WE WOKE UP SEVENTEEN AGAIN

"I like—" He got two words out and froze — the boy nobody at school dared cross, the one you couldn't look away from. He stared at me. I stared at him.

One look, and in that same second we each recognized the other: the person we'd spent most of a lifetime married to.

Back at seventeen, there was no tearful reunion, no falling into each other's arms. He smirked first, turned, and told the prettiest girl in school he liked her.

I turned right after him and looked at the bestlooking boy in school, the one I hadn't laid eyes on in fifty, sixty years. He was still the cleanfeatured boy I remembered.

I nodded, satisfied. Sure enough. This was still more my type. Chapter 1 Right before I came back, Douglas and I were in the middle of a fight.

It was his eightieth birthday party, and our granddaughter had dug a photo of me and someone else out of my old wallet and held it up next to his face. "Grandpa, you looked so gentle when you were young." I didn't say anything.

Douglas just smiled. The person in that photo wasn't him at all. The second we were alone that night, we started in on each other. "Monica Hayward!

If you're done with this marriage, then be done with it!" "Fine! Tomorrow we go file for divorce!

Whoever backs out is a dog!" That exact exchange had happened a few hundred times over the course of our twodog marriage. This time was the exception.

In the middle of the night I suddenly couldn't get any air, and before I could shake Douglas awake, that breath was my last.

When I opened my eyes again, a young Douglas was standing in front of me. All around us were my high school classmates.

The party was at the birthday boy's house, and there was a cake on the table. …What was going on? "I like—" Douglas stopped halfway.

His expression changed, and he stared at me like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. One look and we both understood. The two of us had come back together.

This was the day he told me he liked me, at seventeen.

As luck would have it, I'd just been turned down by the boy I had a crush on, so in the heat of the moment I said yes to Douglas, and then strongarmed him into a kiss on top of it.

Right in front of the boy I had a crush on. It was a long time before I learned that this was actually the day Douglas lost at Truth or Dare. Understandable.

After all, in high school I was nothing special. Big black frames, heavy bangs, braces, the same old hoodie all year, swapped for the same plain tee when it got hot.

Douglas, on the other hand, clowned around all day and never cracked a book. But the face and the build did the work for him, the girls loved it, and he was somebody at that school.

Him actually liking me was the part that made no sense. Sure enough, the jerk shut his mouth and let out a cold little laugh.

Then he turned to the prettiest girl in school, who happened to be sitting right next to me, and told her he liked her instead.

I let out a cold little laugh of my own and used my drink as cover to sneak a look at tonight's birthday boy: Jonas Conover, the boy I'd grown up next door to, the boy I'd had a crush on for ten years.

Perfect. Now we really were done being married, and we'd saved ourselves a trip to the courthouse.

Somebody up there must have taken pity on us, one badly matched pair, and handed us a chance to pick better this time. "We really should be putting school first right now," she said, lowering her head, flustered. "But if it's Douglas, I think we could give it a try." Douglas blinked, and his eyes met mine.

I watched him smile a little and say to her, "Sure." Good. Great. Couldn't be better. I ground my teeth over the fact that Douglas had beaten me to it.

I made a fist where nobody could see and decided: I was going to win Jonas over. The next day school let out for summer.

I asked Jonas out three times and got turned down three times.

The fourth time, I lay in bed getting madder the longer I thought about it, and in the dead of night I climbed over next door and knocked on his window. He wasn't asleep either.

One look at my I'mnotleavinguntilIgetwhatIwant face, and he gave up and opened the window. I pushed the vines aside and stuck my face through. "Jonas Conover!

You can't quit hanging out with me just because I like you!" Chapter 2 He was in the middle of a sip of water and choked on it, then turned his head away, uncomfortable, and started making excuses. "I really do have my prep class.

I don't have time." "But I asked your little brother.

You don't have class on Sundays." I pushed out my lower lip and said, miserable, "Are you cutting me off for good?" Something moved in Jonas's eyes.

He looked down and watched me quietly for a while. The green leaves brushing my neck set off a ticklish little flutter in me. Finally he gave in. "All right.

See you tomorrow." I went from tragedy to triumph on the spot and cheered. "Yes!

