Page 32 of The Do-Over

He didn’t relinquish the box. Or speak. It wasn’t a creepy, angry silence; it was like he understood how fragile I was at that moment.

“Okay, then,” I whispered.

The elevator stopped, and I stepped out and dug my keys from my purse. Nate trailed behind me and the little girl behind him. I opened the door to my apartment. “I guess I’ll take that now.”

He handed it to me, fingers brushing mine.

I forced myself to meet his eyes—they were more green than brown today. “Thanks.”

“No problem. That’s what neighbors are for.” He smiled then. It slid across his face from one blink to the next, but not before I noticed the way it softened all his sharp edges. It was the nicest thing I’d seen all day.

The little girl gave me one long, last, assessing look from behind her mask. Finally, she raised her hand and waved as they walked away.

THIRTEEN

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Whichever way,

you gotta kill the cat first.”

—MIMI

I got ahold of Mathias a few hours later. In that time, I’d changed clothes; dumped my box of stuff in the closet; eaten a bowl of cereal, two slices of banana bread, and apple slices (for fiber) slathered in peanut butter; and had just enough time to really work up a panic.

“What was I thinking?” I asked from my prone position on the shaggy black rug in the living room.

“This is a good thing,” Mathias said over a barrage of background noise. He was traveling again this week, somewhere on the East Coast.

“Where are you?”

“Dinner.”

“By yourself?”

“Nope.”

“Blonde or brunette?”

“Redhead. I’m branching out. She’s in the bathroom. I’m going to talk fast, so listen up. I’m proud of you.”

I scoffed. “Don’t be proud of me. I quit a perfectly good job. And I’ve disappointed my father and when my mother hears about—”

“Stop it.” His voice took on an authoritative edge and my spine straightened in response. “That job wasn’t good for you. You’ll find a new job, a better one. Time to stop worrying about pleasing other people. Remember?”

“But I have bills to pay. I… I have a fish to feed.”

“Sal can take care of himself. Hold on.” His voice muffled as he spoke to what I guessed was a waiter. “As I was saying, this is your chance to reinvent yourself.”

“Reinvent myself,” I repeated.

“Tomorrow, you’ll feel better about this.”

“Tomorrow? I don’t have anywhere to go tomorrow.” I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t have a job.”

“Sleep in, watch some bad reality television, go on a walk.”

My voice climbed an octave or three. “Go on a walk?”