The Do-Over

by Sharon M. Peterson

I paused on one with a bird, a scruff of feathers sticking up on its head, and bulging, wild eyes like he’d walked in on his bird-parents in a compromising position and could not unsee it.

“Taking a hot yoga class is never gonna happen.” Okay, it had happened once. I was still trying to forget.

Thirty-five? But I wasn’t even thirty yet. I hadn’t found the love of my life. I still couldn’t use plastic wrap properly. I secretly liked to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings while eating a giant bowl of sugary cereal. I was not old.

I stared at him, slack-jawed. “But no. Never once did you use the word ‘date.’ I think I would remember that.”

“Okay, fine, if this was a date, you didn’t even kiss me at the end of it. Isn’t that how dates are supposed to end?”

You can ignore me and not answer my calls, but I will still be here when you need me. Always.” I swallowed and waited for a reaction, an understanding, a coupon for free French fries, anything. “I’m done now.”