I never saw it coming. I drove home along my usual route and when I came to my neighborhood I noticed lots of cars parked along the side of the road. I live in suburbia, so seeing cars parked along the road was a surprising site. Must be a party. How odd to hold a party on a Thursday night.

I pulled into the garage and got out of the car. Jake’s car was already parked in its usual spot. He’s home early. He must have had a late appointment close to home. That’ll be nice. I was planning a quiet evening.

I opened the door to the laundry room. The house was bright and I heard ‘shushing’. A surprise party? But it’s not my birthday. Oh well, might as well face it.

I stepped into my family room and found it filled with family and friends, but I didn’t hear anyone yell ‘Surprise!’. My husband walked up to me, gazed into my eyes and held both of my hands. “Lily, I love you. You need to come in and sit down.”

I made my way unsteadily to the chair and sat, wondering who died. Everyone looked at me with concern etched on their faces. Now I was really worried. I realized I didn’t see my Mom in the room. Oh God, and I had just told her that her hair color this time looked brassy! Relief came as I spied her standing in the corner of the room. Dad wasn’t the dead one either; he was standing next to her with a grim expression, arms folded across his chest. He looked unusually grave this evening. Where was Riley? Oh God, not my baby! Not my boy! But then I saw him, sitting on the couch, securely plugged into his iPod.

“Lily,” said a man I didn’t recognize, “all of these people are here because they love you.”

“And you are?” I said petulantly. I didn’t mean to be rude but I wanted to know who died.

“I am Dr. Abrams.”

“Dr. Abrams?” The name didn’t sound familiar.

“Yes,” he said.

“So, Dr. Abrams, just tell me! Who died?!”

“No one has died, Lily.”

“Then why is everyone here? What’s going on? I know it’s not a party because everyone looks grim and no one’s drinking. Our family parties always include alcohol.”

“We would like to talk to you about something in your life that is destructive and has hurt the people who love you.”

“Wait a minute!” I said, “I know I like wine, but it’s only a glass or two and that’s with a full dinner!” I couldn’t believe. Sure, I’ve had those times when I’ve overindulged, but there were others in the room who drank more and more often than I did. This wasn’t fair. Why pick on me?

“It’s not about that,” said Dr. Abrams, “That’s not an issue.”

“Well, I don’t gamble and I don’t smoke.”

“It’s not about that, either.”

“Is it the spa treatments? It was only a few and I was treating myself for all of the work I’ve done for the auction.” Sure, I splurged on eyelash extensions and they were pricey, and I did have nail tips applied to my usually stubby fingers, but it’s not like I went out and got plastic surgery! Of course, a massage right about now would feel great, and a pedicure to would be nice. My feet are beginning to look like those you’d see on a komodo dragon.

“That’s it!”

“The spa treatments? Oh, come on, it wasn’t that many…”

“Lily, please calm down. It’s not about the spa treatments. Can someone please get her a cup of tea?”

“Harney’s White Vanilla Grapefruit, please, with just a smidgen of Splenda.”

That’s when it dawned on me, “It’s the expensive designer tea, isn’t it? I know it’s pricier than Lipton, but you really have to try the Oolong Pomegranate before you judge me. Pomegranate’s an anti-oxidant for God’s sake! It’s good for you!”

Dr. Abrams was now patting my hand paternalistically. He had that condescending look you get from people when they pity you for your stupidity. I wanted to grab that hand and snap it off like a twig.

“Calm down, dear,” he said.

“If you don’t stop patting my hand, I’m going to snap it off, grind it up in a meat grinder and serve it to you as sloppy joes.”

The doctor stopped and cleared his throat, looking a little pale. “Yes, well, this isn’t going as planned.”

“Well, then why don’t you tell me what this is all about? I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

“Yes, I imagine you can,” he said, “We are here to talk about your excessive need to feel accepted and useful by serving others to the detriment of yourself and your family due to interminable hours of paperwork, meetings, and the handling of disparate personalities.”

“What? Can you say that again, but in English this time?”

“Certainly, you see, Lily, all of this need for favorable regard necessitates the ability to endure anal retentive and obsessive compulsive personalities with tolerance.”

“Is this guy high? Look, doc, use small words and spit it out!”

I had pushed a button.

“Fine! This volunteering all the time bullshit is totally pissing off your family and friends!”

“Huh?”

“No more auctions!” he said, “No more capital campaigns! No more boards! No more grant committees! No more phone-a-thons! Do you get it? Stop volunteering for everything under the sun and ignoring your family!”

“But I don’t volunteer that much,” I said. I could hear coughing in the background that sounded strangely like they were saying ‘bullshit’. “All right, so I volunteer my time to charitable organizations. That’s a good thing! You should support me and be proud of me!”

“You think I’m not supportive?” My husband, Jake, had come forward and was standing in front of me, “How many times have I complained when we went without laundry being done or home cooked meals for weeks on end?”

