My breath caught in my throat. Every time I let myself picture that awful moment, I felt first-trimester nausea
I pulled the bottle of La Croix out of the freezer, felt it, put it back in. Would it be cold by the time Yehudis came? Then I looked at the box of pastries on the counter that I’d bought early this morning. Yehudis wouldn’t touch them, I knew that. Overkill, Chana. She probably wouldn’t touch the cut fruit either.
This is pathetic. I rolled my eyes to myself, then looked around the kitchen. There were seforim, old homework sheets, two cereal boxes, and my empty coffee mug on the table. Yehudis wouldn’t see this room. Next.
In the dining room, I sat at the seat Yehudis would presumably sit in and surveyed the room and living room next to it. Couch pillows were piled in one corner, the boys were probably making a fort or something. Fix that. The hall closet had some Amazing Savings bags poking out. I got up, pushed them in, and closed the door.
Why was I doing this? Cleaning up for company was not my thing. And it’s not like the house was messy, just normal lived-in. This meeting with Yehudis was putting me in a weird place.
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