Page 96 of The Do-Over

“We’ll get it all done.”

“You know what I could use? A drink.” I pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and grabbed a couple of plastic cups.

“It’s not even noon yet.”

“It’s not every day you throw your parents an anniversary party.” I held out a half-full glass to her and took a sip of mine. “Time to start celebrating,” I said, and even I could hear how miserable I sounded.

An hour and two glasses of premium, screw-top white wine later, a pleasant numbness had replaced some of my tension. Phee was arguing with the rental delivery man, Mom was out getting her hair and nails done, Daddy was tucked in his office.

After one more swig of wine, I marched down the hallway to his office and knocked.

“Come on in.”

I relocated a stack of files on one of his chairs and sat. “Daddy, I have a question.”

Head still bent over his papers, he motioned with his hand. “Of course.”

“Do you own the building of the daycare where I work?”

He paused. “That would be some coincidence, huh? Where’s it located?”

I told him the address and waited while he dug around to find the information, gnawing at my thumbnail. The room felt hot and stuffy. Sweat gathered on my brow. The idea to ask this question had been brewing all week, but the desire had only intensified in the last few days—right around the time Mimi had dropped that wedding bombshell on me.

“Well, I’ll be.” He tapped a finger to his computer screen. “Looks like we bought that about two months ago. I think this was one your mother found.”

A strange choking sound worked its way from my throat. There was the confirmation. I knew it but hearing it out loud made it even worse. This was a new low, even for her. Her actions had now affected more people than just me. Miss Marge had to close her business. All those families had to scramble to find a new daycare.

“So, it was Mom.”

“Must have been. You know how she’s been working here part-time? She’s really enjoying the property management side of things.”

“Great,” I muttered as my stomach churned with wine and anger. Not a good combination.

Dad leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“No reason.”

Daddy stared, looking for all the world like he could read my mind. His mouth opened at the same time the doorbell rang.

“I should get that. I bet it’s the caterer. Thanks for looking.” I hustled out of his office, wobbling more from anger than wine. In hindsight, that turned out to be a very bad combination.

I opened the back gate for the delivery men and tromped back to the kitchen to get some lunch before completing the 1,400 things on the to-do list. The room was empty. The quiet allowed me time to fixate on the many ways my mother was ruining my life.

How should I deal with it? With her? How would I make it through every single day of my life without exploding?

I made sherbet punch, stirring it with too much vigor. The frothy pink sloshed over the side and onto the counter. Pausing, I took another swig of my wine.

Should I tell someone about this fake-iversary? Was that necessary?

Then again, was it necessary for my mother to ruin the job I loved? Or to try to control everything about my life? None of those things was okay. My mother couldn’t seem to help herself, bulldozing into my life whenever she saw fit.

I scowled into the punch bowl and took another sip of wine.

New Perci was in charge of her life. New Perci didn’t second-guess herself, and New Perci didn’t let her mother walk —

“Persephone, there you are,” my mother said. Hair straightened, face freshly spackled with make-up, she slid into the kitchen with a smile. “Where’s Pericles? I haven’t seen my little baby in hours.”

“Outside with Phee.”