Motherlode

I wrap my sweater tighter and scroll through today’s schedule on my phone.  Clothes shopping, then client, client, client. Team meeting at two for Adina at Bnos Bais Sara. I smile. That should go well. When Adina first started seeing me she was suffering from severe social anxiety.  I wouldn’t call her a social butterfly now, but in just eight months the girl’s opened up enough to make a couple of friends to call her own. I’m proud of her. Honestly, I’m proud of me. It never ceases to amaze me what the right therapy can do.

“Tova!” My younger sister slams the door of her gold Sienna, throws her black leather teacher’s bag over her shoulder, and hurries toward me.

“Hi, Brach. You park all the way over here every day?”

“I only park on the boulevard when the teacher’s parking lot is already full, which is not every single day. Just most.” She smiles. “Listen— I have the most amazing thing to tell you! Wait, it’s almost nine— why aren’t you at the office?”