Page 22 of Unmanageable

“Huh,” she mutters, serious. “I’m a feminist. How did I let this happen?”

Callahan shifts in his chair, leaning forward to get a look.

“Look at the bright side,” Callahan chuckles, his voice soft. “At least now I know you won’t be getting cold feet. You’re literally tagged and bagged.”

“Honestly, I’m just sad we had to give Barnaby to animal control,” Nico sighs from the corner, looking genuinely depressed. “The shelter guy said they’d find him a nice farm, but I miss him. I think I’m gonna go and get a goat tattoo for him. In honor.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ivy warns, though she’s still smiling. “If you get a goat tattoo, I’m uninviting you from the wedding.”

“Statistically,” Noah’s voice cuts through the chuckles as he pulls the blankets back over his head, “the chance of this group making it through the next seventy-two hours without further bodily harm is less than twelve percent. We are a public health crisis.”

“Shut up, Noah,” we all say in unison.

I lean my head back against Cash’s knees and finally, for the first time since I woke up, the world stops spinning.

The wedding is coming. The road trip is waiting. And somewhere in Boston, there’s a goat named Barnaby who Nico considers a family member.

But right now, the only thing that matters is the quiet, the heat of Cash’s hand on my shoulder, and the fact that we’re all still here.

Disasters and all.

***

3:21 PM

Me: Tell your friend to stop smiling at me.

Callahan: Which friend?

Me: The stupid one.

Callahan: Doesn’t narrow it down.

6

Finnian O’Connell

10:23 AM

Carter: Why do goalies always sit alone?

Me: we’re thinking

Leo: About?

Me: mostly snacks

***

The drive to my parents’ home feels shorter every time I visit.

It’s that weird, cruel trick of the mind where everything from your childhood shrinks the older you get—the driveway, the trees, the front porch—except for the weight of the stuff that happens inside those four walls.

That stuff only seems to grow more massive, more suffocating, the older I get.

I kill the engine and just sit there for a long moment.

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and wince. Bloodshot eyes, a jawline that looks like it’s been through a blender, and a general, pervasive vibe of needing a very, very long nap.