Ten tomorrow morning, I'll be waiting by the fountain at the end of the street!" This date with Jonas mattered enormously to me.

His whole family moved away after high school, and after that I had no way to reach him and no news of him at all.

Jonas was a dream from when I was young, beautiful and winding and out of reach.

I got rid of the braces and the glasses and learned how to put myself together, and when I was standing in the middle of everyone's compliments, I thought about him all the time.

He never got to see me pretty. The next day I did myself up properly, in the little white dress I'd had ready for ages, with a light mist of white tea perfume.

I saw Jonas coming from a long way off. I stood by the fountain and turned so the sun fell on the better side of my face, and even the breeze came in right on cue.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and gave him a small, closedlip smile. I got exactly what I wanted out of his eyes. Stunned.

The good mood lasted as far as the entrance of the shopping center.

The second I spotted Douglas and the prettiest girl in school, I hit the brakes and grabbed Jonas to leave, and I was still a step too slow. "Monica! Jonas!

What are the odds!" She came over beaming. "I saw you from back there and wasn't sure it was really you. Monica, you look gorgeous today." I laughed awkwardly. "Ha, no, not at all.

Um, if there's nothing else—" She caught hold of my sleeve. "Since we all ran into each other, let's get lunch together." Simone Fletcher gave me a wink, and I got the message: she'd probably had some kind of spat with Douglas and didn't want to be alone with him.

Girl, your road's the one that's blocked. Don't come tearing down my bridge. I looked at Jonas. He said either way was fine. I cut a look at Douglas.

He said he'd do whatever Simone wanted. Nothing else for it. I caved.

Inside we ran into four or five more good friends from school, and my lovely date for two ended up a giant group outing. And it turns out things never stay at their worst.

They only get worse. In the elevator. "You took your medicine, right?" Douglas glanced at my neck. Something in the vines had bitten me the night before and it had come up in hives.

I gave him a flat look. "Obviously I did. Do I look like an idiot?" "Hard to say. There was that one time you—" I coughed hard, and Douglas shut his mouth. At the table.

My hands went faster than my brain. I unrolled Douglas's silverware and laid out the knife, fork, and napkin. The whole table went quiet at once.

Calmly, I unrolled everybody else's silverware too, one by one, and laid it all out. Douglas peeled a shrimp, and his hand was just as fast — it went straight onto my plate.

He stopped. Then, calmly, he picked it back up and moved it back. On the way out of the restaurant.

Douglas suddenly started patting down his pockets. "Ugh, wifey, have you seen my phone?" I went straight into my bag. "It's not in here." Everyone's footsteps stopped at once.

I lowered my head one inch, then another inch, and would have given anything to fit myself into the crack in the pavement in front of me. Goddammit.

If I ever got another doover, I'd die before I gave in. Chapter 3 Douglas, the root of all evil, held back a laugh and ruffled my hair. "Everybody already went down.

What are you still crouching there for?" "Oh. This tile work is just exquisite.

Not one gap anywhere." The polished floor reflected my burning red face. "Monica, did you really secretly get married to that hunk Douglas Bancroft?" Pfft— I sprayed out a mouthful of lemon soda.

Rando No. 1 popped up on my left with a helpful addition. "Come on, does anybody spreading that have any common sense?

They're not even old enough to sign a marriage license on their own." I wiped my mouth and nodded in strong agreement.

The same gentleman went on. "Obviously their families arranged the whole thing while the two of them were still in diapers!" "Stop, stop—" Rando No. 2 got on the mic with real passion. "Wrong.

What I heard is his family took her in when she was little and raised her specifically to be his wife!" I let out a roar. "I said stop!" After a whole summer of fermenting, the gossip about the two of us had evolved into something that stank to high heaven.

Not that it mattered. Bring it on, I'd handle whatever came. Douglas and I had both made up our minds to walk separate roads this time around.

I picked up a little bullhorn next to the track. "Douglas and I do have a very deep connection—" "Ohhhh!" I smiled, inscrutable, and kept going. "Because of him, my family's Thanksgiving table almost came up one fork short.

There is not room on this earth for the both of us!" Everyone stood there stunned. "So every ambiguous rumor you have all heard about him and me is fake news!" Not everything I said was a lie.

