She was being given another chance at the conversation, and even though it was all music, this was her husband, her Shuey
“Here’s to second chances,” Henny thought, even though it was the most clichéd phrase ever and she would never actually articulate it. Shuey would look at her strangely and smile, not even sure what she meant.
Last night, he’d wanted to talk about the music in yeshivah and for whatever reason — her fault, his fault, their fault, whatever — the conversation had hit an early snag and they’d ended up sitting quietly for a bit and then talking about seminary options for Malka. It was still fall, but Henny wanted to know where to apply.
A conversation meant Shuey leaning forward, his eyes bright, his words tripping over each other. But last night’s seminary wasn’t a conversation, it was just words. Yes, Israel was much more expensive, but wasn’t it worth it? No, not just for shidduchim, the experience itself. This one sent, that one didn’t send, the third isn’t sure. Okay, whatever you think. Silence.
Normally when Shuey came home for the night, he was out before dawn, eager to be back in yeshivah, but this time he davened down the block, then came home and asked her if she wanted to go out for breakfast. She wasn’t due at work until eleven, and even though she’d been planning to run to Target, she said sure.
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