“Oh shit, a PowerPoint?” I laugh. “That’s serious.”

“Clicker and all. It was very serious in the Rossi household. Both my parents were teachers, so it’s sort of weird that Cohen is marrying a teacher, but we won’t dive into that psychological nightmare.” We both laugh. “They were very up on their presentation skills. They went through all the pros and cons, obviously preparing a fair statement, but the cons were easily outweighed by the pros of going to college. There were pictures and everything.” She rolls her eyes. “It was ridiculous, to say the least. And it was during that meeting that I stepped up to their computer and surprised them with my own presentation.”

“And it was badass, wasn’t it?”

“Yup. After the initial college conversation, I’d called Cohen up. He was already working construction at that point—another noncollege child. I was our parents’ last hope, hence their desperation. But what Cohen told me will always stick with me. He said I have to follow my passion. If creating and crafting was my passion, then I needed to show Mom and Dad how it could support me—not just financially but mentally and emotionally as well. They needed to know I was going to be okay.”

“And that’s what you did with your presentation.”

“Exactly. Cohen was on the phone, of course, because all members were present, and I can still hear his small chuckle at our parents’ surprise. I laid it all out for them. I showed them my finances, my bank account, my website, my tutorials. How I was going to tackle the world of crafts, how I could get sponsorships that would not only offer me supplies but actually pay me to recommend products I like. I told them about this whole new world of social media business and that I was going to be a part of it.”

“Were they impressed?”

“My dad sighed, leaned back in a chair, and gave me a slow clap.”

“Really?” I laugh. “That must have been satisfying.”

“More than you can imagine. Of course my mom shushed and told him they needed to talk, but when they walked away, my dad winked at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Took a few more weeks, but they caved. They came back and said they would give me a year to make something of myself, and if I couldn’t comfortably live on my own after a year, I had to go to college.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’ve never worked so hard in my entire life. Every night I was making something, videoing, creating content. I was relentless, but I was determined to prove something to them.”

“And you did.”

She smiles brightly. “I did.”

Fay comes up to our table and sets down our plates without a word. And like the good waitress she is, she plops down some ketchup and leaves.

Luna and I reach for it at the same time, but I let her win, and I watch as she carefully squeezes the ketchup into a puddle on the side of her plate. When she hands it to me, I squirt it over my fries—she gasps out loud and brings her hand to her chest.

“No, tell me it’s not so. You . . . you put the ketchup directly on your fries?”

Not even apologetic, I say, “Yup.” Then I snag a fry and put it in my mouth. “Perfect.”

“I don’t know.” She leans back. “I don’t think I can stay on this date, not with someone who uses ketchup like that. Let me guess,” she whispers. “You put the toilet paper on like a mullet, not a beard.”

“Mullets do have more fun.”

“Check!” Luna shouts. “We need a check!”

“What made you want to be a lawyer?” Luna asks. She’s calmed down since the ketchup and toilet paper fiasco, but it wasn’t an easy feat. I had to put a puddle of ketchup on the side of my plate to make her feel comfortable and promise to try putting the toilet paper on like a beard . . . at least once. I promised I would take a picture of my toilet paper roll when I got back to my apartment.

It was shaky there for a bit, but I think we’re back on track.

“My mom,” I say honestly. “You know, seeking justice that she didn’t get with my dad. Well, not necessarily for my mom, because she wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine in my life. She’s the queen of unhealthy coping mechanisms, and we’re definitely not close. I guess it’s more that I’m seeking justice for families. Which, ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, is the wife, since she’s the one taking the kids.” I shrug. “If I wasn’t so bitter in college, I think I would be doing something different with my life.”

“Like what?” She plops a fry in her mouth. Our plates are practically empty, with just a few scraps left.

“Well, after yesterday, probably bake cakes.”

She rolls her eyes and gives me a “be serious” look. “It was a good cake. Move on, Baxter.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want to forget the painful loss you suffered yesterday?”

She holds her hand up again. “Check!”

“Knock it off,” I say, reaching over the table and pulling her arm down. “You’re going to bruise my ego.”

“Ahh, poor Alec.” She chuckles. “Seriously, what would you be if you weren’t a lawyer right now?”

I lean back in the booth and drape one arm over the back of the seat. “I don’t know. Something that helps people, because I enjoy that part of my job. I only represent women who are getting screwed over by their husbands. It’s satisfying when the men leave the conference room with purple faces because they’re so angry, but I know there’s more to life than giving people like my dad their comeuppance. Not super healthy, you know? And I’m really not into the whole money thing.”

“I noticed,” she says, giving me a shy look. “Knowing you were a lawyer, I half expected a giant penthouse, but you live quite modestly, considering.”

“I don’t need things—I just need a happy life.”

“And are you happy?”

I scratch the back of my head and look out the window. “I think I can get there. Before The Wedding Game, I could tell you honestly that I wasn’t. I barely spent any time outside of my office, and when I did, it wasn’t for anything that added value to my life. I pretty much ignored Thad, and I can’t tell you the last time I saw my mom, or my dad. I’ve spent a lot of time keeping my distance and avoiding all contact with them. I was just breathing, getting through my daily work, but not living.” I glance at her. “I may not be on speaking terms with my parents, but for the first time in a while, I actually feel like there’s more to my life, like maybe I could be happy.”

As I look into Luna’s deep eyes, something unexplainable switches inside me, as if the dark cloud that’s been hovering over my head parts and finally makes way for some sunshine. Seeing Thad with Naomi, even Cohen and Declan, has shown me what a relationship really is about. Protecting each other, loving each other, being there when you need someone the most. It isn’t all doom and gloom, especially when you find the right person.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah . . . and of course it has nothing to do with you,” I joke, and she picks up her napkin, wads it, and throws it at me. I don’t even flinch as it hits me between the eyes.

“Ugh, you’re annoying.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“Destructive behavior. Always going after the wrong guys.”

“What kind of guys?” I ask, curious for a glimpse of her dating history.

“All kinds.” She sighs. “I went through an artsy phase. I was all about guys whose life mission was judging other people’s artwork and feeling superior. That was until I’d show them my work, and they’d inevitably tell me I was selling out or not a true artist because I wasn’t starving, something along those lines.”

That makes me snort. “You don’t have to be a struggling artist to be an artist. What idiots. You can make money and create.”

“Yeah, that’s what Cohen said too, so I moved on from the artsy guys and found the athletes.”

“Oh yeah? Should I be concerned that you’re grouping men together?”

She just shrugs. “Testing the waters—don’t act like you didn’t do it in college.”

“Fair.” I wave my hand. “Continue.”

“So I went to the jocks, and can we just say . . . yum? Ugh, the arms on these guys; none of them had abs like you, but their di—”

“Okay, details not needed. Just tell me why it didn’t work out with them.”

She chuckles and gives me a playful eye roll. “Kidding. I dated one jock for a year, but then he was drafted and moved to California. So that ended things. Uh, do you know Nyatt Sampson?”

Is she kidding? “Nyatt Sampson? As in three-time football MVP and champion? The quarterback sweeping the nation? Whose ESPN cover photo is of him holding a football in front of his crotch?”

“Oh, so you have heard of him.”

“Every single human in the country has heard of him. You dated Nyatt Sampson? For a year? And broke up because he was moving across the country—even though you can do your job anywhere? You realize he’s already rumored to be inducted into the Hall of Fame, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, all that’s fine, but it didn’t matter to me.”