Page 107 of The Do-Over

My finger shook as I hit call and waited.

When he answered, the words forced themselves out of my throat. “Hi, Daddy. I wanted to see if I could get my old job back.”

The next Monday, I pulled out one of my old boxy black suits. It surprised me how big it was, even without the Spanx. I straightened my hair and stopped by the donut shop on the way. Twenty minutes later, I pushed open the door to Mayfield Home Mortgage.

Miss Ruby frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m back,” I said with little enthusiasm.

“Why’d you do a fool thing like that?”

“Maybe this is where I’m meant to be.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t reply, just stared at me, her mouth puckered like she’d sucked on a lemon.

Marianna shrieked when she laid eyes on me. “You’re back. I can’t believe it. And none too soon. The replacement they hired left last week after I made her cry. It was not my fault, I swear.”

She chattered away as I rearranged my desk supplies, logged into my computer, and checked my schedule for the day. Marianna paused when her phone rang. When she finished, she said, “So, listen, my mom’s in town and I have an appointment. Do you think you could take my client?”

Like muscle memory, I didn’t even have to think of my answer before I said it. “Sure. No problem.”

The next few weeks, I slipped right back into my old life. I put away my bright clothes and dangly earrings and pulled out my trusty, sensible shoes and suits. Everything was fine. I was fine.

Sure, I cried myself to sleep most nights, but everything was okay. I had a job. I had a purpose to my day. It was awful. No less than I deserved.

I avoided Nate and Lilah as much as I could. I knew their schedule like my own, so it wasn’t hard. The one time we managed to run into each other, he politely held the door to the lobby open for me. It was fine; it didn’t feel like a knife twisting in my heart or anything.

I would have gone on like this, maybe forever, if two things hadn’t happened.

The first was Mimi.

On the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving, she pounded on my door. “Come on. I know you’re in there.”

I shuffled to the door and opened it. She strutted by me in a trail of sequins and… “Are you wearing feathers?”

“It’s new. You like it?”

I gawked at the combination of black feathers and gold sequins. “‘Like’ is a strong word.”

“I’m not taking fashion advice from you.” She pointed a finger at me, scowling at my sweatpants and oversized t-shirt. “In fact, look at this place.”

She flipped the overhead light on, marched across the room and threw open the curtain to the patio door. Brightness flooded the room. I squinted against it. When my eyes adjusted, I took in the empty bag of chips, the pile of used Kleenex, the indent from my body on the couch.

“You’ve been wallowing,” Mimi said.

“I have not.”

“Oh, honey.” She cleared a spot on the couch. “Come sit with me.”

I plopped next to her. She slung an arm around me and pulled my head to her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Mimi sighed. “For being a pot-stirrer when I could have been a peacemaker.”

I pulled my head up to look at her. “You don’t have to apologize for being you.”

Mimi continued, “This might be hard to believe, but I’ve made an awful lot of mistakes in my life, and I’ve felt like a failure more than once myself. Truth be told, I’m not feeling so good after that party.”