“Perfect for your relationship with Stu?” Chavi’s face is stony. “I’m so glad to hear that. What about your relationship with me? Does that matter to you at all?”
“Shmuel Chaim Sternfeld, you are not to be believed.”
We all know the rule — if your full name is being used by a woman who’s meant to have your back, be it mother or wife, then trouble is brewing. I want to tell Chavi that I just walked in the door and can she let a guy take off his coat and chill for three minutes before she starts yelling at him, but that will just make whatever this is worse, so instead I lean on the counter opposite the island where she’s cutting up a salad and brace myself for the deluge.
“What’s the problem, Chavi?”
“I’ll tell you exactly what’s the problem,” she says, her voice dangerously low. “I met Melissa Steinhart at the grocery store. And she told me how excited she is to be joining us for Shabbos lunch, could she bring anything?
“And she just wants to remind me that in addition to not eating sugar, she and her husband went vegan a few months ago. They feel so much better, it’s like their bodies were totally reset. But I don’t need to worry about it, not at all, because they’ll just eat what works for them. No need to make anything special.”
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