“Every day is another day in paradise,” I said with a forced laugh. It was my go-to line—be funny, exasperated, the overworked mom who had great one-liners. Of course, one could never actually look like an overworked mom. You could wear comfy leggings and a ball cap, but the leggings should be high-end athleisure and the hat should be from wherever you or your family had a lake house. Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, or one of the beach towns in Southwest Michigan.

“I hear you,” Sarah said as we walked through the sliding glass doors. The air-conditioning hit my skin, and my sweat instantly evaporated.

Sarah chattered on about how she was so stressed because she and her family were leaving for a vacation to Hilton Head Island the next day, and she needed to buy trinkets from the $1 bin to occupy her toddler on the plane.

“Snacks. Buy snacks, and then when you think you have enough, buy more,” I said. Mark and I had taken the kids on a flight last year, and they had eaten like they were going to the electric chair. But the Doritos muffled the sounds of their voices.

“I wonder if they have organic graham crackers here,” Sarah mused as she pulled out a cart.

“I’m sure they do.” I cocked my head to the side as though I’d just had a thought. “Actually, before you go, I wanted to ask you something. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m in charge of the school carnival this year.”

I watched Sarah figure out what I was about to say, and her smile faded. It wasn’t lost on me that I had been in this situation many times, just reversed.

She preempted my request. “That’s wonderful. It’s such a great event. I’d love to help, but this summer is just crazy for me.”

I nodded. “Of course. Have fun on your vacation.”

She beamed with relief and pushed her cart toward the grocery aisle with a wave.

I grabbed a cart and turned toward the electronics and books section, eyes moving around, looking for other people I knew. After we had moved here, I used to fly through, eyes down, assuming people would avoid me if I looked like I was on a mission. Au contraire, it seemed to be an invitation, like a flashing neon sign that said, “Talk to me about the upcoming school board election!” But this time, I welcomed any social interactions. I realized I was like Heather in that moment, waiting for the right opportunity to collect unwilling prey to volunteer. It didn’t matter; I needed help.