I was the stereotypical newlywed, setting up my best friend with my husband’s kid brother

All the things I’ve always made fun of… those things made fun of me now.

We were back.

We were the stereotypical young couple, arriving “home” from Eretz Yisrael with cute matching luggage a day after Rosh Chodesh Nissan.

We were the young couple who set up camp in my parents’ guest suite, coming in through the private basement entrance but spending most of the day in the thick of the pre-Pesach action upstairs, which basically meant helping my mother flop a whole bunch of miracle-based cakes.

We were the young couple meeting up with our besties and telling them all about how special it was to literally walk on the same ground as the Avos Hakedoshim.

I recounted our near-death chavayah to Zissi while we waited for our steaks. “So we were walking home from the Kosel Friday night, all innocently, and don’t ask me how — both of us had walked this route hundreds of times as singles — but suddenly we were, like, in the Arab neighborhood.”

Zissi shuddered. It was an almost… dutiful shudder.

She had wanted to meet in the ice cream shop, but I’d refused, insisting that I never got to see my best friend these days, and if I finally had this opportunity, I was going to host her in style.

I said the word “host” casually, but I made sure she heard it. A restaurant meal for her meant an adjustment of that week’s earnings, I knew, while for me — well, okay, for my father — it meant absolutely nothing. Just another random swipe.

I may have been a bit spoiled, but I wasn’t insensitive.

Zissi sipped her water thoughtfully. “What’s the average age that a girl’s hair turns gray?”

“Zissi!”

She winked. “Don’t worry, Yehudis. I’m not like this usually. I just had a… rough week, let’s call it.”

I tucked sheitel hairs behind my ear. “Tell me everything,” I said, softly.

She told me.

She told me that her father had followed up with a shadchan who’d redt a certain boy. He committed to covering the couple’s rent for the first year. And? No. Just no.

“The boy is my father’s talmid. They have a strong kesher.” She finished off with a shrug. “Basically, I’m a nobody on the shidduch scene because my father doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. And it’s fine, it’s really fine. Whoever I end up marrying will obviously be okay with that, and that will make him be a good fit for me.”

Furtively, I slipped my hands under the table. I twisted my diamond ring around my finger, but my finger seemed to have swelled, and the ring clung uncomfortably.

“You know, Zissi, whoever marries you is going to win the lottery.”

“Aw.”

I meant it. Zissi was a rare gem. She was the most pleasant person to be around, she had sterling middos, solid hashkafos, a wicked sense of humor. And seriously, money? What a joke. Zissi was so low maintenance, she hardly even needed money. Yeah, sure, life is expensive. But I knew Zissi. She would be self-sufficient. She’d chosen to go for CPA licensure after careful deliberation, concluding that it was a field that would allow her to support her family for a long time, the way she wanted. “Plus, duh, you have an accountant’s brain,” I told her, and she blushed with a mixture of humility and pride.

Zissi would support her family — maybe on a modest scale, true — but she would do it independently. And it would give her the greatest satisfaction.

A nobody on the shidduch scene because her father couldn’t offer support? Seriously! Zissi was more prepared than any girl I knew to marry a serious learner. What more could you ask for in a girl?

Honestly, I would grab such a girl for my—

For Yossi.

I could barely contain my excitement the rest of the meal. I couldn’t wait for Binyomin to pick me up so I could share my brainstorm with him.

I was the stereotypical newlywed, setting up my best friend with my husband’s kid brother.