My name is Amanda.
I live in Columbus, Ohio, with my husband Dan and our two kids.
I'm the one in the family who hosts.
Thanksgiving. Easter. Summer cookouts. Birthday dinners.
My kitchen is my thing. A clean, warm kitchen where people feel welcome that's the kind of home I've always wanted to have.
So last August, when my sister Rachel came over for dinner with her husband, I was ready.
I had cleaned for six hours.
New flowers on the table. Good cheese. Wine. A beautiful fruit and charcuterie board that I was genuinely proud of.
Rachel walked in, looked around...
And within two minutes, she said it.
"Oh, you have fruit flies too. We had them last year."
Her voice was completely kind.
But I watched her glance at the fruit bowl. Then at the cheese board.
And then I saw it happen she quietly slid the grapes to the edge of the board. Away from her plate.
She didn't say a word. She didn't have to.
I had been fighting fruit flies all summer. I thought I had it under control.
I didn't realize they could see it too.
I smiled and changed the subject. But inside I wanted to disappear.
This was supposed to be my kitchen. My table. My night.