The Do-Over

by Lynn Painter

I once pulled a hotel’s fire alarm because my parents were sleeping in and I wanted to get to Disneyland before there was a line to see Belle.

My grandma taught me to do burnouts in her car when I was fourteen.

“I mean, not a dirty toilet—it wasn’t dirty. I mean, yes, all toilets are dirty, but I mean there was nothing in it.”

“Fine.” He made a growly sound and said, “Uh, something that mattered to her, I guess. I mean, if she was a bookish person like you, I’d try to find a special edition of her favorite book or something.” “Oh.”

“Give me your crust. Now.” He reached over and grabbed my crust. I was on my third piece of pizza, and we’d already established that my least-favorite part was his favorite, making him my cleanup crew.

“It wasn’t until he cleaned out his truck and could still smell her perfume on his brother’s jacket,” Trey said, “that he was almost suffocated by how much he missed her.”

I reached out and pulled the edge of the red ribbon that was tied into a perfect bow, but when I pulled the lid off of the white box and looked inside, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I glanced at him and the only word I could come up with was, “How?” He shrugged as I put my hands in the box and pulled out the cake. The purple unicorn cake with the sparkly frosting.