Years ago, Douglas was driving me home from work when we got in a wreck. I came out of it more or less fine. Douglas passed out on the spot.

After the tests, the doctor came over with the report and told me to relax, the baby was fine. What baby. Where did a baby come from.

Since when had that crash almost killed two of us instead of one! "Lucky your husband reacted in time and turned the wheel toward his side, or I couldn't tell you how this would have gone." Douglas, though, had a head injury, and it left him with a tremor that came and went in his arm.

Of all things, his arm. And of all people, the one who held a paintbrush. That night I sat by his hospital bed and called my parents to tell them I might be getting married.

I've been grateful to him all these years, but what we had was family, not love.

Because we each had someone else inside us, and we ended up together only because the timing happened to be right. Two dogs caught in the rain, deciding to keep going side by side.

One day a friend of Douglas's called and asked me to come get him. For whatever reason, he'd gotten himself fallingdown drunk.

He hung on me, thinking I was his friend. "I really… I like her so much." It was the first time I'd ever heard that tone out of him, all regret and hurt.

I couldn't help myself. "Who?" In front of everyone there, Douglas opened his eyes and looked at me, pressed his forehead against mine, and smiled. "Not you, anyway." There was a portrait in the safe in his study.

I lifted the cloth halfway. The girl in it was wearing a princess gown with an enormous skirt. I put the cloth back down, quietly. I'd never worn a dress like that.

I'd never even worn a wedding gown that came close. Because we only ever registered at the courthouse. We never had a wedding.

Give anything enough time, no matter how much it eats at you, and a day comes when you let it go.

When I was young and didn't know anything, I thought a marriage without love was a pitiful thing.

But the world doesn't hand out that many earthshattering love stories, and in the daytoday of groceries and dishes and laundry, it turns out family wins out over love.

Being people who matter a lot to each other is enough. As for whether you matter most… We'll leave it there. I never knew who it was he liked. Now I had a pretty good guess.

It must be Simone Fletcher. Chapter 4 I could even guess how it happened.

The living room lights were too dim, Simone and I were sitting too close together, he picked the wrong girl in the moment, and then stuck with the mistake for a lifetime.

Douglas is proud and he's a coward.

He'd probably spent every bit of courage he had in the second he used Truth or Dare to say it, and had nothing left to go back and set it straight.

Douglas came to my classroom with a face like stone and asked me to meet him in the art room after school.

I'd spent all morning talking myself hoarse to deepen everyone's impression that Douglas and I were sworn enemies, so when I got back to my seat, somebody actually came over to ask whether it was a fight and whether I needed backup.

Deeply gratifying. "You said you'd help me go after Simone. So how do I go after her?" "You said you'd help me go after Jonas.

You got any moves?" We read the contempt in each other's eyes.

Neither of us had any experience pursuing anybody, so we had to ask Google. "It says step one of pursuing someone is to make your feelings known, and the most romantic, most innocent way to confess is… writing a love letter?" Douglas looked doubtful. "We both already confessed.

Do we still have to write love letters?" I didn't follow either. "Uh, then maybe we write one anyway?

If we go in order, like solving a problem, we shouldn't go wrong." So the two of us sat facing our own blank sheets of paper for half an hour. Douglas tossed his aside. "Tch.

Can't do it. Too sappy." He'd interrupted my meditating, so I looked up.

Clear specks of dust floated and wandered through the art room in the late light, and Douglas spun the pen in one hand while the other rubbed easily at the back of his neck.

A fine ring of fuzzy light came up all around him. He looked warm and bright. My partner. My old friend. I sincerely wanted him to get what he wanted.

I said, "Douglas, we already got to start over.

Be brave this time." He raised his head, amber eyes looking straight into mine. "I will." Then he thought for a moment and set his pen to the paper, and it came out of him smooth as running water.

I still didn't have one single idea. From where I sat I could see the block of writing filling his page, and all at once I felt irritable. "Monica.

Monica." Simone, in the seat next to mine, poked me, and I came up out of my sea of practice problems. "What?" "Hmph.

Douglas copied a love letter from somewhere and none of it lines up. It has absolutely nothing to do with me. Look." I took it from her, confused