It has not been great.

I’ve always known my husband has expectations about how a household should be run. I’ve never had him watching over me all day long to see how I run it. If I leave the house, he wants to go with me, or he grills me about where I went and what I did. If I get a phone call or even a text, he’s peering over my shoulder, trying to find out who I’m talking to. It’s frustrating and exhausting. I wanted him to pay attention to me, but not like this.

Up to my elbows in sudsy water, my knees and back aching, all I want is for him to be out of the house so I can stop pretending I spend all my time cleaning or cooking. I want to go shopping, but with him here, I don’t dare.

“What’s going on with the holidays?” Ken asks abruptly.

Rosh Hashanah starts next Sunday night, but honestly, I’ve barely thought that far ahead. My parents belonged to the synagogue back when it had a thriving congregation with lots of kids the same age as me and Jonathan. We’d spent a lot of time there for services and events. I used to love going to the long High Holiday services. The melodies of the prayers, the feeling of belonging to a community, the food served after services in the social hall. Friends. Family. When you’re not part of a majority, the times you can connect with other people like you are the ones that make memories. I’m nostalgic for that time, but I know it wouldn’t be the same now, even if I did go back. Anyway, shul dues are expensive. So are High Holiday seats. I spend my money on other things.

“The usual. Dinner. They’re having online services again this year, so I thought I’d do that on Monday. Jonathan and Eve are going to her mother’s, so they won’t be coming over.”

I get to my feet with a small groan and empty the bucket into the sink, half filling it. My back throbs, so I stretch. The dirty water drains slowly. Too slowly. I swirl it with my hand until it starts to go down a little faster.

“Online services. Sounds great,” Ken says from behind me. “Maybe I’ll sit in.”

I face him. “You won’t be working on Monday?”

He shrugs. “I should take the day off. Eli should too.”

“I told him he could stay home if he wanted to, but he’s got a big test.”

Ken’s brow knits. “That’s not right, having a test on a religious holiday. I mean, what’s the point of putting him through all that rigmarole to have a bar mitzvah, if he’s not going to observe the holidays?”

Ken grew up with Santa and a Christmas tree, but he’s never been religious. He’s always said that losing his entire family put him off the idea God being real. He’s never prevented me from observing my own holidays, or raising Eli as Jewish, but he’s never shown any interest in being an active participant. Most of the time he’s not even around for the High Holidays.