, Ma, I speak to Meira almost every day.”

Apparently, Ma didn’t hear him. “And Menashe is extremely busy at the company. As is Donny. Everyone in the family works together. That’s what families do. They help each other. Support each other.”

Libby watched her husband’s ears turn bright red, then the muscles in his jaw twitch. But to his credit, not a word passed his lips. What he did do, though, was turn to Menashe, eyebrows raised.

Tell them, Libby silently urged her brother-in-law. Even if you can’t tell them about Dassi, tell them how Akiva has been helping you day and night.

She held her breath.

But Menashe just looked down at his phone, tapped away mindlessly.

“Too much cinnamon,” Ma said, pushing away the pear. “I’m disappointed.”

You and me both, Libby thought, eyeing her brother-in-law in disgust. You and me both.

It’s hard to entertain children ranging in various ages on Chol Hamoed. It becomes a lot harder when your extended family keeps uploading photos of Erev Yom Tov in Cancun to your Frameo.

After the fifth explosion from Deena about how everyone’s living it up while she’s stuck with no plans for Chol Hamoed, Libby did what she should have done a while ago, and unplugged the digital frame.

“I am so sick,” she said to Akiva, “of the word Cancun. I never want to hear it again in my life.”

“I shall slash it from every encyclopedia,” he said solemnly, eliciting a little chuckle.

She was worn out.

Making Yom Tov from scratch was proving to be exhausting and daunting and just plain stressful.

But she definitely was enjoying aspects of it. She’d gone to the material store and purchased swathes of stunning floral fabric. She’d even purchased beautiful paper goods, because there was no way she was washing all of those dishes by herself.

Akiva handed her a glass of seltzer; she drank thirstily. The kitchen was hot and steamy, and she was so tired. She closed her eyes and dreamed of wide-open spaces, green trees, and vast fields. She wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep but she jumped up and said, “Road trip!” so loudly that Akiva almost fell off his bar stool.

“Libby! You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I know, that was so random. But I just figured out what we’re doing this Chol Hamoed. The Frankels are road-tripping. Together. A low-cost, every-cheesy-tourist-attraction road trip.”

Akiva looked at her. “Uh, is that a thing?”

She nodded, all exhaustion forgotten. “Oh, it’s a thing. And we’re doing it.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 988)