Page 49 of The Do-Over

Alisa had purple streaks in her hair and rolled her eyes when I explained how Jacque always cut my hair. “A bob like that hits you in the absolute wrong spot. You should totally grow it out.”

“Really?”

She narrowed her eyes and spun the chair I was sitting in, running her fingers through my hair. “Yes, and highlights would look awesome. They’d brighten up your face and make you look younger.”

Wide-eyed, I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look old?”

With a shrug, she pulled a hair color swatch book from a drawer. “Thirty-five isn’t old or anything. But you could look younger.”

Thirty-five? But I wasn’t even thirty yet. I hadn’t found the love of my life. I still couldn’t use plastic wrap properly. I secretly liked to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings while eating a giant bowl of sugary cereal. I was not old.

“Do it,” I’d said. “Do the highlights.”

Alisa had been right. The lighter color did brighten my face and make my eyes sparkle. I’d stopped straightening my hair too, choosing thirty more minutes of sleep instead.

My mother inspected me. “It’s different, but… nice. I’m going to go check on dinner. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay?” My gaze followed her as she walked back to the kitchen. Not one criticism? Not one. Had my mother been switched with an alien?

Phee arrived just before dinner started, gift bag in hand.

“Happy birthday,” she said, linking an arm with mine as we headed from the front door to the kitchen. “I got you a very inappropriate gift. Very naughty. Do not open in front of Mom.”

“What is it?”

“Chocolate. Fancy, rich chocolate. So. Many. Calories.”

I laughed. “I shall enjoy every bite.”

“Excellent.”

We took a sharp right just before the kitchen into the living room. While I stuffed the gift in my purse, Phee stripped off her coat to reveal a pair of jeans and a simple wrap-style shirt. From the neck up, neither a hair nor an eyelash was out of place, make-up carefully applied, blonde curls slicked back into a low ponytail. It was weird to see her in jeans. Not that she didn’t ever wear them, but it wasn’t often, and certainly not to a family dinner.

“Where’s Mathias?” she asked, fussing with her coat instead of making direct eye contact.

“He’s not here. He thought it would be better if he didn’t come.”

Her head jerked sharply, blue eyes widening, before she adjusted her expression to one of cool disinterest. “Oh. Well. I’m… just surprised he wouldn’t be here for your birthday.”

“I heard you asked him to do the wedding photography and he agreed.”

“It seems like a good idea. He is a photographer.” She flopped back on the couch, stretching out her long legs in a decidedly unladylike manner. I shot a look toward the doorway. Had I been the one in that pose, it would be guaranteed to bring my mother and her look of disapproval like a siren song. Somehow Phee never got caught.

“It’s just that you two kind of have a history.” I watched her closely for any tell. But Phee was good at hiding things when she wanted to.

She shrugged. “That was a long time ago. We’re both adults. Besides, it’s been the easiest wedding decision I’ve made. Do you know what it’s like planning a wedding with Mom?”

“Terrifying?”

“She has a book, Perci. A giant wedding book with color swatches and seating charts and wedding cake toppers. It’s like Martha Stewart threw up bridesmaid dresses and printed napkins.”

I sat next to her. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” She patted my knee. “Don’t worry. There’s one for you too.”

“Goody.” I cringed, thinking of the Mom of the Bride version of our mother.

“Girls, where are you?” Mom called from the kitchen.