I cleared my throat. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I needed to tell my parents that I hadn’t met their deadline. There was no point in waiting until the evening when I could just break the news to them now.

“Um, can I talk to you both about something?” I interrupted their banter. My parents stopped and turned toward me.

“Yes, Leila. What is it? Are you sick?” my mother asked, suddenly concerned.

“No, it’s about something I’ve been meaning to tell you both—”

Briiiing.

“One second, Leila.” My mother held up a finger. “Let me just get this.” She picked up the phone, and a few seconds in, I could already tell that it was not good news.

“What do you mean the flowers haven’t arrived? The party is tonight!” she cried, handing the phone over to my father and rubbing her head.

“Hello? Yes. Okay. Okay. Okay. I will let her know.” My father calmly hung up as my mother and I stared at him.

“Leila, the florist is sending you new arrangements in your email. Will you check the pictures and let her know which one we want?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling a bit frazzled. I still wanted to talk to them, but I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to handle more upsetting news.

“Can you believe they haven’t arrived yet?” My mother turned toward my father. “I must call the decorator and make sure everything else is set for tonight.”

I could sense a degree of panic in her voice.

“Will you go through the guest list and confirm the final numbers with the caterer?” My father nodded and quickly got to his feet.

“Can I just tell you guys something real quick . . . ?”

“Not now, Leila. We will discuss later. Go check the pictures and email the florist. She is waiting for your message.”

“But . . . but—” I stammered helplessly as my parents cleared the table in a hurry. Within minutes, they had gone into the other room and the kitchen was empty as I sat there alone. What now? I thought. I should tell them before the party, but when? I shuffled back to my room.

What if I wrote them an email? I pondered half-seriously as I opened my laptop, searching through the inbox. As I scrolled through the messages, my cell phone vibrated. It was Tania.

HEY! What’s up? Ready for tonight?

Ugh. I responded.

Lol . . . party problems or personal?

Both.

Can I help?

Maybe. The florist was supposed to send me new pictures for centerpieces, but I don’t see her email in my inbox.

Weird. Have you checked the junk folder?

Let me look. I clicked on JUNK and waited for the messages to download. There it was, at the very top: Floral Arrangements, it read in the subject line.

Got it! You’re a lifesaver! I texted her as the emails continued to download. All of a sudden, one by one, the messages appeared as I sat there dumbfounded. Dozens of unread emails staring back at me from behind the screen. With trembling hands, I grabbed my phone and dialed Tania’s number, waiting impatiently for the sound of her voice.