Hudson: Agreed.
I sat on the porch steps while everyone else moved around me. Mom directed volunteers arranging tables. Jason and Mason argued over which side of the lawn the volleyball net belonged on. Grandma Ruth supervised three people carrying coolers despite carrying absolutely nothing herself. Julie came outside again to refill someone’s tea before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Life continued around me. For five uninterrupted minutes, none of it required me. I looked down at my phone.
Hudson: Happy?
Sloane: Delighted.
A pause.
Sloane: Eat the potatoes too.
I ate the potatoes.
The weeks leading up to the reunion had been a flurry of preparation. Between work, family responsibilities, council business, arguing with board members about the wildlife corridor expansion, and helping organize tomorrow’s event, most evenings ended with me falling asleep halfway through whatever book I’d convinced myself I was going to read.
Sloane had also been busy. One new client had turned into three. Then five. She apologized more than she needed to for taking longer to answer a text.
At one point, nearly a week passed where our conversations shrank from hours to scattered messages. I’d told myself not to read into it. People got busy. Adults had jobs. Life happened.
Still…
I’d started to wonder whether the novelty had worn off. Maybe she’d decided our conversations had simply run their course. Maybe she’d realized I talked too much about jumper cables and not enough about literally anything interesting.
Then, one morning, my phone vibrated.
Sloane: This is your daily reminder that your spine is not a decorative ornament. It requires basic maintenance.
Attached was a picture of a cartoon wolf attempting yoga.
Everything had gone back to normal after that.
Normal.
Was it strange to call the daily conversations with a woman I’d never met normal? Of course. Yet somewhere along the way, she’d become woven throughout every day.
Water before coffee.
Stretch. Lunch. Take ten minutes outside. How’s your headache? What chapter are you on in your book? Did Byron survive algebra today? Don’t forget your meeting. Remember to laugh today.
The last reminder had become my favorite. She never explained it. But every few days, she sent it. Sometimes with a meme. Sometimes with a joke. Sometimes with absolutely nothing else.
Remember to laugh today.
It sounded simple. It wasn’t. Somehow, she’d come to suspect I wasn’t doing it as often as I should. I hadn’t even noticed myself.
It was odd, how I’d started to feel like I no longer carried every piece of responsibility alone. Problems still came my way, and I wasn’t technically sharing the responsibility. She couldn’t fix a broken fence from wherever she was. She couldn’t negotiate with the council or calm frightened teens after difficult first shifts. But she had found a way to remind me that I existed underneath all the responsibility.
It made my days feel lighter. Not easier. Just less lonely.
“Earth to Hudson.” Jason snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You’ve been zoned out, smiling at your phone.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.” He leaned sideways, trying to see the screen. “Sloane?”
I locked it. “No.”
“So definitely Sloane.”
“I was answering a message.”
Jason crossed his arms and smirked. “You smile like that for exactly three reasons.”
“Oh?”
“Mom’s cinnamon rolls. Grandma winning arguments. A text from Sloane.”
I shoved my phone into my back pocket. “I smile for other reasons.”
“Give me one.”
I frowned as I thought about it.
“Told you so,” Jason said.
I shoved him lightly. “Go help Mason with the volleyball net.”
Jason rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “He doesn’t need help.”
“Do it anyway.”
“You abuse your authority, big brother.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have any authority.”
He laughed. “Sure.”
The afternoon continued in organized chaos. People raced around, trying to get everything done. Someone forgot serving utensils. A cooler sprang a leak. One of the string lights refused to cooperate until Caldwell unplugged the entire strand, reversed two connections, and solved the problem without telling anyone how.
By sunset, everything was ready for the next day. Warm lights stretched across the lawn. Long tables stood beneath the pavilion. Children were playing on the swings. Smoke drifted lazily from the barbecue pits. Laughter carried through the open windows where Julie and the others finished tomorrow’s desserts. Even though each person planned on bringing a dish, Mom always insisted that the pack provide the bulk of the food.
I stood on the top step of the porch and took it all in.
My phone buzzed.
Sloane: Well, did you survive?
Hudson: Barely.
Sloane: That’s encouraging, considering tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.
Hudson: Tomorrow is Future Hudson’s problem.
Sloane: I’m sure Future Hudson would like Present Hudson to stop volunteering him for things.
Hudson: He’ll manage.
A few minutes passed.
Sloane: Nervous?
I knew exactly what she meant.
Meeting.
Tomorrow.
Us.
I stared at the blinking cursor longer than I intended.
Hudson: A little.
Sloane: Me too.
Her admission was oddly reassuring. I wasn’t the only one wondering if reality could possibly compete with weeks of conversations. Our friendship existed in a space that had been untouched by everyone else. The pack knew we talked, but they didn’t know what we talked about. The private messages belonged only to us.
In our text thread, there were no responsibilities or expectations.
No emergencies.
Just us.
What if tomorrow changed that? What if we met and there was no spark? What if she thought I was boring? Too responsible. Too wrapped up in everyone else’s problems.
I hoped that wouldn’t happen. More than hoped, if I was being honest.
The next morning arrived with enough activity to convince me the reunion had secretly started sometime before dawn. Cars rolled onto the property almost continuously, children racing across the lawn before their parents finished parking.
More coolers and casseroles appeared. I helped unload luggage and direct traffic. Found extra extension cords. Located two missing name tags. Explained to a confused delivery driver that yes, he was absolutely in the correct place despite the absence of commercial buildings.
Every few minutes my eyes drifted toward the gravel drive.
Silver SUV.
No.
Blue pickup.
No.
Minivan.
Definitely not.
“Sloane isn’t due until this afternoon,” Patty murmured beside me.
“I know.”
“You’ve checked the driveway seventeen times.”
“I haven’t.”
“I counted.” She grinned. “You like her.”
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