Page 115 of While I’m Still Here

“For fuck's sake, Danny,” Colin says when Danny hands it to me.

Danny looks offended. “She hasn't even opened it.”

“I don't need to see inside.”

“You might. Could be heartfelt.”

“It won't be.”

I open it. Danny has written:

Dear Tits,

Thank you for your service.

Your contribution will not be forgotten.

Especially by me.

Danny x

Underneath that, in Colin's handwriting, are the words:

He bought this three days ago and has been waiting to make this joke.

And beneath that, in Marcus's painfully neat handwriting:

For the record, I object to this card.

I look up from it. “You three have been communicating without me?”

Colin is unpacking cartons of Chinese food onto my coffee table. “We have a group chat.”

I stare at him. “You have a fucking what?”

“A group chat,” Danny repeats from beside me.

“I heard him.”

Marcus, sitting in the armchair and reading the pre-operative information sheet I've already read about four hundred times, doesn't look up. “It is necessary for logistical purposes.”

My head snaps towards him. “You're in it?”

“Yes.”

“Voluntarily?”

Marcus finally looks at me. “Initially.”

Danny grins. “He loves it.”

“I have muted it three times.”

“And unmuted it three times,” Colin adds.

Marcus's eyes narrow, and I look between them. My three men. Except not technically my three men because nobody has actually defined whatever the fuck is happening here, and attempting to do so the night before major cancer surgery feels unnecessarily ambitious.

Still… Colin. Danny. Marcus. All in my living room. All apparently in a group chat.