Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it, Abby thought.
“… healthy,” Eileen finally concluded. Which was, of course, code for thinner, but at least indicated that she was trying not to actively offend. They’d gone inside together, just the two of them. Marni was with her in-laws in New Jersey, and Simon had told her he was going to shul in New York City, although Abby had her doubts.
Abby stood with the rest of the congregants when the young female rabbi chanted the vidui, the collective confession, an alphabetical list of sins, all acknowledged in the first-person plural, because, according to Jewish tradition, every single person has fallen short of Divine perfection. The congregation chanted together.
We have trespassed
We have betrayed
We have stolen
We have slandered
We have caused others to sin
Abby found herself thinking of Morgan, how she and Eileen had helped Morgan lie to her mother. That, thank God, had worked out in the end. A week after the trip had ended, Lily had sent Abby an email, expressing regret that she hadn’t gotten to say goodbye in person, thanking her for keeping Morgan safe, for making sure Morgan hadn’t been alone.
I wish I could have been there myself, but I understand why she felt she couldn’t tell me （and I know that part of growing up means finding other adults in whom you can confide）。 I am thankful that Morgan had friends and other adults around her. She is healthy and well and enjoying her junior year of high school.
We have turned away
We have ignored our responsibilities
We have been perverse
We have acted wantonly
Abby looked at her mother. Eileen’s eyes were tightly closed. She was thumping one fist gently on her chest with each line of the prayer. Abby wondered what her mother was thinking, if any of this had any meaning to her, or if the High Holidays were just an excuse to show off a new outfit while surrounding herself with people who were also not eating. Then she scolded herself for not even making it to sundown without being judgmental and unkind. Do better, Abby told herself. Try harder. Even if Eileen doesn’t make it easy.
We have caused suffering
We have been stubborn
We have refused to see Hashem’s hand
We have rebelled
We have incited
We have sinned
We have strayed
On Yom Kippur, observant Jews confessed in public. They were also charged with personally asking forgiveness of people they had hurt. Abby knew what she needed to do. Just get it over with, Abby thought. When services were over, she went back home with her mother and said, “How can I help?”
“Come with me,” Eileen said, and Abby followed her into the kitchen, where every appliance and countertop gleamed. A white box with “apple cake” written on top stood on the cake stand. A paper bag full of bagels waited on the counter, breathing their warm, yeasty scent into the air.
Eileen began pulling vegetables and packets of smoked fish out of the refrigerator. Abby got a serrated knife, a cutting board, and the white porcelain platter her mother always used. The bagels were still warm, springy on the outside, pillowy in the middle. How many years had Abby laid out platters of bagels and watched her mother take a single half and eviscerate it, pulling out the soft white guts, filling it with vegetables and the tiniest dab of cream cheese?
Abby climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar and got to work. Eileen went to the counter to select a knife, then walked the long way around the island before pulling a chopping board out of the drawer. Never sit when you can stand, never stand when you can walk, never hold still when you can be moving was one of Eileen’s mantras. She’d walk from the laundry room to her bedroom a dozen times, carrying a single piece of clothing with each trip, and at the mall or the supermarket, she would park as far as she could from the entrance, the better to sneak in a few extra steps.
Stop judging, Abby told herself as Eileen started slicing a cucumber into thin rounds. Her mom had changed into a simple linen shift. Abby saw, with a little amusement, the tan lines that her cycling shorts had left beneath the hem of her dress. And stop putting it off.
“The last day of the trip was interesting,” Eileen said, before Abby could begin. She finished up the cucumbers, arranged them neatly on the platter, and started in on the red onion. “Everyone asked where you’d gone. And Sebastian looked miserable.” Eileen paused, looking at Abby carefully. Abby stayed quiet, working hard to keep her face expressionless.
“And,” Eileen continued, “it turns out that Ted is married to Lou, and Ed is married to Sue.”