By Shabbos afternoon, ZeeZee was going stir-crazy. How many hours could they lie around in the lounge, swapping stories about their craziest teachers in high school?
Chava felt the week’s tension slowly sliding off her shoulders as she watched Shloime pull four-year-old Yitzi onto his lap and ask, “Who can tell me what this week’s parshah is?”
It had been a good idea, inviting Devoiry and her family for the Friday night meal. After a week like the one she’d had, having the kids around was just what she needed. With six of her children married, and the two boys in yeshivah, it was just Elisheva living at home. She sometimes felt bad for her, a teenage girl with two old parents. Even though her married daughters laughed when she expressed this.
“Oh, Mommy, you’re not old,” Devoiry had said the other day. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. Elisheva is so lucky to have you and Tatty to herself. Growing up, I used to wish I could get you alone.”
She’d smiled, but Chava had felt her heart constrict with a mix of pride and guilt. Was Devoiry saying that she was a good mother, or a terrible one who hadn’t given her kids enough attention?
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