Bittersweet

Gown-hunting, that should be fun. And hairstyles and makeup appointments… hey, I could enjoy that part. If I could forget what all the fuss was actually about

“Ma? Why are there flowers on the sofa?”

Ma came out from the other room, phone tucked between shoulder and ear. She was scribbling furiously in a notebook and saying something about a band, three-piece or five-piece, and a violinist for the chuppah, that’s very important to the other side.

“Never mind,” I said, waving a hand. I wandered into the dining room, ahh, that was why the flowers had no home. There were leftover cakes and a pile of gifts and three suits in dry-cleaner wrapping, all draped across the dining room table. Figures.

“Is Shaya home for Shabbos?” Rivky asked, coming up behind me. I shrugged. Shaya had been home more than he’d been in yeshivah lately, what with dating, then the engagement, first the l’chayim and then last night’s vort. Usually, I loved having my older brother around. Now… well, even when he was around, he wasn’t.