I expect her to roll her eyes at me and say something sarcastic, but instead she swallows and swipes a hand under her eye. “Thanks, Milla,” she says, pulling me into a hug again. “I really needed to hear that.”

As I hug her back, I realize I needed to hear myself say that too.

After I get back to my house with my mom, she and Aunty Steph lock themselves in the den for a while while Max and I give Shmuel Yosef breakfast in the kitchen; when they come out, they are both red-eyed and smiling. Later, as we light candles for the second night of Passover, we all sway and sing “lai-la-lai” with Aunty Steph as we make the blessing. I think how our voices sound pretty good together. My mom has a really nice voice too when she sings, and I notice she even has her eyes closed.

“Chag Sameach! Gut Yontuf!” my dad calls when he comes home from shul with Max and Shmuel Yosef.

“Gut Yontef!” Aginéni cries gustily from our living room sofa. Before candle lighting, Aunty Steph and Shmuel Yosef walked with me to her house and set up her new wheelchair on the driveway while I helped her down the front steps. Then we pushed her back to our house, her cane hooked onto the wheelchair handle—so that she could be my guest for our seder. My dad puts on his kittel, his cheeks ruddy tonight, while I haul Aginéni up and lead her to her seat at our dining room table, right next to mine.

This time we all read together, even Shmuel Yosef, who still stumbles over the Hebrew words he has only learned to read in the last year. We sing all the songs. Max stands on his chair, and I stand next to him, holding his hand while he asks the four questions perfectly, all by himself. I realize that last night I forgot to steal the afikomen from my dad, even though it is a tradition for the children at the seder to hold the special piece of matzah ransom, because the seder cannot continue after the meal until the afikomen is eaten for dessert. To be honest, it’s one thing for breakfast with some nice salted butter, but who really wants dry cracker for dessert? Tonight I don’t forget though. When my dad asks me what I want in exchange for returning the afikomen, I look over at Aunty Steph, who nods at me with encouragement.

“I want to change my bat mitzvah topic,” I say. My mom looks at Aunty Steph in surprise. Aunty Steph now nods reassuringly at my mom.

“She’s got a great idea, Lori.”

“That she came up with herself,” adds Aginéni vehemently. My mother’s face blanches—I guess Aginéni is still kind of scary if you don’t know her like I do.

But then my mom squares her chin. “Can you pull it off in time?” she asks me and Aunty Steph. We both nod. “All right, then, do it,” my mom says. She looks questioningly at my dad, and he nods. “We actually thought you were going to ask for something else, which we are still prepared to give you.”