Page 101 of The Do-Over

“For every chance you take to remind me of how much I weigh.” Brussels sprouts and ricotta toast. “Three hundred and forty calories. Ouch. That would have gone straight to my hips.”

Phee dove in front of us, but despite her good intentions, it only got her covered in cream cheese and shrimp.

“Hey, knock it off,” she yelled when a hunk of dip smacked her in the face.

Mimi lobbed food without mercy—at my mother, at Phee, even at me. When she ran out of appetizers from the table, a glass of wine magically appeared in her hand. She sipped at it while looking on with amusement.

And my mom? Never once did she defend herself against me. She stood there and took everything thrown at her—the food, the words, the anger. If I hadn’t been high on the rage, I might have noticed the slump of her shoulders and the tears shining in her eyes.

The crowd watched with rapt attention. I glimpsed a phone recording, flashes of a photo, or twelve, being taken. This would be all over the internet in the next couple of hours. My mother would be devastated and even that didn’t make me stop.

For a half-second, I wondered if New Perci was who I wanted to be. She was kind of a bitch.

Who knows how long we would have gone on like that for? As it was, it felt like hours. But all the damage had been done in under five minutes.

“Stop this right now.” It was Phee, yelling as she stood on a chair, berry sauce dripping from her hair. “Just stop.”

Silence washed over the yard. My heaving breath drowned out any other sound except one—a sob.

Mimi frowned. “Bobbie Jo?”

But Mom stood stock-still, tears running down her face, mingling with bits of food. Her eyes darted around the yard, at the faces of her family and friends.

“I-I’m sorry,” she blurted, and then she ran away.

Fifteen minutes later, Phee had gone to look for Dad, Mimi had gone to look for Mom, and the guests, having seen the show, had mostly departed. Within minutes, whatever alcohol-induced fog that had filled my brain before shifted and my world became bright, stark, and very, very real.

The backyard looked like it had barely survived a war. Bits of food covered the rental tables and chairs and the linens in the line of fire. I took a step and something soft squelched between my toes.

My mother had been devastated. Not angry or hurt—devastated. What daughter did that to her mother? I sank to the ground, my feet in front of me like a three-year-old who needed someone to tie her shoes.

The tears overwhelmed me, blurring my vision, and that’s probably why I never even noticed Pericles until he was right beside me. Delicately, he nudged my arm with his tongue. At first, I thought somehow the Demon Dog had figured out I was at the end of my rope. With a sniffle, I patted his head. “Thanks. That’s nice of you. Does this mean I have to stop calling you Scary Perry?”

The dog paused and tilted his head as though he were listening. And then he went back to licking barbecue sauce off my arm.

“Hey.”

I blinked, clearing my vision, and looked up. It was Nate. Of course it was. “You’re here.”

He crouched in front of me and used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a clump of soft cheese from my cheek. “I found a last-minute sitter for Lilah and thought I’d surprise you. So, surprise.”

“Oh, great,” I moaned. “How much did you hear?”

His eyes were infinitely kind. It almost hurt my chest, how kind they were. “Somewhere around ‘New Perci is her own person.’”

A sob escaped me. “I-I think New Perci might be a bitch.”

He didn’t correct me or tell me I was wrong. Nor did he tell me how to fix all the problems I’d just created. Instead, he stood and put his hand out. “Let’s get you up and I’ll help you clean up some of this.”

“Okay,” I whispered, and took his hand.

FORTY

“The loudest one gets heard;

the quietest one gets revenge.”

—MIMI