At least now he’ll see that nonsensical, silly, irresponsible Molly had done well for herself, is married to a celebrated rebbi, has raised poised, wonderful, eidel children…
E
very kallah is radiant, Molly thinks, but some are just… peaches and cream. Roses and tulips. Nechama doesn’t see her watching; she glitters, eyes clear, cheeks pink, clasping an older woman’s hand in both her own and telling her something earnestly.
She is so beautiful and so good, it breaks Molly’s heart.
Molly coughs past the roughness in her chest. Chava Kirschenbaum squeezes her shoulder. Bracha, the chassan’s mother, is busy receiving a round of air-kisses from a cadre of rebbetzins.
Tzipi pulls at her skirt. “Ma, Tatty’s calling you.”
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