Page 115 of The Do-Over

“Seven more business days, young lady, and don’t you forget.” She frowned. “Although your father has yet to hire a replacement.”

I grinned and headed toward Daddy’s office. “Don’t you worry. I’m working on it.”

The door to his office was propped open with an egg crate stuffed with spiral notebooks. One entire wall of his office had been divulged of its towering fire hazards, and his hoard looked significantly thinned out. He was bent over a stack of paperwork on his desk, which he seemed to be dividing into two piles.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Come in. Your mother has decided it’s time I clean out my office. One stack at a time, she said.” He grimaced. “Easier said than done. She threatened to take it all out and burn it, and I think she meant it.”

“You have to admit, it already looks better in here. I’m definitely less worried about you being buried alive.” I moved a box from a chair and sat, crinkling the paper in my hand. “Do you think we could talk for a minute?”

Dad shoved his stacks of paper aside and folded his hands on his desk. “Of course. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about too, Cupcake.”

“Can I ask you something? Why is Phee a princess and I’m a cupcake? Is it because I’m, you know, fluffy?”

He looked surprised. “You’ve always been my sweet little cupcake. When you were little, you’d climb on my lap and ask me for a kiss on the cheek. Then you’d ask me what flavor you were. And”—he shrugged, a little smile curving his mouth—“I would say you tasted as sweet as a cupcake, and you’d laugh and laugh. You remember that?”

At his words, a memory of those times flashed in my head. Mom—pregnant with Phee—had been cranky and uncomfortable, and by the evening was often sprawled dead asleep on the recliner—the only place she could find any rest, a bag of potato chips resting on her swollen belly. I was supposed to be in bed, but I’d wait to hear the door open and tiptoe out of my room to find Daddy.

After he covered Mom with a blanket, he’d take me back to my bedroom. I’d curl up on his lap and he’d ask me about my day, and we’d play the game he was talking about. He’d read me a book, tuck me in, and lay beside me until I fell asleep. I didn’t remember it happening once Phee came, but for a while there, I’d had his full attention in those stolen moments.

My heart warmed. “I remember that.”

“Now what did you want to talk about?”

“You go first.”

Nodding, he slid his glasses on and pulled a folder out of a desk drawer. “Your mother and I had a long conversation this weekend. We discussed some changes.” He took a deep breath. “I’m cutting down to three-day work weeks so we can spend more time together. Brent can handle stepping up.”

“That’s huge. I bet Mom is happy.”

“She is. And not just about that. Thanksgiving was extra special this year.”

I smiled in agreement. Mom had insisted Phee and Mimi and I come to the house after Mimi was discharged from hospital. Then like an army general, or possibly a witch, she’d produced a first-rate Thanksgiving meal complete with real cranberry sauce and homemade pumpkin pie and whipped cream. Even Pericles had seemed a little less demon-like. But I guess once a dog licks condiments off your arm, you might concede to a lifelong truce.

Dad pulled his glasses to the tip of his nose and peered at me over them, his expression serious. I flinched when he snapped open the folder. “You know your mother and I love you very much, and even though we haven’t seen eye-to-eye at times, we only want you to be happy.” He paused, and I inched to the edge of my chair, my stomach sinking with each second. He hesitated. “So, in the name of all that, you’re fired.”

“What?” I waved the letter in my hand. “You can’t fire me. I’m quitting. This is my letter of resignation.”

“Too late. I said it first.” He actually smirked.

“But why?”

“Because we realize you’ll never be happy working here.” He slid the open folder across the desk. “There’s something else.”

The folder contained a few sheets of paper, the most important one on top. A deed. “What is this?”

“You are now the proud owner of one recently vacated daycare center.”

My mouth opened and closed in a reasonable imitation of Sal. “What?”

“Now, you’ll still have to get a loan for start-up costs, but with your business degree and experience, I think you’ll be able to swing it.”

“Daddy, you can’t… this is too much.” But my mind was screaming, yes. Already, a vision of me walking to work every day and greeting each child as they arrived filled my head. I wanted this. Badly.

“Cupcake, I’ll be honest. You’re going to have to take it. You’re fired for good—you can’t come back here. Besides, this was all your mother’s idea, and you know what she’s like when she gets an idea in her head.”

Laughing, I swiped at the wetness on my cheeks and said the only thing I could. “Thank you.”