Helping her plan a casual afternoon gathering at her home now included sourcing enough tables, chairs, and place settings to rent for twenty people, a tent to cover her backyard, decorations, a cooler, and party favors. What I’d thought would be one quickly pulled-together Pinterest board had morphed into an Excel spreadsheet that took up the whole screen of my laptop, and an entire day on my calendar now reserved for helping my mom throw a party for a woman I didn’t even like. I could think of eight million other things I’d rather be doing on a Sunday.

My email alert let off a ring. Do you think you could run to Costco before the shower to get the cake and drinks? You can take my car.

I had finally had enough of the emails, and picked up the phone. “Mom,” I said when she answered after one ring.

“Hi, honey, is this about Costco? You should pick up some snacks to bring back into the city too, of course,” she said, and the kind offer melted away most of the annoyance I’d felt building up in my chest, even though I could barely carry anything back to the city from Costco, much less fit it in my apartment.

“Yes, I can go to Costco,” I said, my voice peppy in an attempt to mask my reluctance. The only thing bothering me more than the amount of work this had turned out to be was the fact that I hadn’t been honest and just said no to her in the first place. I’d said yes to make her happy, but the result was that I was miserable. “I’ll try to get out there at ten, as long as you can pick me up at the train station.”

“I’m really excited to see you, sweetie,” she said. “You know you can stay for dinner—even spend the night too if you want.”

“I appreciate that, Mom, but I think I should just come back into the city.” I leaned against the couch, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. Even though the air-conditioning was blasting inside, it was still sticky and warm. You’d think the summer heat would make me tired, lethargic, but instead I felt jumpy, ready to crawl out of my skin.

Ever since Hayes and I had talked on his new office roof, I’d wanted to call him, text him, anything to force us to have to connect, to see each other. Instead, we’d exchanged a few polite emails with Eleanor and their assistant Tyler about building logistics and the delivery of a fridge for their office kitchen.