Page 131 of Clinically Awkward

“She is,” Gabriel said. “She’s already making lists. Baby names, nursery colors, pediatricians—she’s got a whole binder.”

“A binder?” I repeated.

“She’s very organized.”

“She’s married to you,” Nathan said. “She has to be organized. Someone needs to keep track of where you put things.”

“I don’t lose things.”

“You lost your car keys last week.”

“They were in my pocket!”

“You looked for them for twenty minutes!”

“They were in a different pocket!”

Hayden took a long drink of his beer. “I’m buying a boat.”

We all turned to stare at him.

“You’re what?” I asked.

“Buying a boat,” Hayden repeated calmly. “A nice one. Forty-two feet. Sleeps six. I’m going to retire in five years and sail around the Caribbean.”

“You get seasick,” Nathan said.

“I’ll take Dramamine.”

“You hate the ocean.”

“I’ll learn to love it.”

“You can’t swim.”

“I’LL WEAR A LIFE JACKET,” Hayden snapped. “Can I not have one dream? One single dream that doesn’t involve you people questioning my life choices?”

“We’re not questioning your life choices,” Fitz said. “We’re questioning your boat choices. Forty-two feet is excessive.”

“It’s not excessive.”

“It’s a yacht.”

“It’s a boat.”

“It’s a YACHT.”

“There’s a difference!”

“There’s really not,” Gabriel said.

Hayden looked like he was about to throw his golf club into the woods. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” I said, grinning.

“I’m seriously reconsidering.”

I took another sip of my beer, watching as Nathan attempted, and failed, to hit his ball out of the rough. The sun was warm, the beer was cold, and I was surrounded by the most chaotic, ridiculous, wonderful group of idiots I had ever met.