Page 146 of Unmanageable

Concerned Finny is impossible to deflect, and that only adds to my frustration.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Hey,” he says softly.

I stare at the floor, then at the window, then back at the television screen where a penguin is apparently having a very productive evening.

Anything to avoid meeting his eyes.

“I want kids,” I blurt out.

Cash freezes. The playful tension vanishes from his posture instantly.

“Okay,” he says.

I blink, my chest tightening.

I had prepared for at least six different scenarios, wrote out a mental script, anticipated objections, and calculated logistical timelines. I expected a joke, a sudden question about a spreadsheet, or at least a tactical retreat.

I didn’t expect a single, unbothered word.

“Okay?” I repeat, my voice rising a fraction of an octave.

“Yeah.”

“That’s your entire response? Just… okay?”

He shrugs, shifting his weight against the cushions. “You want kids. I heard you.”

“You don’t have anything else to say? No follow-up questions? No analysis of the current economic climate or the fact that my schedule is a literal nightmare?”

“I mean…” He sits up straight, his expression turning serious. “Eventually, I’ll have questions. But right now? Mostly I’m just wondering why you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“But—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, holding up a hand as he stands up from the couch. “No ‘buts’ yet. Keep going. You’ve been pacing for twenty minutes. You have more than three words to say, Scottie.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry.

“I want them,” I repeat, the truth feeling heavy on my tongue. “I think about it all the time. What they’d look like—probably huge and clumsy with your ridiculous smile and my inability to ever admit I’m wrong.”

Cash’s expression softens, a small, lopsided smile appearing on his face.

“But I’m terrified,” I whisper, and the first tear leaks out, hot against my cheek. I wipe it away with a jagged motion. “I’m terrified I’m going to ruin them. I’m not built for the soft parts of life, Finny. What if I wake up one day and hear my mother’s voice coming out of my mouth? What if I just freeze up and disappear emotionally when things get hard, because that’s the only blueprint I have? What if the Shark can’t be a mother without drowning the thing she’s trying to protect?”

The tears come faster now, irritating and humiliating. I hate feeling this exposed, this vulnerable, but once the dam has cracked, there’s no stopping the flood.

“I don’t trust myself,” I admit, my voice cracking. “And that feels unforgivable. To bring someone into the world when you aren’t sure you’re whole.”

Cash stands up and crosses the room. He doesn’t rush, taking steady steps until he’s standing right in front of me.

“Scottie,” he says, his hands reaching out to gently frame my face. “Look at me.”

I do, and his eyes are clear and steady.

“You are not your mother,” he says firmly. “You’re already doing the hardest part. You’re scared because you actually give a damn about the outcome before it even exists. That alone puts you light-years ahead of her. She didn’t care enough to be afraid, Scottie. You’re terrified because you already love them.”