Page 151 of Unmanageable

Ivy appears behind her, looking like the only adult in a five-mile radius. She is holding a canister of disinfectant and a pair of tongs. She looks at the pancake stuck to the range hood, then at Scottie.

“I’ve already called for a backup breakfast,” Ivy says calmly. “But until the delivery guy finds this God-forsaken coordinate, we are apparently at the mercy of the ‘Protein Brothers.’”

The chaos escalates when Nico tries to “improve” the pancake batter with a bag of frozen berries. He rips the bag too hard, and a hail of frozen blueberries explodes across the floor. Brick, in a misguided attempt to help, slips on a berry and goes down like a felled oak, his snorkel mask snapping and flying across the room into Dean’s lap.

“THAT’S IT,” Dean shouts, standing up.

He grabs a handful of flour—I’m not sure why it was within reach—and tosses it at Nico. It misses, hitting Brick square in the chest just as he’s trying to get up.

There is a heartbeat of absolute silence.

“Oh, it’s a war,” Brick whispers, his eyes widening.

What follows is the most unhinged ten minutes of my life.

Jenna is hiding behind the sofa, throwing blueberries like grenades while somehow still sipping champagne straight from the bottle.

Nico and Brick are using baking sheets as shields.

Even Ivy, the most composed woman ever, loses it when a stray bit of batter hits her cardigan and she returns fire with a spray bottle of cleaner.

I find myself pinned behind the kitchen island with Scottie. She’s laughing—actually, hysterically laughing—wiping flour off her forehead.

“This is the family, O’Connell!” she yells over the fray. “This is the life you wanted!”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I yell back, pulling her toward me.

She’s covered in white powder, her eyes bright and dancing with a joy that makes my chest ache. She leans in, kissing me right there in the middle of the crossfire.

We eventually surrender when the fire alarm finally does go off, triggered by a forgotten piece of bacon. We all stumble out onto the porch, coughing and covered in white dust, looking like a group of ghosts who just lost a fight with a bakery.

Callahan is already out there, sitting in a rocking chair with a cup of coffee he somehow made before the war started. He looks at us—Brick in his boxers, Dean covered in sugar, Scottie in my flannel—and slowly shakes his head.

“You guys are idiots,” he says simply.

“Yeah,” I say, wrapping my arm around Scottie and pulling her close. “Love you too, Callie.”

The lake is still, the air is cold, and somewhere inside, the smoke is clearing. I look at this group—this strange, loud, broken, beautiful family we’ve built—and I realize that the “safe” feeling from last night wasn’t a fluke. It was the new reality.

“So,” Scottie says, leaning her head against my shoulder. “About that breakfast delivery?”

“I think we’re eating granola bars and champagne, Scottie.”

“Fine,” she smiles, closing her eyes as the morning light hits the water. “As long as I don’t have to share your hoodie.”

“You’re wearing my shirt, baby.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Finny. Get used to it.”

I laugh, kissing the top of her head, knowing that for the rest of my life, the chaos will always be this loud, and the love will always be this certain.

Epilogue: Finny

Few months later

Oh my God.

OH MY GOD.