Page 10 of The Do-Over

“I think I am.” I banged the bottle down next to Sal’s bowl. He stared at me with compassionate, unfailing love. “My mother thinks I am. Know what I got for Christmas?”

He shook his head.

“A gym membership renewal, Spanx, and a new black suit. It’s a size too small, but I can’t tell her. Then I’d have to admit my real size and she’d tell me if I tried a little harder, it would fit. And you know what? I do try, I try a lot, but somehow, it’s never enough.”

The voice from the television droned on. “Any other guesses? Popular New Year’s resolutions?”

“Oh, I know! I know!” Ultra-Thin Girl hopped up and down. “Dating!”

I groaned and flopped sideways, so my head rested on the arm of the couch. “Yet another resolution I’ve failed at.”

On my list of Things I Was Good At, failure beat out everything else.

I’d been failing my whole life. I’d failed to arrive on my due date. I’d failed kindergarten the first time. I’d failed college biology. Twice. I’d failed to lose weight. I’d failed to keep my boyfriend happy. I’d failed to make my mother proud.

I’d failed.

I always failed.

I was a failure.

That old familiar friend of mine, defeat, joined the pity party, settling in my stomach like a rock. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I’m never good enough.”

The tears surprised me, sliding down my cheeks before I could stop them. Mathias noticed and pulled me up, pressing my face into his chest. I sniffled, breathing in the comforting smells of clean shirt, cologne, and a hint of jalapeños.

Mathias cupped my shoulder and pushed me up. His blue eyes glared down at me. “Look, you’re going through a hard time. It won’t always be like this.”

I scrubbed the wetness from my face, not quite meeting his gaze. Best friend or not, there were some things I worked hard to keep hidden. Sometimes, even from myself.

He stood and paced the living room. Somehow his white shirt remained crisp and his dark-wash jeans appeared freshly laundered. Even when he was wallowing and drinking, he still looked like a movie star. I adjusted my oversized t-shirt and tried to ignore the salsa stain that had joined the chocolate ice cream splatter.

Mathias paused and stuck his hands on his hips, feet shoulder-with apart, a little like a warrior set to do battle. “You know what I tell the pageant girls?”

“Hold your breath, it makes your boobs stick out?”

“I tell them no one will believe in them if they don’t believe in themselves.” Crouching in front of me, he cradled one of my hands in his. “That’s the problem. You don’t think you’re good enough, so no one else will. You can’t please everyone, so you’ve got to stop trying.” He shot to his feet and darted into the kitchen. “I have an idea.”

“No more ideas. Or talking. Or thinking.” I stretched out on the couch and hugged a pillow to my stomach.

“Four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!” Screams and shouts poured from the television over a pitchy pop version of “Auld Lang Syne.” I clicked it off. All that happiness messed with my pity party.

“Happy New Year, Sal.” I blew a kiss at the best fish a gal could ask for. “And you too, Mathias. Wherever you are.”

“I’m right here.” Mathias’s face hovered over me, waving a small notebook. He smacked my legs until I lifted them and laid them on his lap after he sat. “We’re going to write New Year’s resolutions.”

I threw an arm over my eyes. “Oh, good, more things for me to fail at.”

“Resolutions that are impossible to fail at, like…” The rapid click of his pen filled the silence. He muttered under his breath and scribbled on the paper.

My brain sloshed like a ship caught in a hurricane when I sat up. “What are you writing?”

“Number one: You will not try to lose weight.”

I huffed a laugh. “What?”

“You aren’t allowed to diet, watch what you eat, take a hot yoga class—”

“Taking a hot yoga class is never gonna happen.” Okay, it had happened once. I was still trying to forget.