Yitzchok just stared at me, his hand on the doorknob. “Are you crazy?” he whispered

Dovid

“C

ome into the kitchen,” Mama said, and we followed her dumbly, sitting down in the chairs she guided us to. Mama busied herself by the stove while I calmed down and stopped crying. I looked over at Yitzchok, embarrassed, but his face was white and he looked just as upset as I was. (True, he wasn’t crying, but he also wasn’t in his own house.)

“Here,” Mama said finally, pushing a cup of tea into each of our hands.

The tea was warm and steamy and even though we were hot and sweaty from our run, it was comforting. The room was silent, save for the sounds of sipping and the clatter of our spoons against our cups.

“What happened, Dovid?” Mama finally asked.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her. Mama couldn’t know. Ever.

I looked at Yitzchok, trying to send him a message with my eyes, not sure what I wanted him to say. Or not say. Because Mama couldn’t know. She just couldn’t.

“It’s – it’s nothing, Mama,” I sputtered.

Mama was silent. She knew I wouldn’t cry over “nothing,” but she didn’t say anything.

After a long while of just sitting there in silence, none of us saying anything, Yitzchok cleared his throat. “Um. I think I need to get home. My mother’s going to worry.” And he stood up.

I stood up, too, and walked him to the door.

“Same place, tomorrow night?” I asked him in an undertone even though Mama had stayed behind in the kitchen.

Yitzchok just stared at me, his hand on the doorknob. “Are you crazy?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Just a little bit,” I said, and laughed hollowly. “So… I guess I’ll see you around.”