Logan

When the plane landed in New York, my phone was burning up. I threw my overcoat over my arm as I pulled my carry-on from the overhead bin, and then looked down at the caller ID. It was my mother again. Both of my parents were tag teaming me, taking turns calling. I was a grown man and I couldn't disappear for a weekend without my parents sending out a search party. I shook my head as I slid my phone into my carry-on bag and threw it over my shoulder, vowing to ...