Ezra is behind her, and he looks just as angry as she feels. “Rivi, can’t we just have one meal without you provoking her?”
“It’s so nice to see you.” There’s nothing quite like a lie presented between gritted teeth, enclosed in a tight smile.
Clutching her pan of strawberry kugel, Rivi does her best to smile back at Atara. “This is for you. We really appreciate the invitation.”
“Well, you know, it must be such a struggle for you to get home in time to make Shabbos during the winter months.” Atara’s face gives nothing away. She takes the kugel. “Does it need to be heated up? It’s a little late—”
“Oh, no, I usually serve it at room temperature.” Every sentence feels like weaving through a minefield, dodging potential explosions. “The strawberries get a little soggy when it’s warm.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
