Step three: survive until noon without making a fool of myself.
The first car pulls up at exactly ten o’clock, tires crunching on the gravel like a drumroll. Then another pulls in behind it. And another. By the time I reach the front door, my porch is brimming with neighbors.
I take a deep breath. “This is it. Are you ready?”
Austin shuts his laptop with a calm click and moves toward the door. He looks like he’s heading into a briefing, all steady steps and squared shoulders. I look like someone about to hyperventilate.
The screen door bangs open before I can collect myself. A petite woman barrels through first, a casserole dish balanced in her arms.
“Milly, darling! You’ve grown so much—I remember you when you were barely waist-high,” she cries, setting the dish into my arms and placing her hands on my cheeks. “That is a three-cheese casserole. Not for the faint of heart. And I’m Sue Carter, though everyone knows me already.”
Before I can answer, she thrusts a tote bag into my free hand. “That is your Everwood Survival Kit.”
The tote contains: a calendar of community events, a spiral notebook titledNeighborly Tips: Annotated, a crocheted dishcloth that could double as a shield, and a jar of what she calls “the best darn honey in three counties.”
Hot on her heels comes a shy woman with glasses slipping down her nose, cradling a stack of paperbacks. “Sarah Baldwin,” she says quietly. “I run the library. Thought you might want something to settle in with—comfort reads. These are a few of my favorites.”
Before I can thank her, a man in a baseball cap lopes in, juggling envelopes and a basket of muffins. “Ed Simmons. Mailman, muffin man, sometimes gossip man. Hot tip, Milly: Saturday pancake breakfast. Don’t let Carl talk you into syrup duty unless you like blisters. Oh, and here’s your mail.” He drops the letters onto the counter like a dealer at a card table.
Names, casseroles, tote bags, books, muffins—they stack faster than I can process. My brain scrambles: Sue = casserole queen. Sarah = librarian. Ed = possibly runs this town.
Austin slips in behind me, freeing one of my overloaded arms by sliding the casserole onto the counter and the tote by the stairs. When I glance up, he winks, and suddenly the chaos feels less crushing. Neighbors greet him too, handshakes and hellos, folding him into the welcome as though he belongs.
Sue notices. “Isn’t it lovely,” she says, patting my arm, “that Milly has such a capable housemate?”
Heat prickles my cheeks, and I deflect. “So, uh… about that pancake breakfast?”
Sarah ducks behind her books to hide a grin.
The door creaks again, this time accompanied by a near-toppling stack of greenery. A redhead wrangles her way inside, curls everywhere, arms full of houseplants.
“Sorry! Nearly dropped these on the driveway. Cassie Grant,” she introduces herself, dropping the plants onto the console table with a grin. “Welcome committee! I bring…”
“Chaos and cheer,” Sue laughs, and Cassie nods.
“She’s right. Welcome.”
We end up cleaning soil that spilled onto the rug. She steadies the pot rim while I pat soil around the roots.
“First survival tip,” Cassie says, brushing off her palms. “When someone offers you seconds, take them, but you don’t have to eat them. Thirds? Claim a stomachache.”
“Any kind?” I ask.
“Guaranteed to work.”
We swap numbers, her thumb flying across her phone. “Textfor helpif you get trapped in the knitting circle. I’ll send backup. Trust me, it’s a trap.”
Something eases in my chest. She feels like an ally.
Sue beams at us both, satisfied. “See? You’re already finding your people.”
When the crowd thins, what remains is foil-wrapped generosity stacked across every surface. The fridge, however, is still untouched. Its reckoning waits. Meanwhile, I stare at the leftovers in horror. I’ll never eat it all.
By the time the last neighbor waves goodbye, the quiet that follows is welcome. I sag into a chair, arms slack. Austin pats my shoulder as he walks by. “You survived,” he says, sitting across from me.
Cassie lingers, though, sliding into the chair next to me. “Are you ready for Tupperware Tetris time?”
“You make it sound fun,” I say skeptically.
