“I’ve got that shoot here today. We’re shooting an ad for my business. It will only take about an hour.” She pulled her glasses off and looked at me.

“Mom! What’s . . . why . . . what have you done?”

“Just had a little thread lift around my eyes.” She reached up and touched them gently. They were a completely different shape than what they’d been this morning. “But don’t worry, the doctor assured me the redness would be gone in an hour. Besides, it’s nothing my bangs can’t cover.” She fluffed her bangs and put her sunglasses back on, and her newly taut eyes disappeared.

I tried not to shake my head disapprovingly. But honestly, I still wasn’t used to this new version of my mother. The woman who came home with a new face every so often. About a year ago she’d come home with lips that were twice their normal size, and then a little while after that, a forehead that no longer moved. It reminded me of a sculpture—flat, smooth, unmovable marble. I’d overheard her on the phone telling one of her friends that she wanted the forehead of a twenty-seven-year-old. Funny, that was the exact same age as my father’s girlfriend, Maddy.

“Maybe you and Zac could go out and have a real snack somewhere?” She passed me her credit card; it was a dismissive gesture. The kind that told me she didn’t want us here lest we interfere with the stupendously important ad for her real estate company, Palm Luxury Realty.

She’d gotten half of my father’s money in their long, messy divorce, and ever since then, she’d rebranded herself as the queen of luxury real estate and cosmetic enhancement.

“Thanks, Lori. I owe you one.”

One? In my opinion, she owed me more than one. She owed me a couple of thousand, one for every single day since that day. The day the doves cried.

I stood up and gestured for Zac to follow, just as my phone beeped.

DAD: How was your first day?

I put it back into my pocket without answering. I was angry with him too.

5