“Yeah,” I say, although I didn’t know the part about the disagreement or about Honey’s great-grandfather. “It’s surprising. But it’s good.”

“Well, I’m glad Eden Academy partners with Tablet and provides an inclusive Jewish education, and it’s great for our school to have the Wines,” she says, setting everything down on the counter. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and for a moment, I wonder how she would look wearing a sheitel like Mrs. Wine does. Like a lot of my school friends’ mothers, my mom doesn’t wear pants, but she only covers her hair—with a hat—when she goes to shul. “How do you really feel about it, Milla? You and Honey have never gone to school together …”

“Yes, we did, remember—we met at Morah Nechama’s,” I say, reminding her how Honey and I became friends. Whenever Morah Nechama sees us in shul, she loves to tell us about how we were always giggling together in a corner, so she encouraged my mother and Mrs. Wine to set up playdates for us.

“That was at a playgroup, when you were two,” my mother says.

“We go to camp together,” I say.

“Camp is different,” my mother points out.

“So going to school together is even better,” I say.

“Okay,” she says, opening the garbage bin with her foot and dropping the dirty napkins into it.

I put my hand on my waist. “What?” I say.

“Nothing,” my mother says.

“Honey coming is good!” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “If you say so.”

“I do say so! Everyone will love her, and she’s my best friend.”

My mother lets out an exasperated breath. “Fine, but—”

“Lori—” My dad pokes his head into the kitchen and gives my mother a pointed look.

My mother waves her hand to shoo him away and sighs as she turns to me. “It’s just—sixth grade was a really big year for me,” she says. Then she smiles. “And I’m sure it will be for you too.”

I shrug. “Well—” There’s a lump starting to form in my throat. “Maybe you could write me and Max notes, like Mrs. Wine does, about why you’re proud of us?”

“Milla, you shouldn’t need a note to know I’m proud of you. I’m proud of all my children.”

“It’s just me and Max,” I point out.

“Milla Ruth, you’re missing the point!” my mother says with a sudden flash of anger that startles me. She only calls me by my full name when she’s really upset. She swings the door open hard.

“Sorry!” I say quickly, tears pricking my eyes. My parents spent a lot of time (and money) trying to have more kids. That’s why there’s such a big age gap between me and Max. And why it’s only the two of us.

“It’s fine,” she says in a pinched voice, motioning for me to come over and holding out her arms so she can give me a hug. The door swings back in and bumps against her, jostling us. “I have two wonderful children who I love very much and who I’ve given up my career for, with no regrets. Whatsoever. And if I had more kids, I wouldn’t have as much time to devote to volunteering for your school.”