Dassi’s mother paused for a second too long, and in that moment, Dassi knew, and her stomach turned over

IT was five minutes until the other half of the Four were supposed to show up, and Chayala would have felt a lot better about the whole situation if her fancy, brand-new white-on-white Glencove Road kitchen wasn’t thick with smoke at that very moment. She hit the exhaust fan button, pulled the neck of her navy cotton sweater up over her mouth and nose, and indulged in a breath before she took the whole pan of roast chicken out of the oven and placed it on the counter, splashing hot grease a little too close to her third-favorite skirt.

She took her oven mitts off and surveyed the damage as Dassi bounced into the kitchen.

“You smell something burning?” asked Dassi, looking around.

Chayala turned slowly, and her lip quivered. For one horrified second, Dassi thought she’d made a mistake, and her hand rose up, as if to snatch the thoughtless words back out of the air where they hung.

Then Chayala doubled over, letting out peals of laughter. “The first time — we have the girls — for supper — and it’s Aly’s birthday — and I burned supper!” she gasped in between fits. She grasped the counter for support and succumbed to the hysterics. Dassi’s answering laugh had a definite tinge of relief in it.

Dassi cautiously eyed the roasting pan. “Should we just get Ess N Fresh a night early? Not to be pedantic or anything, but I just read a thing on how burnt food is a carcinogen, and if I’m going to go in my twenties it better be because I was skydiving or something fun.”

“Cholent on a Wednesday is pathological,” wheezed Chayala, still not calm.

Their new doorbell played its three-note chime, and Dassi turned to the door.

“Get your hopes dooooown,” she sang, and wrenched the door open to find, not her friends, but a masked delivery man, staggering under the weight of three fragrant and enormous brown paper takeout bags. Her eyes traveled over the white kashrus tape crisscrossing the handles, with the words MISO MISO MISO repeating every two inches. She looked at Chayala, who shrugged.

“I’m as clueless as you are right now,” she said, as she rushed forward to help the delivery guy bring the bags in.