“Why do we need some lady charging us 300 shekels an hour to tell us what our organization does?”
Ayala picked a stray Cheerio off the floor and straightened the pillow on the couch. Then she wiped some remaining dinner crumbs off the dining room table and placed two notepads and pens on the empty tabletop.
She stepped back to survey the table. It needed a pretty serving dish in the middle. Was it too late to bake? Was it worth dirtying her just-cleaned kitchen?
Ayala wasn’t sure why she felt so self-conscious; it wasn’t as if this was the first time Dini was visiting. But there was something very significant about this get-together — was it overly dramatic to call it the first official Chesed Tzirel meeting — and she felt that such a milestone event demanded a touch of the ceremonious?
Ayala’s lips curled. Yes, she was making too big a deal out of this. But wasn’t she entitled?
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