Page 31 of The Do-Over

Glaring at him, I ripped my shoulder away. “No, I am not calming down. I quit.”

My father climbed to his feet. “Now, don’t do that.”

I stalked to the door. “Yes, I quit.”

Arms crossed, Brent glared at his feet; lines creased his forehead. “Let’s talk about this. No need to make a scene.”

“You didn’t seem to have any problem making a scene before. It’s my turn now. You don’t get to treat people like this and expect to get away with it.”

Brent’s hands dropped to his hips. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

My fist tightened around the wadded-up email. It flew out of my hand and slammed into my former boyfriend, former boss, and current jerk’s forehead.

“I quit.”

By the time I arrived in the lobby of my apartment building carting a box of everything I’d packed up from my desk, the adrenaline had been replaced with What-In-God’s-Name-Did-I-Just-Do? panic. While I waited on the elevator, any lingering hint of bravado puddled at my feet.

Clutching the box under one arm, my purse in the other, I attempted to call Mimi first. No answer. Then Mathias. Again, no answer. Phee was next. Nope.

“Does no one answer their phone anymore?” I tossed it in the box and yanked the ponytail holder out of my hair, which splayed around my shoulders in all its frizzy wonder.

Someone behind me cleared their throat.

I jerked in surprise and turned to find Nate. He wore scruffy jeans, a long-sleeved white t-shirt under an orange reflective vest, and heavy work boots. Dirt was smudged on a cheek, a sleeve, and the toes of his shoes, although his hands with their long fingers and blunt nails were scrubbed clean.

Next to him stood a child. He had a kid? Just not a teenage one.

She was around eight, I thought, and a girl, although it was hard to tell. Because of the outfit. A long-sleeved sunshine-yellow t-shirt clashed with camo-colored leggings. Bright red rain boots splashed with bumblebees completed the look. But it was the mask that really threw me off.

Dark, unblinking eyes peered at me through an oversized plastic owl mask. Two sprouts of brown hair shot out from either side of her head. The effect made her look wise beyond her years and super weird.

But it worked for her. And those boots were kind of adorable. I gave her a tiny smile. “Nice mask.”

Her pigtails bounced with her nod. “Thank you. My teacher wouldn’t let me wear it today, even though today was Wear Your Favorite Thing Day, and this is my favorite thing. She said if I didn’t take it off, she would call my daddy. So I didn’t and then he had to come pick me up.”

Nate sighed.

“Oh, wow. Way to stick to your guns.”

“I didn’t have any guns. Just my great horned owl mask.” She rose on her tippy toes. “What’s in your box?”

“Let’s just say I stuck to my guns today too and now I don’t have a job.”

“Rough day?” Nate asked, and all I could do was nod in response.

The elevator opened, and I stepped in first. Nate followed, the little girl trailing behind, big round eyes peering at me with interest.

I jostled around to hit the button for the second floor and in the process sent the box careening to the floor. “Hot spit and monkey vomit!”

A giggle escaped the little girl. “Ew.”

“My grandma says that sometimes.” I stared at the things scattered on the floor. This had to be a metaphor for my life—my phone, a red stapler, a framed photo, a bag of emergency chocolate, the romance novel with the half-naked man I kept in my desk drawer to read at lunch, my self-respect. My throat tightened, and the tears were right there, awaiting one tiny sob to start the whole messy ball rolling.

I felt Nate’s razor-sharp attention but couldn’t bring myself to look his way. The elevator jerked to a start. I knew I ought to pick up my things, but I felt frozen to the spot.

Nate bent over and tossed all my things back in the box. He stood, box in arms, eyes pointed at the metal doors.

“Thank you,” I said and held out my hands.