I want to tell him it’s impossible, our largest event drew what, 30, 40, do we even know 100 students, but something stops me

I want to sue the person who came up with this crazy idea.

Oh. Oh, right.

It was me.

What on earth had I been thinking? To offer to host a mega barbeque three days — three days — after moving in?

“How’s it going?” Akiva comes in through the back door. “Wanna pass me the trays of chicken?”

How is he so calm?

I stand in the middle of the kitchen and run frantically through the list: Make salad dressing, set out paper goods, make sure the kids are still occupied with coloring books and not destroying anything, put on sheitel….

I step outside. Hopefully the weather will hold. Our backup plan is to eat in the dining room, but I have no interest in a gaggle of college students traipsing through the kitchen and partying in the only clean area in the whole house.

“How many are we expecting?” I ask Akiva.

“I think we’ll get a nice bunch, the students I spoke to today were pretty excited,” he says, grabbing a napkin. “Really smart idea, to invite them all over here. I spoke to a lot of students, got their numbers so I could reach out again, but you know how it goes, a lot of them shy away from rabbis, so advertising a welcome barbeque was a good call. They’ll come for the steak.”

“You don’t look like a rabbi,” I remark, nodding at his polo shirt and chinos.

He touches his yarmulke. “Dead giveaway. Plus I eat kosher, like, all the time. One of the girls I spoke to today couldn’t believe that. Even out of the house, she double-checked.”

We laugh, but it’s not really funny.

And even though we’ve prepped for this for two years at an intensive kiruv-training kollel, weekly classes for women included, it’s no match for seeing the sad results of assimilation up-close.

Akiva flips the chicken while I get busy setting the folding tables.

“You think I should set up inside as well? The sky looks iffy.”

Akiva looks up, considering. “Probably. Thanks, Tamar, it looks great.”

It does look pretty good. I’d spent a while debating tablescapes and color schemes, but decided to go traditional with red-checkered tablecloths and woodsy paper goods. These are college students from who knows where; they aren’t expecting elegant tablescapes. The food — grilled chicken, chicken wings, hot poppers, fries and onion rings and grilled corn and lettuce salad, and, of course, the steak — is the important part.

There is a lot of food. I hope the students show. And I hope they’re hungry.

I snap a bunch of pictures and post a couple of them to our group chat — Bagels n Coffee, it’s called, since coffee dates and bagel brunches are supposedly the bread-and-butter of student recruitment.

Change our name to Steak n Fries? I write, with a winking emoji.

I wait a moment for replies, but no one seems to be around. There are six of us on the chat, all newly active on college campuses, so I guess everyone’s as busy — and overwhelmed — as I am.

Akiva’s stressing now about the food. “I forgot, we need a vegan option, remember what they told us, expect ten percent vegans when you host….”

“At a barbecue? Seriously, I doubt any vegans will show up. We’re practically a poultry assassination party,” I point out.

“True,” he concedes.

“Besides,” I remind him. “The party is called for seven, and it’s 6:58 right now. So unless you know of a recipe that takes under 120 seconds….”

“Forget it! Forget it. They can have the salad,” he says, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

“And the fries. Don’t forget those.” I strike a pose and affect a terrible French accent. “Let zem eat fries!”

We’re still laughing when a knock on the door heralds the arrival of our very first guests, just as the first droplets of rain fall.