Page 65 of The Do-Over

It was another bullet point on my list of Reasons Why Phee Should Not Marry Joel Allen.

Phee paused and looked at me expectantly. Old Perci was a listener, a sympathizer. I was the one who hummed and yes’ed and of course’d my way through conversations. I’d always pushed my instincts to the side, second-guessed myself, deferred to my mother, who surely knew best. What would she say if I spoke up?

New Perci would speak up.

Phee refolded her napkin and set it on the table. “Anyway, thanks for listening.”

“Maybe he’s not the right person for you,” I blurted.

“What?”

“You’re a different person when you’re around him.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a fortifying breath. “You let him answer questions for you, you wear different clothes. Heck, you barely eat when he’s around. You’re different, and not in a good way. That whole ‘you make me a better person?’ It’s the opposite when you’re with him. Look, I know I’m not the kind of sister you come to for advice. My life is a mess, right? You were always the one who knew exactly what you wanted, but when you’re with Joel, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You’re not you and that’s sad, because you’re amazing.”

She said nothing for a long time, her eyes unfocused. So long, I was sure I’d said the exact wrong thing and was already composing an apology in my head.

“You’re a good sister, Perci,” she said, her smile small and sad.

Then she changed the subject, and I let her.

TWENTY-FIVE

“Always choose kindness.

And two-ply toilet paper.”

—MIMI

“Sal, which one?” I held up two bottles of nail polish—one a conservative pale pink (very Old Perci), the other electric blue (hello, New Perci).

Sal stared at me with unblinking eyes of love, his fin waving serenely.

“You’re right, blue it is.” I settled back and painted the first two toes and then admired how the bold color shone against my skin. “I like it.”

I needed some pampering after this week. It was only Wednesday, but it was also spring break for the area schools. Miss Marge’s had been overrun with school-aged kids off for the holiday and all of us were working double time to keep up with them. Survival week, Miss Marge called it.

“It’s these holiday weeks and the summer that keep us afloat the rest of the year,” Miss Marge explained.

I’d been helping with the bookkeeping for a few weeks now and she was right. The daycare stayed afloat, but barely. Miss Marge refused to raise her rates.

“Parents need to have good childcare,” she’d said when I asked her about it.

Finishing the last toe, I flopped back on the couch and snuggled into my favorite cardigan. A sharp knock sent me hobbling to the door. Through the peephole, Nate came into view. Judging by the tic in his jaw and the agitated way he rubbed the top of his head, he was not happy.

I’m not going to lie—it was a good look on him.

“Just a minute.” Pressing my back to the door, I forced myself to take deep breaths to slow my stampeding heart. It had been a few weeks since The Kiss and I’d become expert-level good at avoiding him. The thought of looking him in the eye made me break out in a sweat.

“I think you should just go knock on his door and get it over with like an adult,” Mathias had advised. “It was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss, huh?” I’d stared him down. “Fine. I’ll do that just as soon as you go knock on Phee’s door and get it over with like an adult.”

He’d glared at me. “I hate it when you throw my words back at me.”

From the other side of the door, Nate said now, “Sorry to bug you.”