The more she spoke, the quieter Dovid got, until she could hear the clink of his mug on the table between sentences
It’s a nice thing, Golda thought, stroking the oak table, to know your purchase paid off, thirty years after the fact.
Josh Barber had told them they wouldn’t regret buying the table; that it would last them for decades. Decades had seemed deliciously laughable at the time, surrounded by the invincible glow of youth. Golda closed her eyes; she could see the ghosts of thousands of Shabbos seudos, Pesach Sedorim, birthday dinners, floating around the room.
“Exhausted, huh?” Dovid said.
She opened her eyes, smiled sheepishly. “Just thinking about this table, actually.”
Dovid flashed a grin. “Was a solid buy. Wish we could tell good ol’ Josh how much we enjoy it.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
