Page 11 of Unmanageable

We burst through the double doors, Nico leading the goat right past the pool tables. The bartender, an old guy with a beard down to his belt and eyes that have seen way too much, doesn’t even look up from wiping a glass. He just stares at the goat, then at Kovács’s taxidermied squirrel, and lets out a long, weary sigh.

“Fifty-dollar cover charge for the livestock,” the bartender grunts.

“Done!” Kovács roars, slamming a hundred-dollar bill onto the sticky wood. “And a bowl of those pretzels! Also, do you have a karaoke machine? We have a rookie who needs to find his manhood!”

We crowd into a corner booth, the goat tied to the table leg, chewing happily on a discarded paper coaster. The emotional toll of the looming wedding, combined with a truly reckless amount of draft beer, hits the table all at once.

“Cal. Callie. Listen to me. You’re getting married,” I say, my head dropping onto his shoulder.

The whiskey is fully running the show now.

Everything feels warm, fuzzy, and incredibly loud.

“I am,” Cal says, tears welling up in his eyes. “I love her so much, Cash. It hurts my chest. Like, right here.” He thumps his sternum. “Remember when we were twelve and we stole your dad’s lawnmower?”

“We crashed it into the pond,” I say, a tear genuinely slipping down my own cheek.

Callahan looks at me through watery eyes. “Your dad never forgave us.”

“Your mom didn’t forgive us either.”

“Nobody forgave us.”

We stare at each other.

“Good times,” I whisper. “We were just kids, Callie. Now you’ll be a husband. You’re gonna have a house. With… with curtains.”

“I want curtains,” Cal sobs, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “I want to pick them out with her. I want a home.”

“That’s beautiful, man,” I choke out, wiping my own eyes, both of us actively weeping into our beers while the rest of the team watches in respectful, highly emotional silence.

Nico is sniffling, using his pink headband to dab his eyes.

Our collective sob fest is cut short when the bartender slams a heavy glass down on the counter and glares at us. “Hey! The goat just took a massive leak on the floor by the jukebox, and it’s spreading under the pool table. Get that thing out of here before I call animal control.”

There’s a second of stunned silence before Callahan shouts at the top of his lungs.

“EVERYONE OUT!”

We pour out into the gravel lot, leaving a wad of cash on the counter and a very angry bartender behind us. We run half a mile down the dark road before we stop, panting, bruised, and covered in cheap draft beer.

Which brings us right back to now.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS BARNABY?” Callahan yells, clutching his head with both hands.

His knuckles are white, his hair looks like he stuck his finger in an electrical outlet, and he is currently missing his left shoe.

“This is not good,” I murmur, my voice echoing off the gravel of the empty parking lot. “This is objectively, statistically, not good.”

I look at the empty yellow rope in Nico’s hand. The knot has been cleanly chewed through.

“He stayed behind,” Nico whimpers. “He chose the bar. He’s one of them now.”

“We lost the wedding goat,” Noah gasps, his glasses crooked, his face smudged with dirt.

I look around the dark road, the reality of our situation finally sinking in. “We need to get back. Like right now. If we’re caught by the ladies, it’s over.”

The trek back to Ivy and Callahan’s house is a nightmare.