I tap the icon.
The phone convulses in my hand, buzzing frantically as notifications fill the screen. The numbers tick up like an unbridled slot machine:
Missed Call: Mom (17)
Missed Call: Dad (11)
Missed Call: Matt (23)
Voicemail: Mom
Voicemail: Matt
52 new messages
Mom
Where are you???
Peyton, answer your phone. We’re worried sick
Matt is devastated
I doubt devastated is how my fiancé—ex fiancé?—is feeling. Angry. Self-righteous. Vindictive. All would be better suited.
Mom
His family is furious
Yeah, this is more the vibe with the VanCamps.
Dad
Bug, what happened?
Please call us. Let us know you’re safe
I reply only to my parents with a short message to let them know that I’m alive and swipe the rest of the messages away. But more crop up underneath. Notification after notification invades the screen, stacking on top of each other so fast I can barely read them.
Emma
Okay, honestly? Leaving the groom at the altar if you weren’t feeling it: hero move. A heads-up would’ve been nice, though. I could’ve been your getaway driver
Are you okay?
I’m hiding six bottles of champagne in my car. Send me your location. We can get trashed
My best friend and maid of honor is the only person I’d want with me. But first I need a location to send her. I swipe her messages away, too. More follow.
Cousin Greg
Hey sweetie, Cousin Greg here. Sorry to hear the news. Is the open bar still happening, or should we head to Applebee’s?
Aunt Mable
May I take the centerpieces home? The roses are dying, and it seems like a waste
Great Aunt Shirley
