Page 106 of The Do-Over

“I understand. I know I screwed up,” I whispered, then took a deep breath and raised my voice. “I-is there anything I can do to help, or…?”

A small choking laugh escaped him, but his voice was gentle. “No, there’s nothing.”

A part of me had known this wouldn’t work out. After all, I screwed up everything one way or another, but a small piece of my heart had stupidly held onto a hope that Nate was different, I was different, and we could be different together.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About tonight and Lilah and everything. I know you must be angry.”

Fingertips on my chin, he turned my head. His murky eyes shone with something unreadable to my brain but recognizable to my heart, something soft and precious, and I was losing my chance at ever seeing it again.

“I am not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. I let myself lose focus.”

Words clogged my throat. I nodded.

“I’m sorry, Perci.” He sounded a little helpless. “I need time and maybe you need some, too.” He pressed his lips to my forehead and any hope I had of this working itself out shattered along with what was left of my heart.

I took a shuffling step back, away from him, away from the person who’d made me feel happy and whole and loved for maybe the first time in my life. The person whose smile and laugh and kisses I longed for. The person who was breaking my heart.

I blinked away the sting of threatening tears. “Um, I should go then. Tell Lilah goodbye for me and that… that I love her and I’m glad she’s okay.”

As I hurried away, I wondered if Nate understood Lilah wasn’t the only Russo I loved.

FORTY-TWO

“Stick that bottom lip out any further and I’ll sit on it.”

—MIMI

I holed up in my apartment for two weeks. Sat on my couch until the imprint of my butt was permanent. Ate frosting straight out of the canister. Showering was optional. By optional, I mean I only showered once, after I fell asleep with half a carton of ice cream resting on my chest and woke to a melted mess. I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have a boyfriend, I didn’t even have a mom or a sister who would talk to me.

On the third day, that stupid cardinal landed on my patio. With its tilted head and penetrating eyes, it seemed to scold me. Me? What had I done?

“Go away, bird. We are not friends.” I closed the curtains to the patio and didn’t open them again.

I cried—body-wracking sobs—while I pressed my face into a pillow in case Nate happened to walk by and hear me. And then there were the much sadder, silent tears that streamed down my cheeks as I watched The Notebook. Three times in a row. Okay, fine, four times.

Mathias tried his best to tempt me to leave my apartment.

Mathias: Get dressed and I’ll buy you a milkshake.

Me: Don’t try to bribe me with ice cream.

Mathias: Now I know you really are in a dark place. That usually works.

Me: You’re hilarious.

Mathias: You know I love you, right?

Me: I know.

Mathias: You’re going to survive this.

I wished I had his optimism. Even Sal shot me gentle, admonishing looks. Or they could have been looks of pity. It was hard to tell.

When the third week rolled around, I forced myself off the couch. I called every daycare and preschool in the area, but no one was hiring. I broke down and put in an application at a couple of accounting firms.

After two solid weeks of calling and interviewing and not getting the job and eating ice cream because I didn’t get the job, I found myself staring at the name I’d pulled up on my phone, a lingering sense of loss heavy in my heart.

Maybe this was how it was all meant to work out. Who was I to think I could change myself? I’d always be the Mayfield Failure. Attempting to become New Perci hadn’t changed that. In fact, she might have made everything worse.