Page 62 of The Do-Over

Not really. I’d always imagined a ceremony in a small church in the country. Instead of a fussy veil, I’d wear a flower crown which my mother would hate, but I would insist on, anyway.

Mother stalked around me and settled into one of the three throne-like chairs covered in ivory satin. “You will not. You know it would break my heart and you wouldn’t do that to me.”

She was right. I wouldn’t do that to her, no matter how angry she made me. I loved her. Maybe that was the point of family. They drove you insane and you loved them, anyway.

“Besides, the Ackersons’ daughter… What is her name?”

“Missy?”

“Yes, Missy. She eloped last month. To some gaudy 24-hour drive-thru chapel in Las Vegas. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, I’m sure—”

“Just broke Donna Ackerson’s heart. And she married a mechanic.” She leaned toward me, her eyes taking on the shine that indicated she had gossip and wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Mechanic isn’t a dirty word.”

She ignored me. “I know things like this happen, but your father and I have always impressed upon you girls to make good choices. That’s why I stayed home with you, so I could raise you right. I bet Donna Ackerson is wishing she’d stayed home about now.”

“Isn’t Donna Ackerson a pediatrician?”

“I could have been a pediatrician or a lawyer, but you girls always came first.”

A pounding began to take up space in my head as she kept on, enumerating the ways in which she could have made different life choices but gave it all up for Phee and me. Such a martyr. So selfless. So… so… Mom.

When Phee arrived, I took in her full face of make-up, carefully styled hair, pale pink tailored suit, and spiky matching heels. She resembled Newscaster Barbie à la 1986, and I didn’t mean that in a good way.

“Wow. That’s… an outfit,” I said.

Phee glanced down at herself. “Joel picked it out. He said it was a classic.”

I stared.

“Is it bad?” Her fingers fussed with a strand of pearls at her neck. Pearls! Was she a sixty-five-year-old grandmother? Actually, Mimi would die before wearing pearls. “Joel says pink is a good color for the camera.”

“Joel has a good eye,” Mom said.

Our consultant appeared seemingly out of thin air. Her nametag read Sandra, which she pronounced Saaaan-dra, and she was dressed in head-to-toe black. Mom and Phee rounded up several dresses and Phee skipped to the back of the store, slipping behind a heavy white door.

My phone vibrated with a text.

Mathias: How’s it going?

Me: Fine

No response.

I sat in one of the thrones and sipped on a complimentary mimosa—eighty-nine calories for the whole glass. Mother-approved. Beside me, my mom’s eyes bore into the side of my head.

“This man you’re seeing. The one with the child. What was his name? Norm?”

My foot stalled half-swing and settled on the ground. “Nate.”

“Tell me about him. What does he do for a living?”

“Don’t worry, he’s not a mechanic. He’s in real estate development.” Construction was basically the same thing, right?

Mom hummed. “Is this a serious relationship?”