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“They’re fish, Abigail,” Leah said patiently. “The names are for me not them.”
“Oh, you are not going to do the thing where you make out like I’m the ridiculous one here,” Abi said, feeling herself getting irritated even though she swore she wasn’t going to go there.
“They’re my fish,” Leah said pointedly. “Do you hear me giving you shit for the activity wall you’re planning for the rodents?”
“Latke, Sour Cream, and Applesauce need stimulation. That’s a whole different thing. Also, they’re guinea pigs. Have some respect.”
“People eat guinea pigs in—”
“You want me to tell you what people do to catfish? Also, you’re the second person this week to tell me that, why do people love pointing out guinea pigs are food so much? That’s so shitty.”
“Why are you being such a righteous cow?” Leah put her hands on her hips and really looked at her sister. “You’ve been a total bitch all week. What gives?”
Abi sighed, the problem with being extremely close with your sister was that you were extremely close to your sister. There was nowhere to hide. “If I said I didn’t want to talk about it, would you let it go?”
Leah’s face said that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“It’s a few different things. That thing with mom and dad, mostly, I guess. But the situation with work isn’t helping.” She hoped Leah would leave it at that. She really, really hoped Leah would leave it at that. She also wished Leah liked animals that could cuddle because now was a time when giving scritchies to something furry would help immensely.
“Is that one teacher still giving you problems?” Leah said, her hands going back to working the dough. She was making challah for their mother. Leah would refrigerate the braided dough and Lisa would pick it up tomorrow so she could bake it for Shabbat dinner Friday night. It was a weird thing they did that Abi didn’t understand because Leah could easily also bake the challah, but the one time she suggested it their mother was so offended she apologized for a week.
“That one teacher is going to keep giving me problems until I can convince her to retire. I’ve accepted that. The new thing is that Simcha Hallerman got all of the moms in the three-year-old class to decide they want to plan the mock seder for the whole preschool even though Passover is like five minutes away, and we’ve had the curriculum on the books for months.”
Leah made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort—Abi suspected her sister knew exactly which mothers she was talking about, and she knew she could just name-drop them all, and Leah wouldn’t repeat anything, but she always felt weird about doing that. It felt like gossip.
“They’re doing the thing where they’re coming across completely reasonable, but they don’t get it would fuck up my entire calendar for the rest of the year, and they’re trying to get some other mothers from other age groups on board, and all I freaking need is for Rachel Melfie to decide the idea is brilliant because then she’ll get the board involved. And David told them no too, but they found this super cute Haggadah on the internet, and it’s themed.”
“What, like, with squirrels or something?”
“What? No, like, trademarked themed. It’s some kids cartoon I’ve never heard of, and, okay, sure, the kids would love it, but just because the pictures are pretty doesn’t mean it’s a decent Haggadah.”
“Well, also there’s the trademark issue, would you have to pay a licensing fee to use it?” Leah said, which was a fair point, and Abi made a mental note to make sure she had Simon’s current phone number on her phone because asking a lawyer about copyright infringement might be a nice way to end the whole kerfluffle.
“Oh please, like they’re worried about that. You can just print it off the internet, it’s not like anyone would care,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes.
“You’ve got Simon’s number, right? Remind me, I’ll text him to call you. He can give you some talking points,” Leah said as her hands deftly wrapped the unbaked challah loaf in cling wrap.
“Thank you,” Abi said because sometimes it was nice when your sister read your mind.
“Is it just me or does this seem to happen every few years, though? I feel like you just had this fight with some moms about Simchat Torah.”
“I did, and you’re right. They don’t get that we plan the year in advance. They think we’re just coming up with stuff as we go along.”
“What, like it’s hard?” Leah said, the flippant tone making Abi giggle. “Dad would tell you to let them do it and see what happens.”
It was an old irritation that Abi didn’t want to get into any more than she had because Leah had heard it. But it was still frustrating. The Temple created their holiday calendar every year and based on the Temple’s calendar, and then Abi built the school’s curriculum. She worked in conjunction with the religious school so her teachers’ curriculums fed theirs and vice versa. Not to mention the lessons each class did were age and developmentally appropriate. They weren’t just singing silly songs with the two-year-olds to pass the time. They were focusing on things they needed to help them learn and develop. She sighed, she loved early childhood development because it was fascinating, but it was shocking how many of the parents thought it was just clapping songs and primary colors so anyone could do it.
“Dad can get really nihilistic when he wants to,” she said finally, resisting the urge to go feed the fish again. Leah was right, one of them was definitely crowding the corner of the tank closest to them like he wanted her attention.
“Perks of being a poet,” Leah said about their dad, who was only tangentially a poet, but he’d had his work published so he claimed it in addition to his other jobs. A timer dinged, and Leah nodded at the oven, she was chopping vegetables for a salad, “can you get that, we’re ready to eat here in just a bit.”
“Thank God for that.”
“You better watch it, I’m going to just shove food in your face as soon as you walk in next time.”
* * *
Ilan glared at his phone. Rachel was texting him again. He’d officially broken it off weeks ago, and it was her idea to go no contact in the first place. He should have known she was only suggesting it so he would tell her he couldn’t live without her or something. Instead, now, she got a little tipsy after family meals and invariably she would start texting him wanting to have some sex. So in this case, no-contact was more of a suggestion, and mainly meant you don’t contact me.
