Grace opened the fridge and started removing ingredients, and I wondered if I was like that in my regular life, if maybe we were all a little like that.

“Grace is the most incredible vegan chef, and she has taken it upon herself to become our mommune cook,” Alice said.

“So that part is real!” I said almost gleefully. I couldn’t figure out why I was so excited. Wasn’t I cooler than this? But I loved Growing with Grace. I watched her content every single night. Had I ever tried one of her recipes? No. But she seemed to have everything so together in a way I never would. Maybe she didn’t have it as together as I thought, though. She was living at the mommune, after all. “Well, of course it’s real,” I amended. “I bought your book.”

Grace turned back to the stovetop, which was in the island and made it easy for her to interact with everyone in the house coming and going as she cooked. “The cooking part is as real as the butternut squash risotto with leeks and spinach I’m about to make,” she said.

“That’s just too good to be true!” I was loving this situation more by the moment. I absolutely despised cooking.

Grace nodded. “Sure, but you repay me in football pickup or something.”

“I wasn’t vegan before Grace,” Alice said. “But I feel so fantastic, I doubt I’ll ever go back to bacon.”

I laughed, but I had to wonder again what Grace was doing here. I didn’t know her situation with her ex, but I was 100 percent sure that she was popular enough that she could support her family on her career alone. “That’s great,” I said, already (unlike Alice) missing bacon and being 99 percent sure I was still going to eat cheeseburgers outside the house. Iris was glaring at me again. That girl loved a chicken nugget. I gave her a you’re fine look.

“You’ll love it here,” Grace said, pouring olive oil out of a chic bottle with a silver spout with the same flourish I had seen her use about a million times on Growing with Grace. “I didn’t want to raise my children alone, and Alice and Julie have been such a godsend.”

Grace and Alice shared a look I couldn’t quite decipher.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my kids. Emma is twelve and Merit is sixteen.”

Iris stopped, the smile frozen on her face. “Like, Merit McDonald?”

“The very one,” Grace said, winking at me.

“Oh, wow,” she said.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet Julie,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Grace said. “At least at school.”

At that moment, three soaking-wet girls, and the older one, who I now assumed was Emma, came tearing through the house. “Mommy’s home! We heard the garage door!”