Page 97 of The Do-Over

When the hostess led us to a big table that overlooked the salad bar car, Chris said, “I’m sorry—can we get a window seat?”

I looked at him and smiled, and he threw one right back at me. Chris and I used to play a game at the window seats, where we’d guess the backstory of every person who walked by. I was kind of touched that he was still sentimental about it.

“No problem,” she said, and gestured toward the table in front of the big bay window that overlooked the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” I said, and we all sat down at the window table.

We lost ourselves in laughter and conversation after that. Rox and Trey and Chris—and, as it turned out, Alex as well—were the funniest people I knew. There was nothing as fun as having multiple hours to just hang with them without things like jobs, homework, and boyfriends getting in the way.

They made fun of me—rightfully so—when I finished my second helping of spaghetti before Alex had even finished his first, and I cackled when Rox and Chris got super into the backstory game.

“The couple walking the dog have been together for fifteen years, but only married for one,” Chris said. “It’s been their worst year, and they both know they ruined it by taking those vows.”

“Dark,” I laughed.

“Right?” said Alex.

“She finally caved because she could tell her annual refusals hurt him,” Rox said, “but now she is the one hurting. They both want to end it, but neither of them can work up the energy to say it.”

“He works sixty hours a week just to avoid going home,” Trey added.

“Actually,” Chris added, pointing toward the dog, “that dog is their glue right now. Neither of them can bear the thought of giving up custody of…”

“Meatball.”

“Yes, Meatball,” Chris said, acknowledging Alex’s addition with a nod of the head. “Neither of them can bear losing Meatball, so they walk that beast together every night after dinner, each of them dreaming about being anywhere other than where they are.” I took a sip of my soda and said, “You just took the game and made it depressing. Fix it with this lady.”

We all looked out the window, and a tall woman in a jumpsuit and a beret was walking by, talking into her phone.

Chris said, “This is Claire. She used to be a model, but quit her jet-setting lifestyle to come home and take care of her uncle Billy.”

“Who lost his memory in a microwave oven accident.” Alex beamed, getting into the game. “Now he can only talk about NASCAR and the women fromThe View.”

We all started laughing.

Rox said, “She takes care of that guy during the day, but at night she likes to put on her supermodel clothes and search theOld Market for men who might be interested in taking her swing dancing.”

“Does that mean sex?”

“Of course it means sex.” Trey rolled his eyes and added, “She dances with them, and when they fall asleep, she kills them and sells their organs on the black market.”

“Brutal.”

“But lucrative.”

I giggled and reached for Chris’s garlic bread. “Okay, Alex—you do this guy.”

Alex glanced at me, then looked out the window. “Everyone who knows this guy thinks he’s a jerk because he never smiles.”

I glanced up from my bread and saw a guy in a black jacket walking by with a box under his arm.

“But he’s actually a nice guy who is wracked with regret for being a jerk to someone he truly cares about.”

The guy glanced up at the window and—

It was Nick.

“He had a perfect day with the perfect girl,” Rox said, “but his cynical heart refused to believe it could last, so he pushed her away.”

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