“This is about cooking? Most men would be thrilled to have a wife who cooks as well as I do. Just last week, didn’t you rave about the chicken saltimbocca with wild rice risotto?”

“I love your cooking and I do appreciate you. It’s not about the cooking. When was the last time we had a conversation that didn’t revolve around fund raising or committee members who are driving you crazy?”

“That’s part of being married. You are my sounding board and I need to be able to rely on you to listen. I listen to you when you complain about work.”

“Yes, but I talk about other things, too. I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to commit to a date for a trip to Maui, but you’re too busy to even entertain the idea of lounging on the beach.”

“I hardly think my getting a sun tan is a higher priority than raising money for schools.”

“The sun tan isn’t important, but you are. You need to take care of yourself. You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!”

The coughing in the background grew louder – ‘bullshit!’.

“Okay, so maybe I am a little stressed…”

“Sure, everyone has anxiety attacks,” he said.

“It was only a couple and they’ve stopped since I got the medication and before you say anything nasty about it, if God hadn’t meant for people to take Zoloft, he wouldn’t have created pharmaceutical companies.” I turned to my son, Riley, “Riley, you don’t feel neglected, do you?”

Riley stared back at me blankly.

“Riley?”

Someone next to him nudged him and he pulled the ear bud out of his ear that was attached to his iPod. “Huh? What? Did Mom agree to quit the auction?”

“Honey, that wouldn’t be right. You know that it’s important to share our gifts and talents.”

“I told you she wouldn’t do it,” and with that he popped the ear bud back into his ear. I walked up to him and pulled the ear buds out. He flinched.

“You never said anything about this before. Does it really bother you that much?”

“Ummm…well, you’ve been late to pick me up from school a lot and you forgot to get birthday presents for the last two parties Dad drove me to, and it would be kind of nice if we could watch a movie as a family and not be interrupted by all of the phone calls.”

Ouch. That hurt. I knew I was busy and a little stressed but I hadn’t realized that it had gotten out of hand.

“Lily,” said my friend, Dolores, “you’ve cancelled the last four lunch dates we’ve had and I can’t remember the last time I called you when you weren’t running off to a meeting or on some deadline and too busy to talk.”

“That’s only right before an event. Now that the auction’s over things will get better.”

“Really? What about the hospital fund raiser next month? Didn’t you volunteer to make a quilt for their raffle?”

I had forgotten about that. “Just give me a couple of weeks on intensive sewing and it’ll get done.”

“And after that, it will be something else. Don’t you see that it never ends with you?” said Jake, “Lily, when was the last time you allowed yourself a walk along the lake and enjoyed the fresh air and the birds and the greenery? How long has it been since you last took a bubble bath? You still haven’t opened the spa kit you got for Christmas. That gift was hint.”

The guilt was starting to get to me. “Okay, everybody, I get it. I promise to cut down on the volunteering.”

“Is that so?” said Dolores, “Let’s test that theory. Father Martinelli, was there something you wanted to ask Lily?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I was serious about volunteering less, but this was too much, “Guys, this isn’t fair. You know you can’t say ‘no’ to a priest. Can’t you come up with something easier?”

“Nope,” said Dolores, “you have to do this. It’s the only way we’ll believe you’re serious about changing your ways.”

“But…”

Father Martinelli smiled at me. “I know that these nice people are worried about you, but I also know how dedicated you are to the school.”

My throat was dry and I began to sweat.

“You did such a great job on the auction this year. It was such a success. I would like for you to prayerfully consider acting as an advisor to this year’s chair.”
It wouldn’t take that much time, I thought, and since I just did it this past year, I could really be helpful.

“Lily, remember your promise,” said Dolores.

“But it’s Father Martinelli!”

“Yes, I know that, but it’s not a sin to say ‘no’ to priest – you won’t go to Hell for it.”

“That’s what you say now, Dolores, but what are you going to say when we meet in the toasty hereafter?”

“Pass the iced tea? You’re avoiding the answer. Tell Father Martinelli you can’t do it.

I looked around at the crowd. “You can do it!” yelled my brother. “Just say no!” said my sister. Then the crowd began to chant “Lily! Lily!”

I drew strength from their support. “Father, I would really like to, but”

“Lily, I know that you are busy, but we can really use your help.
“But you can ask someone else…”

“They wouldn’t be you. We really want you.”

I began to tremble and could feel my eyes beginning to tear. “Thank you, Father, but,” I stopped and gulped, “I really have to say no.”

The crowd burst into cheers. “You did it! Now, that wasn’t so hard.” My husband threw his arms around me as I wept for joy.

“Thank you everybody,” I said and accepted the hugs and high fives from my friends.

“This calls for some champagne!” said my Mom, “Can someone help me with the glasses?”

Before I knew what I was doing, I yelled, “I’ll do it!”

Nancy W. Cluts is an MFA student enrolled in the Whidbey Island Writers Association Creative Writing program. She is a former programmer / writer for Microsoft Corporation and her work has been published widely within the computer world.