Tamar’s chin jutted forward. “Ima, you don’t get it. You don’t know. It has to look right, okay?”

“Tamar, I need to leave soon. Can I just show you what’s going on with supper?”

Marissa was wearing her comfortable Naot clogs that Tamar hated; a mitpachat was tied firmly on her head. She didn’t often take the 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. shift — afternoons weren’t her high-energy time — but once Lali compiled the weekly schedule for the NICU nurses, it usually wasn’t worth asking for changes.

Tamar shuffled into the kitchen. “Okay, you can show me,” she said in a not-very-gracious voice.

Marissa chose to ignore her tone. “So here’s the soup, I’m leaving it on a low simmer. And in the fridge, there’s a pan of chicken cutlets that needs to go in the oven about 40 minutes before you eat. Aim for six, okay? Bake them uncovered. And put the pan of potatoes underneath, the same time you put in the chicken.”

Tamar glared at Marissa’s feet. “Ima, are you sure you need those clogs?”

Marissa smiled thinly. Stay calm, stay calm, don’t get emotional. “They’re great for someone who has to be on her feet for eight hours straight. Like me.”

Tamar sighed, then brightened. “How about I find you some really cute work shoes?” she offered. “Sneakers are in style now, I can find you a good pair. I’ll make sure they’re comfortable.”

“Thanks, Tamar. I’ll keep it in mind.” Marissa grabbed her jacket. “Make sure Yosef Shalom eats some chicken, okay? If you don’t watch him he’ll fill up on potatoes and then he won’t get any protein.”

Tamar nodded.

“Ima?” she asked suddenly, in a sudden rush of words. “I wanted to ask you — you know we have vacation almost the whole Chanukah, and my friends were thinking that every day a different girl could host a little get-together. Are you okay with that? I would do all the work, I promise.”

Marissa looked at her daughter’s eyes. The dark irises were flecked with hope.