The Breakup Doctor by Phoebe Fox Page B

please.”
    â€œWhat? He was a bad bet, and I told you that from the beginning.”
    â€œI know you did.” Ad nauseam.
    â€œGood riddance to bad rubbish. Look where you are now. I told you someone better would come along, and Kendall’s nothing at all like Mich—”
    â€œCan we not talk about it?”
    My mother’s lips tightened and she shoved a cylinder of ham into place with unnecessary vigor. “Brook, it’s been nearly a year. At some point you have to stop wallowing in this dramatic grieving phase. You’re not the only person who ever got left at the altar.”
    I gripped the plywood so hard I felt splinters pierce my palms. “I didn’t get left at the altar,” I forced out through a clenched jaw.
    â€œExactly. It could have been worse. So you lost a few deposits here and there. You’ll pay them back. Move on.”
    That would certainly be a lot easier if she didn’t constantly remind me about them. “I have moved on, Mom. I’m not ‘wallowing’ in anything. That’s why I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay?” It was all I could do to keep my tone level and my voice down, but I could still hear the fury in it.
    So, apparently, could my mother. Her expression had gone wounded and hurt, and I felt a familiar mixture of guilt and remorse wash through me. “Fine. I won’t take an interest in your life.”
    â€œMom...” The expected words flew to my tongue from years of practice: I’m sorry . But for some reason I couldn’t push them out. “Let’s forget it, okay?”
    She gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Bring out the drinks.” She picked up the platter and left me in the kitchen. I pried my fingers off the plywood, surprised they weren’t cramped permanently into claws.
    Out in the garage, Dad stood at his worktable, a circular saw screaming and sawdust coating his sweaty skin like coconut sprinkles.
    When he saw me he shut off the saw and lifted his safety goggles, their shape outlined on his face by the pale particles.
    â€œHey, beautiful. What’s up?”
    He looked so crazy and familiar and dear I had an urge to hug him, but instead I headed over to the garage fridge in the corner to get the drinks. “Dinner’s ready. You want to take a break?”
    He shook his head and indicated the piece of wood in front of him. “Nah. I’m gonna work on through. Your mother will divorce me if I don’t get her some cabinets back up pretty soon.” My dad’s whole face crinkled up when he smiled. “How ’bout you bring me some leftovers later on.”
    â€œYou got it, Dad.” I blew him a kiss and went back out to the lanai, where Mom was already sitting down with Stu and Sasha, both of them wrapped in towels to keep the dreaded water from dripping onto Mom’s patio. In the pool area.
    â€œI was just telling the kids about my big news,” Mom said as I sat down and distributed the drinks. “Your mom’s going back into the theater!”
    â€œNo kidding,” I said flatly. I was still smarting too much to work up the enthusiasm she wanted.
    I knew my mom had acted—years ago, before I was born. It was how I was born, actually. She met my dad while she was doing an amateur local production called A Sand Bar Named Desire . Dad, a mechanical engineer, had been hired to create a moving onstage tour bus prop for the “I’ve Always Relied on the Kindness of Snowbirds” number.
    Whenever Mom told the story of their backstage courtship—which she hadn’t in years, thank God—she waggled her eyebrows and tacked on at the end: “But engineers do it in perpetual motion...” And she and Dad always used to laugh in a way that no child could ever be comfortable with.
    Their “showmance” not only survived closing night; it survived my mom skipping her period the next month. Since