I tap my phone like it’s going to offer me an out. “I should probably cancel. I mean, what would the neighbors think? The PTA president already looks at me like I microwaved communion.”
Viv leans in, voice calm but sharp enough to slice through my panic. “Birdie. Your husband has been gone for over a year and a half. You’re not cheating. Also, you once mentioned you hosted a shrimp boil for the HOA. You’ve done your time.”
I snort despite myself. “That shrimp boil had three Yelp reviews and a minor fire hazard.”
Marin perks up suddenly, her phone lighting up. “Also, you’re not going alone.”
I blink. “What?”
Viv smirks like this has been her master plan all along. “We’re making it a group date.”
My jaw drops. “So many questions. First, how did you two even communicate that? Telepathically? Second, who would go with you?”
They answer at the same time.
Viv: “The guy who taught me how to twirl.”
Marin: “Len. From the barrel.”
Viv adds, “And good souls are able to communicate with good souls. We did yoga together. We’re bonded.”
I look between them like I’ve entered an alternate timeline. “I need to join you all for yoga because I want this superpower. You got their numbers?”
Marin shrugs. “It was a vulnerable environment.”
“This is happening. You’re going out. You’re not canceling. And we’re going to wear things that don’t have elastic waistbands.” Viv snaps the elastic on her yoga pants.
Before I can respond, my phone pings with a new email. The subject line alone is enough to make me break out in stress hives:
Subject: Friendly Reminder - Snack Roster Incomplete!
From: [email protected]
I sigh and fall silent, reading as the background noise of Viv and Marin discussing outfits fills the air.
Hi Birdie!
Simply a quick nudge to remind you we still need a confirmed nut-free, dye-free, vegan-friendly snack option for next Thursday’s student council training!
We know you always come through!
Also, could you bring paper napkins? We’re trying to be eco-conscious but still festive!
Warmly,
Your Friends at the PTA
I stare at the screen, blinking slowly like I’m rebooting.
The emotions hit fast and hot—anger, humiliation, something dangerously close to hurt—but habit kicks in before I can feel them all the way. Deep breath. Smooth it over. Make it look nice.
“Everything ok?” Marin places a hand on my shoulder.
Pasting on a sunny smile, I nod. “Yep. Just a little PTA trouble. No big deal.”
Viv looks up, horrified. “Are you seriously still on the PTA? Didn’t your daughter graduate three presidents ago?”
“Okay, not that long ago,” I mutter, already starting to type a response. “I never unsubscribed. And technically, I’m an ‘alumni liaison.’”
