I know you mean well, but my son is not your project

Miri: The first time it happened, I really understood where Avi was coming from.

Avi: Your approach isn’t helping him — it’s letting him sink.

Miri

We’d invited him and Chaya and the kids for Shabbos lunch, and I’d spent the whole morning preparing because my sister-in-law Chaya was the perfect type; magazine-inspired tablescapes and menus that would not be out of place on some influencer’s feed. My brother Avi had a successful business, their standard of living was different than ours, but still, he was my younger brother, we loved having them over. The kids liked it, too — my older ones enjoyed the company, and my little ones played with Avi and Chaya’s two little ones, which kept everyone entertained.

The guests showed up in a flurry of good Shabbos and thanks so much and a platter of fancy miniatures alongside the salad Chaya had offered to bring. Salad, it turned out, meant some exotic leafy greens, candied jerky, mango, and honey-roasted pecans. Yum, but somewhat out of context next to my cholent, schnitzel, deli roll, and wings. Not that Avi and Chaya cared; they were super chilled. And nice — which was the reason Avi even tried to get involved with Shimi’s stuff in the first place.

Everyone was finding their place around the table for Kiddush when Avi said suddenly, “Hey, where’s Shimi?”

The girls gave each other knowing looks and Naftali finished pouring the grape juice before answering, deliberately, “He’ll come when he’s ready.”

“When he’s ready?” Avi looked over at me. “Where’s he, upstairs?”

I nodded. Yes, Shimi was upstairs. No, he hadn’t gone to shul. Yes, he knew we were starting the meal. No, he didn’t want us to wait.

And we wouldn’t. Gone were the days where we’d fight our teenage son to get up, or go to shul, or come down in time for Kiddush. We knew better now. Not that I was happy about it, but I knew what worked and more importantly, what didn’t.

Whatever Shimi was going through, he needed time, space, and as little pressure as possible.

“I’ll go call him,” Avi offered, and before I could stop him, he’d disappeared upstairs.

“Uh, I don’t think—” I tried protesting, but Avi was already halfway up the stairs.

I looked at Naftali, who shrugged as if to say, Let him. Like we could stop him — Avi was the kind of guy who thought on his feet. All charm, all confidence, all certainty that he could fix the world, as if a single confident knock could get Shimi to open that locked door of his…

…which apparently, it could.

A minute later Avi reappeared, slight grin on his face, Shimi shuffling in behind him, sweatshirt hood pulled over his head, shoulders hunched. Avi didn’t seem to notice. He just slapped him on the shoulder — “Legend. Now we can start” — and waved a hand at Naftali like, we’re ready, go ahead.

I stared at Shimi, who ignored me, keeping his eyes fixed on the Kiddush cup.

What had Avi done up there in one minute that we hadn’t figured out in a year?

And was I just jealous… or was there something actually wrong about this?