Michael purses his lips, his brief fuss over tragic U.S. education quickly dissipating. “Yeah,” he says thoughtfully.
“You know, since this turned out okay… This is only an idea, alright?” He leans back enough to look Lee in the face. “Instead of going to temple, maybe we could just do shabbat here. I mean, nothing fancy, just… the dinner on Friday.”
His expression is both excited and nervous. The Sabbath is a much smaller affair than Passover and they’d pulled that off tonight, but a weekly ritual is a commitment. It’s a lifestyle—not only a religious one, but a domestic one. It’s something a husband and wife do, Michael realizes, and he abruptly wishes he hadn’t mentioned this at all, what was he thinking, Lee is going to have a heart attack, God please strike him dead where he sits.
(He still thinks the idea sounds nice. But he never says anything he doesn’t really mean.)