Odds

Jeddy saw my Amanda at the Spaghetti Factory Friday night. The one time I leave my phone on the charger at work, I happen to miss one of the most important calls of my life. I could have been there. I would have been there. In a heartbeat. If only I hadn't forgotten my phone. If only I'd gotten back to the office and retrieved the messages earlier. I could have waited in the lounge area and tried not to stare as they left the restaurant. I could have nonchalantly scoped them out from within the restaurant walls as I nibbled on spaghetti noodles and Mizithra cheese. I could have meandered through the halls of Trolley Square until they left and then tailed them outside, watching her soft blonde hair sway back and forth as her little legs carried her out to the car.

But instead I was at a Polynesian wedding buffet of people I didn't know and cared nothing for. Instead, I sat there, holding back vomit as the woman at the table in front of mine ripped the neck from the pig's head that lay before her. Instead, I was driving Doug all over Hell's half-acre, running errands with him. Doug, my best guy friend, who could only say later, "There is no way I could ever make that up to you, Paige. I'm sorry." And he's right.