“Listen to me, Pessie. This is one big mistake, and you’re going to regret it. You need to talk him out of it. You can’t let this happen”
Deena liked staying home for Shabbos.
Her mother claimed she was stubborn, obsessed with proving her independence, but it wasn’t that. Really, it was just easier. Her girls behaved best at home. It was better for everyone this way.
Easier — but not easy.
The meal would only begin if she started it. She stuffed her magazine into the magazine rack and stood up. “Mommy’s going to make Kiddush, girls!”
It took a few more calls — Kids? Nu, Miri, Nechama? Let’s go, kids! — before Miri and Nechama settled their dolls down for naps on the couch and stood up on chairs next to Deena. Deena poured grape juice into the kos and — swallowing a lump, because this part was not easier —started reciting.
After Kiddush and hamotzi, Deena went back to the kitchen to get the soup. They skipped the fish when they were home for Shabbos. The kids wouldn’t touch fish, and what, cook a slice just for herself? She never bothered.
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