The Do-Over

by Sharon M. Peterson

“Now, you’re skinny and a bitch. Eat some cake, honey. We’d all appreciate it.”

“You girls don’t have time to plan something like this,” Mom said, but her eyes gleamed. “Phoebe, you have a wedding coming up, and you’re busy with work. And Persephone…” My mother, sister, and Sandra all turned to stare at me. “Well, you have your life.” And a fish and a fake boyfriend, thank you very much.

I was jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo. (Mimi stole that one from an episode of The Golden Girls.)

“That’s why I like you. I mean, as a neighbor, you know. Not like, like…” I winced. Go into your apartment. Pack all your belongings and move. Tonight. Maybe become a nun. In one of those orders that doesn’t speak. Never, ever speak again.

Nope. I was completely friend-like. So what if I might have had a dream about him one time, or four? And maybe one of them involved a steamy kiss and a declaration of love in the middle of a rainstorm while he was wearing a hard hat and a tool belt. But it wasn’t like I stared at him a little too long when he dropped off Lilah that Wednesday night. I played it all totally cool. Because we were friends. Friends don’t have kissing dreams about their friends.