Page 108 of The Do-Over

“Mom won’t return any of my calls and it’s almost Thanksgiving.” I sniffled. “I guess I’m not invited to dinner. She must hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” She patted my knee. “I’ll take care of her. You won’t be alone on Thanksgiving, I’ll guarantee you that. But it’s time for you to take care of you. Is this how you want the rest of your life to go? You, in your pajamas, eating ice cream in the dark? Alone?”

“It’s not all that bad. I have Sal.”

“Honey, I think even he would agree, you need actual people too. Going back to the way things were is not the answer. You weren’t happy then, and you aren’t happy now. But for a while, you were, and you can be happy again. Just because bad things happen, it doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path, it just means you can’t give up. You understand?”

“I understand,” I said. Although I wasn’t sure I did.

“It’s like this: failing isn’t bad. Failing means you tried. Sure, you won’t fail now because you aren’t even trying. You can stay in your safe little cocoon, at a job you don’t care about, keeping yourself all bottled up. But that’s not living.”

Her words poked at me, making me feel uncomfortable with the truth in them. I rubbed my stinging nose. “It’s not that easy.”

“The good things in life usually aren’t.” With one more pat on my knee, she stood. “I’ve got to get back home and get gussied up. I’m going to dinner with a gentleman friend.”

“Like, a date?”

Mimi winked. “Yep, exactly like a date. Now, don’t make me come over here again.”

The second thing happened after Mimi left.

I closed the curtains and crawled back onto my spot on the couch. Mimi’s words played on repeat in my brain, no matter how hard I tried to shut them out. I turned on the television. I tossed and turned to find a comfortable position. I ordered Chinese food delivered for lunch. I listened to every depressing song I could find on my playlist. But nothing seemed to drown out my grandmother’s voice.

“Maybe Mimi is wrong this time, huh?” I said, staring at Sal.

Sal fluttered away. Even he took her side.

“Whatever.” I stuffed my hands into my cardigan pockets and thought about getting pizza for dinner. But I got distracted by the crumpled piece of paper I withdrew.

Opening it, I snorted at the words written on the page in Mathias’s bold, block handwriting: Perci’s New Year’s Anti-Resolutions.

Mathias and I had been sitting on this very couch last New Year’s Eve when we’d written this list. “You can’t possibly fail at these resolutions,” he’d said.

1. I will not try to lose weight.

I hadn’t tried to lose weight, but those walks to and from work had done the job, anyway. And I’d stopped obsessing about food. It wasn’t taking up head space, and that freed me up to relax, be okay with me and this body. It would never be perfect, but it was a good body, strong and healthy.

2. I will not try to be more confident.

Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped worrying so much about what other people—namely, my mother—thought. I’d stopped worrying about keeping quiet and not creating a problem. I’d managed to become more confident that what I thought mattered and now, I wasn’t so afraid to speak up. Although I’d also learned that if I was confident enough to speak my mind, I also had to be confident enough to deal with the consequences—good or bad. For example, the giant mess I’d made with my mother.

3. I will not put more effort into my job.

I sat up slowly. I hadn’t put more effort into my Mayfield job, but once I’d started working at Miss Marge’s, I hadn’t minded staying late. Somehow, I’d managed to help Miss Marge with the new computer programs and spreadsheet. And the kids, I’d loved them. Not too many reasons I was willing to get puked on, except those kids. Even though it was now over, at least I’d had a job I loved for a few months.

4. I will not date.

Major fail. Not only had I dated, but I’d also gone ahead and fallen in love. And then I’d screwed that up too.

5. I will not be a better daughter and sister.

I crushed the note to my chest. This might have been the only resolution I’d kept.

My mother wasn’t even speaking to me at present. Phee was ignoring me. True, I’d made mistakes, big ones. But my mother had, too. Had I been wrong to finally take charge of my life? To share what I was feeling? The results seemed to have been spectacular in their failure.

But as Mimi said, failing meant at least I’d tried. Failing meant I’d cared enough to change the situation. It hadn’t been pretty. There had been fighting and uncomfortable conversations, but this year had changed me.

New Perci wasn’t so new. She was Old Perci who wasn’t afraid to fail. I was still a little awkward and said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I still wasn’t sure of myself, in the same way a baby bird didn’t understand what wings were. But like that baby bird, I’d jumped out of the nest, anyway. I’d tried. I’d failed. I’d tried again.