I pinched off a corner of a roll and popped it into my mouth. “I told Karen I’d read the planning documents.”
Mom studied me. “You’ve been busy. Are you sure you have time?” It wasn’t phrased as criticism, though I heard the concern in it.
“I have time.”
She looked away. “You always have time when somebody else needs something.”
I reached for a full roll and didn’t attempt to deny it. I had no interest in arguing with my mother. We’d been down this road before. She felt guilty for putting more responsibility on my shoulders, even though it was the natural progression of things. One day I’d take her place and everything would fall squarely on my shoulders.
Julie slapped my hand with the towel. “Not yet, you heathen.”
The back door opened. Grandma Ruth entered, carrying a casserole dish wrapped in two towels, with Grandpa Alfonse following at a dignified pace behind her.
Grandma Ruth was ninety-three, pleasantly round, and had never entered a room quietly in her life. Her gray hair was curled into soft waves, and she wore a purple blouse beneath an apron embroidered with wolves howling beneath a full moon.
“I brought macaroni,” she announced.
Julie sighed. “I already made potatoes.”
“Two starches is fine by me. People can eat both,” Grandma said.
Grandpa Alfonse stopped beside the table and sniffed the air deeply. “Smells like chicken, but it doesn’t smell like it’s on a plate yet.”
Grandma set down the casserole. “Alfonse wants to know when we’re eating.”
“Seven minutes,” Julie said with a warm smile.
Grandpa grunted and sat beside Byron, resting his hands on his knees. “Back in my day, if you smelled chicken for seven minutes without eating it, another wolf got it first. People talk too much before dinner nowadays. There needs to be less chatting, more chewing.”
Byron marked his page without looking up. “Technically, complaining about chatting is still chatting.”
Grandpa squinted at his book. “I’m not complaining, I’m educating. And close that book at the table. Reading while waiting for meat is a tragedy.”
Grandpa Alfonse was the ripe old age of a hundred but didn’t act a day over eighty – unless you took his strong aversion to technology into consideration. Before Mom, he had been the alpha of the Blackwell Pack.
Grandma looked around the kitchen and spotted the bandage on my arm. “What happened to you?”
“Tree.”
She waited.
“Levi got stuck and I had to retrieve him.”
“Did he fall?”
“No.”
“Then why are you bleeding?”
“I met a branch.”
She made to take my arm.
I moved it out of range before she could peel off Caldwell’s bandage for inspection. “It’s handled.”
“You always say that,” Grandma said, narrowing her eyes.
I smiled. “Because it always is.”
“You’re too much like your mother.”
Mom pointed the knife toward her. “I’m standing right here, Mom.”
“I know where you are, Hilary.”
The kitchen filled even more over the next few minutes. Patty arrived first, then Trevor, carrying a small storage container filled with what looked like glittering plastic pieces. Mason appeared behind him to return Mom’s portable tire pump. A Carpenter aunt stepped in to ask whether anyone had spare thyme, then stayed because Julie handed her a glass of wine.
Nobody formally invited anyone to sit. Chairs appeared. Plates were passed. Jason abandoned his wraps after Mom threatened to confiscate them, and Caldwell moved close enough that his knee rested against mine beneath the table.
Aunt Karen walked in, dropping a covered dish onto the table with unnecessary force. She immediately zeroed in on Patty, who was leaning against the counter and sketching a stylized skull on a napkin.
“Must you draw at the table, Patricia?” Karen snapped, pulling out a chair. “It’s bad enough you spend your days daubing paint on old thrift-store denim instead of getting a proper job with benefits. You’re twenty-four. What kind of future are you planning to build on doodle jackets?”
Patty didn’t even look up, just capped her pen. “It’s a wearable art business, Aunt Karen. And it pays my rent.”
Karen scoffed as she passed a bowl of salad to her left. “It’s a hobby. If you had an active wolf, you’d have the drive to achieve something real. But latent shifters always drift into these nonsensical creative outlets because they lack discipline. You’re settling for less because you think that’s all you deserve.”
My jaw tightened. “Patty’s art is successful, Aunt Karen, and it has nothing to do with her lacking a wolf. Leave it alone.”
Julie brought the chicken out last, then stood at the head of the table to inspect everything. “We’re missing something.”
“Peace?” Mom suggested.
Julie clapped once. “We need one more serving spoon.”
Before she could walk to the drawer, Grandma pulled one out of her handbag, which had all of us staring at her.
“What?” she asked. “You know I always come prepared.”
I filled Caldwell’s plate while conversation moved across the table in overlapping currents. Trevor explained online payment holds to Grandpa, who responded with a thumbs-up and no indication of whether he understood. Mason was describing his road trip route in great detail to anyone who would listen, while Jason was loudly correcting three inaccurate statements about martial arts made by nobody in particular. Byron asked Julie whether the concept of factory-made rolls being homemade could be defended philosophically.
Julie patiently answered every question thrown her way while making sure everyone ate.
My mother listened more than she spoke. She watched the room the way alphas did, aware of who had gone quiet, who needed redirecting, and which argument might become real if allowed to continue. Occasionally, her gaze landed on me.
I knew what she saw. The work. My exhaustion. The fact that I wouldn’t admit I was exhausted.
Halfway through dinner, she leaned toward me. “You’re taking tomorrow morning off.”
“I have to look at the Millstone documents. Karen said the hearing is Tuesday.”
“Today is Saturday.”
I huffed. “I know what day it is.”
“Do you?”
Julie hid a smile behind her glass.
I looked between them. “Was this planned?”
“No,” Mom said.
“Yes,” Julie said at the same time.
Mom frowned at her.
Julie shrugged. “This is healthy communication. We can tell you’re burnt out, so we’re giving you the nudge you need to take a break.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
Trevor leaned across the table. “I could handle Hudson’s responsibilities tomorrow.”
Everyone went silent.
Trevor looked around. “That reaction hurts my feelings.”
“You’re seventeen,” Mom said.
“Yes, but I’m a very responsible seventeen-year-old. I have organizational systems.”
“Does that organizational system include budgeting?” I asked with a gentle smile. “Besides, didn’t you lose your phone in the refrigerator last week?”
Trevor took a sip of water. “I found it, which shows resilience.”
I laughed, and Caldwell leaned harder against my side. Across the table, Julie caught my eye and smiled.
This was what I loved most about the pack. Not the responsibilities or the constant knowledge that any mistake I made could affect everyone. It was the ordinary clutter of being known. Someone always noticed whether you were tired, whether the scrape beneath your bandage was worse than you claimed.
Sure, it could be inconvenient at times, but it also gave you a sense of safety.
When the plates had been mostly cleared, Julie stood. “I tried a new dessert recipe.”
That had Grandpa Alfonse sitting straighter. “What kind?”
“Lemon cream cake.”
Mom glanced toward Julie’s dress. “Is that why you’re wearing yellow earrings?”
Julie touched one earring. “I believe in thematic commitment.”
She brought the cake out from the pantry and set it in the center of the table. It had three layers, pale frosting, and thin curls of lemon peel arranged on top.
Trevor pulled out his phone. “I need a picture.”
“You have thirty seconds before I cut it,” Julie said.
Every phone in the room began vibrating. Not one or two. All of them.
The table came alive with rattling, buzzing, and overlapping notification sounds. Caldwell covered his ears. Mom stood immediately, her posture changing before anyone had checked the screen.
My own phone vibrated in my pocket without pause.
“What happened?” Mason asked.
“Council alert?” Mom asked.
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