Page 80 of The Do-Over

I craned my neck to meet her eyes over my shoulder. “Is this a trick question?”

“No trick.” Fingers on my chin moved my head back to face the mirror. “Let me tell you what I see. I see a young woman who’s hiding behind her clothes, who doesn’t realize beauty isn’t what’s on the outside. I see kind eyes and a sweet smile. I see someone who loves other people. I see someone who worries about other people more than she worries about herself. I see someone I am proud to call my granddaughter.”

Chest tightening, tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

“Being beautiful doesn’t mean you’re perfect.” She moved in front of me and placed the tips of her fingers, painted a deep crimson, over my heart. “Beautiful is in here.”

I waved a hand down my body. “I’m not sure what to do with all of this. I’m not like you.”

“Oh, honey, you are, though.” Her smile was quiet, thoughtful. A hand closed around my arm. “I’m not what most people would call beautiful. I’m too short and round and loud, and I know that. The thing is, I don’t care because I’m happy with who I am. If you don’t like yourself, if you can’t see the good parts, no one else will either.”

I bit my lip. My eyes drifted back to the mirror, and I examined myself—the weight I carried in my hips and my thighs and my boobs and all the other parts in between, the make-up-less face, the lazy ponytail. “It’s hard to see the good things,” I said, a hitch in my voice.

“I know.” She pulled me in for a hug. “You aren’t ever gonna be a beauty queen like Phee, but that doesn’t make you less than her. I hate that you think that. Sometimes I want to take your mama out in the backyard and find a good switch to use on her.”

I laughed, imagining that scene.

“She doesn’t mean to wear you down. But sweet baby Jesus, once she gets something in her head, there’s no changing her mind.” Cupping my shoulders, she pulled back. “Sometimes you gotta fake it till you make it. You gotta walk tall when you feel small. Lift your chin and you can face anything.”

“Fake it till you make it, huh?” I lifted my shoulders back and raised my head.

Mimi moved to the side and grinned at me in the mirror. “That’s right. And remember, it’s the parts on the inside of you that count the most.”

Pink spots of color highlighted my cheeks, and my eyes shone back at me. No, I was still the same person. It wasn’t a magic confidence pill Mimi had given me, but something felt… changed.

“And honey?”

“Yes?”

With a wink, she smacked my butt. “Don’t forget to shake what your grandmama gave you either. Now, let’s go buy this dress.”

THIRTY-TWO

“Men are visual.

Dress accordingly.”

—MIMI

On a Friday, Mathias and I had a dinner date to catch up. He’d been busy with work, and I missed him.

After work, I rushed through a shower to wash away the fine dusting of glitter I’d acquired at the daycare. Wrapped in a towel, I stood before the bathroom mirror. A thin layer of steam covered the entire surface. I used my hand to swipe an oval there. Something about the lighting in bathrooms brought out imperfections, made my skin splotchy, and displayed the tiny lines around my eyes with more clarity.

Turning away, I dropped my towel, stepped on the scale, and held my breath. Over the past few months, I’d seen the number on the scale slip downward with no intention on my part—more a consequence of walking to work, wrangling preschoolers, fewer fast-food trips.

Glancing up, I caught the image of my body in the mirror and frowned. If I’d lost weight, I couldn’t see it. Turning to the side, I sucked in my breath and pressed my hands on my stomach and then released it all at once.

Flab.

Flabby.

The flabbiest.

Mimi would be angry at me for thinking those things. I could hear her voice now, reminding me to be kind to myself, just as she had when we’d gone dress shopping.

“Fake it until you make it,” I muttered. “Okay, then.” I leaned over the counter and inspected my face. “I have nice eyes. My hair isn’t too bad. People seem to like my smile. I like my smile.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “And I like the stuff in here.”

So, maybe I sounded like a commercial for a cheesy self-help video. But I couldn’t deny the kernel of warmth unfurling inside me. That feeling spread through my body and something strange happened: I believed what I was saying. My hands tingled with the need to prove this feeling was true.