It’s tough to make friends when my mother is cleaning their houses

She’s focused on the cutlery (l-e-f-t, four, f-o-r-k; r-i-g-h-t, five, k-n-i-f-e, she whispers to herself, an old familiar habit), only half an ear on her mother and grandmother’s conversation.

“Yeah, the lawyer…” At that, Tammi’s head snaps up. Yaffa notices, grimaces in Babba’s direction.

Tammi catches the look, grabs the bull by the horns. “What lawyer?”

Yaffa sighs, looks at her daughter in the eye.

“Well, I guess I’ll just tell you now, Tammi. They…” She’s stammering. “They… I mean, the other side…”

It’s always “the other side” when the mother speaks, never “Daddy,” or “your father.”

Yaffa takes a deep breath. “The other side wants to depose you. For now, they’re just subpoenaing the social worker’s notes. You need to tell her that I’m taking care of all your needs. Emotionally… and… and…” Her voice gets quieter, and she looks down. “Financially.” Yaffa throws out the word like it’s a dirty thing, and Tammi resumes setting the table, as if this monstrosity isn’t sitting there.

She sticks her AirPods (courtesy of Daddy) into her ears, even though there’s no music attached, as Babba and Mommy continue whispering in the kitchen.

Money — it seems everything’s about money.

The funny thing to Tammi is that in Daddy’s house, halfway across the country, everything’s about money there too, but in a totally different sort of way.

Somehow, they get through dinner, Papa regaling them with stories about his yeshivah bochurim. Even Tammi is smiling; a typical rosh yeshivah, Papa isn’t.

Tammi studies him, considering. The world might revere his name, but he never takes himself seriously. She wonders, observing the scene, if he took up all the humor in the family.

“And then the bochur tells me I must be confusing him with his first cousin! Can you imagine someone mixing up me and Cousin Sol?” Tammi smiles again at the mention of Papa’s relative who lives down the block with his blind wife, Sylvia.

“First cousins don’t generally look anything alike….” Papa guffaws so hard, the small wooden chair shakes beneath him. His chuckles subside enough to get out some words. He shakes his head. “They really think I was born yesterday.”

“Papa, wasn’t that like insulting? I mean, he was legit lying to your face.”

He shrugs, eyes twinkling, lifts his palms heavenward.

“It takes two to tango, my dear.”

And with that, he crosses over to Tammi, stands her up by her shoulders, and twirls her around and around in an exaggerated mock dance.

Her mom lets out a full-bellied laugh at the ridiculous scene, but since Tammi is still mad at her for not being straight earlier, she pretends not to notice.