Page 66 of The Underachiever's Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

It’s Thanksgrieving here in the magical world, which is the holiday everyone celebrates to give thanks for the fact that they can now express their grievances freely.

We’re all seated around a rough wooden table in the backyard of Mama’s house.

Bryce and I have a house next door—a tiny cottage that leaks water and barely has room for the two of us, but we don’t mind.

Nearly the whole street has been roped into the girls’ game of Kill the Guy with the Ball, which means that our life is perpetually chaotic.

Everyone is here—our band of misfits, the mouse, Mama, Pop, all their children.

With Greg the mouse here to tell it not to eat anyone, the dragon sleeps in a heap a little way away, the children using it as a jungle gym.

Greg even helped us create a portal so we could run back to our world and pick up Kelly, who’s thriving in her new career as a med school classroom skeleton—a solution that took care of her employment, housing, and education while avoiding the issue of her being alive.

She’s only accidentally moved in front of the entire class twice.

Mama spent all day bossing us around the kitchen, and the food tastes three times better thanks to the work that went into it.

Better yet, there isn’t a turkey in sight.

Meanwhile, the girls are sussing everyone out; their ball has been missing for hours, and nobody knows who has it.

They’ve given me three pat-downs in the last hour alone, and I still don’t even play the game.

As we near the end of the meal, everyone begins going around the table, joyfully sharing their complaints.

“I hate bath time,” the toddler Poppy proclaims with adorably pouted lips and crossed arms.

Bryce’s hand brushes mine beneath the table. I wind our fingers together, hiding a smile, my bare toes curling against the cool grass.

“It upsets me when people still come to my forge expecting weapons,” says the blacksmith, who is now using his craft to make lawn ornaments.

Then, beside me, Bryce stands up. He clears his throat. “Before I share what I’m unthankful for, I have a few words.”

My mind flashes back to the last Thanksgiving I attended, when Will stood up only to drop to his knee. Bryce wouldn’t do that to me, would he? He knows I don’t want an epilogue with marriage and children.

But Bryce reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws—

“I’ve had your ball for hours, you absolute losers!” he exclaims with relish.

Love blossoms in my heart for this ridiculous, beautiful, imperfectly perfect man and our ridiculous, beautiful, imperfectly perfect life.

The newest member of the game, the blacksmith, rises, his shadow dropping across us.

“Oh, shit,” Bryce says under his breath.

“Get him,” the blacksmith growls, leading the charge.

Moments before everyone tackles Bryce, he passes the ball to me behind his back.

Without hesitation, I take it. It’s not a ring, but it is a promise—a commitment to a lifetime of chaos, laughter, and love.

Bryce flashes me a wicked grin. “You’re in it now.”

And then the horde descends, plowing Bryce over. Whoops and laughter echo off the houses around us. Mama makes a valiant effort to save the pastries, flapping her apron at anyone who dares to get too close. Pop lights up a pipe. I smile, tucking the wooden ball into my pocket.

When I was little, I was 90 percent sure I was special. Thankfully, the 10 percent chance that I’m not won out, because now, Bryce and I get to be delightfully unspectacular together forever.

THE END