After texting ShroomForager3000 to confirm the time for tomorrow’s meet, I shower off the lingering scent of potato salad, braid my damp hair, and put on a plain, white cotton nightgown.

I’m moving painfully slow. My bad leg throbs. There’s an ugly bruise on my hip from where I hit the floor, but it’ll be gone by morning. I flip off the overhead and plug in the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. The room fills with a soft, mellow glow, and I climb in between the clean, crisp sheets of my twin bed and exhale.

I’m home. Safe. Surrounded by my people. My things.

My fancy custom label maker....