She paused, hand frozen in midair above her headband, and I repeated the offer, feeling panic rise through my chest. I had only attended the event once, last year. There was a bounce house that Jack loved, a lollipop pull, a ring toss, an ice-cream truck, and concessions.

“I wasn’t aware you had joined the PTA. Only members can organize events,” Heather finally said.

I made a mental note to click on the emailed membership link to join when I got home. I smiled sweetly at her. “It will be a great event.”

“I’m sure it will be. I will get you the information binder from last year. Well, I should be going. I don’t know if you heard, but I had my kitchen redone recently, and I have a meeting with my designer to do a final walk-through. So stressful, am I right?”

I smiled thinly. “I can imagine. I did hear you talk about it recently. Congratulations.” Of course I knew about it. It was all she’d talked about for nearly a year. It would be like if I asked whether she knew there had been a presidential election. You would have had to be living off the grid to miss it. I waited for her to get up, but I had miscalculated, and she leaned in, thinking it was an invitation.

“I couldn’t believe how many options there are. Open versus closed shelving, smart fridges that connect to Wi-Fi, dual dishwashers, no-touch faucets, farm or traditional sinks.” She sighed dramatically, slouching back in the chair as though the weight of so many decisions had exhausted her. “That’s why I had to hire a designer. Who can make all those decisions on their own?”

I nodded slightly, thinking of the grand plan I’d had last summer to paint our kitchen cabinets white. Our kitchen had been remodeled in the early aughts, during the time of dark wood cabinets, tan and cream granite, and nickel fixtures. When we bought the house, we remarked that it looked like a Mafia sit-down room. Of course, we moved in with plans to give it all a facelift that never materialized. So after a late night on Pinterest during which I almost decided to rewire a vase into a lamp, I decided to paint the cabinets on my own. I dragged the kids to Home Depot, bought hundreds of dollars’ worth of supplies, and unloaded them in the garage. They were still sitting there, next to the leftover wood from when we had our fence replaced.

Heather stood up, her lament about home renovations complete. “Well, I should scoot. I will be sure to get you the binder on Wed—” She stopped abruptly. “Soon,” she finished.