“Suit yourself,” I say, digging in to the hot potato kugel. It’s not like Honey not to elbow her way in for kiddush food, never mind not eat, and I know something’s up—but there’s no use pressing when she’s quiet like this.

Afterward, we go back to Rivkie’s house, where her mother has set up a buffet lunch: cold deli meat, cucumber salad, and more potato kugel, plus a birthday cake for dessert. Then Rivkie stands up and gives a dvar Torah. Everyone listens quietly while she speaks just above a whisper. When she is done, she says, “Good Shabbos, thank you for coming to my bat mitzvah.” Her cheeks are pink and her eyes sparkle, like she had been sleeping all this time and suddenly woke up to a party that was for her. Is that how I’ll feel in June?

“How was it?” my mother asks when she picks up Honey and me after Shabbat ends Saturday night. Honey is still quiet.

“Fine,” I say.

“Just fine?” she says. “Can I get a little more information?”

“Mom,” I groan. “It was nice, it was good, what else do you want to know?”

“Honey, how was it?” my mom says.

“Well, Lori, to be honest, I don’t think it was what either Milla or I would have wanted for ourselves, but Rivkie was really happy and it seemed like it was exactly the right bat mitzvah for her.”

I shoot Honey a look: suck-up!

“Thank you, Honey, that’s a lovely grown-up answer,” my mother says. I stick my tongue out at Honey.

I wait for her to stick hers out back, but she keeps her face forward. “You’re welcome.”

It’s not until after we drop her off that I remember Honey’s bat mitzvah is in a few weeks. Her parents have planned a kiddush in shul on Shabbat. Is that why she was so quiet all day?

The next Thursday night is Tali’s bat mitzvah and then on Sunday night it’s Sophie’s.

“Girls, did you have fun?” Mrs. Wine asks me and Honey as we walk to her car after Sophie’s. Mrs. Wine was there too, and her face is still flushed pink from all the Jewish dancing.

“Yes, Ima,” Honey says quietly, even though she hardly got up to dance the whole night.

“Yeah, it was fun,” I say.

“Well, I enjoyed myself too. Baruch Hashem, it was a lovely simcha,” Mrs. Wine says. She swings herself up into the driver’s seat of her minivan, closes the door, and bends down to pull off her high heels.

“Sophie and Tali are best friends, and they did the exact same party. Why didn’t they just share it?” I muse as Mrs. Wine is putting on her winter boots. At each of their bat mitzvahs, Sophie and Tali wore frilly dresses, had arts and crafts activities for us to do for charity, spoke about doing charity in their speeches, did the best friend’s speech for the other, and had the same music and dances.