The Do-Over

by Lynn Painter

For The Lonely, The Daydreamers, The ones who find their friends between the pages of books— YOU MATTER, and your happy ending WILL come. Sometimes the wait is just longer in real life than in fiction.

Well, I am neither—and both—of these people. I do believe that Valentine’s Day is an overcommercialized Hallmark holiday, but I also think there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the materialistic side effects of the celebration. Bring on the chocolates and flowers, and throw in a gift card to the local bookstore while you’re at it. And yes, I believe in the existence of true love.

In other words, I absolutely expect love in my life, but there is no way I’m going to sit around and wait for fate to make it happen. Fate is for suckers. Love is for planners.

He gave me a smart-ass smile and said, “No one here knows the Heimlich.” “Isn’t that, like, a parental requirement or something? How do you and Lisa have kids and no Heimlich-ing skills?” He stared directly at my overfilled mouth. “We foolishly assumed our offspring wouldn’t suck down food like sows.” “You know what happens when you assume, right?” “Yeah.” He winked and went back to the paper. “Someone’s an ass.”

The sun was bright even though the air was freezing, and we’d gotten a dusting of snow overnight, but it looked like my dad had already scraped my windows.

“You mean thank you?” That actually made me smile a little. “Thank you so much, my amazing savior.” “That’s more like it.”

He reached out a hand, tugged lightly on the piece of hair that had come out of my ponytail, and he said, “Fuck ’em, Emilie.”

I knew there were things far worse than loneliness, but I also knew firsthand that the empty achiness of feeling alone could be utterly suffocating.

Second of all, I can’t understand why you’re inserting yourself in this situation.” “I just don’t want to see you get—” “Hurt?” I looked him square in the eyes. It felt like my heart skipped a beat when I said, “You are the last person who could protect me from that.” He swallowed. “That’s not fair.”

“Any girl willing to rip off Austen to express her happiness is totally my kind of creeper.”