Molly drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the bounce house billowing in the autumn breeze. Through the kitchen window, she could spot at least fifteen wrapped presents stacked on a table, their ribbons gleaming under fluorescent lights. "Those soccer moms really go all out," Bill whispered, adjusting his fake pizza delivery uniform. "Did you see the size of that monster truck-shaped one?" Molly rolled her eyes, watching a clown struggle to make balloon animals in the backyard. The party was in full swing, with sugar-high children darting between adults like caffeinated pinballs. "Just stick to the plan," she muttered, checking her watch. "When I trigger the sprinkler system, you go through the side door." Bill fidgeted with his fake mustache, nearly pulling it off. Three more minivans pulled into the cul-de-sac, disgorging more gift-bearing families. The present pile grew impossibly larger. "This feels wrong, even for us," Bill said, but his eyes never left the stack of gifts. Molly slipped on her rubber gloves. "It's little Timmy's fault for having his birthday so close to Christmas. Now shut up and get ready."