Hudson: I’m not a machine.
Sloane: You’re right. Machines usually come with manuals.
Hudson: I don’t need maintenance reminders.
Sloane: You ate most of a protein bar yesterday and considered the matter settled.
I couldn’t argue with that.
Hudson: You’d get bored after two days.
Sloane: Is that a challenge?
Hudson: Just a fair warning. My schedule is less than exciting.
Sloane: Fine. I’ll prove you wrong.
I smiled at the phone.
Hudson: Fine.
The first reminder arrived the following morning at eight fifteen.
Sloane: Drink water before coffee.
I had already made coffee, but I poured a glass of water and drank it before I washed it down with caffeine.
At eleven thirty, she sent: Sloane: Unclench your jaw.
I hadn’t known it was clenched until I read the message, but when I relaxed it, the relief was considerable.
Sloane: Lunch. Something containing more than one food group.
She’d attached a picture of a fairy sitting in front of an empty bowl.
YOU HAVE BEEN VISITED BY THE NUTRITION FAIRY. IGNORE HER AND YOUR HEAD WILL HURT.
I saved the image.
The next day, she reminded me to stretch after I mentioned hauling lumber. The day after that, she told me to step outside for five minutes and get some fresh air.
Hudson: I’m already outside.
Sloane: Are you fixing something?
I looked at the fence post in front of me.
Hudson: Maybe.
Sloane: Doesn’t count.
Hudson: The fresh air is the same.
Sloane: Not when you’re working on a project.
I put down the hammer and walked to the edge of the property. For five minutes, I stood under the trees and did nothing. It was uncomfortable until it wasn’t.
Hudson: That was nice.
Sloane sent a celebratory GIF of a cartoon cat wearing a party hat.
Sloane: See? It’s not the worst thing in the world to take a break from work.
Hudson: You’re right. I watched the ridge, the same one in my profile pic. Sometimes I shift on the ridge trail since it doesn’t get a lot of use. I enjoy the seclusion.
There was a long pause.
Sloane: I like seclusion, too, when I give myself a break from work.
Her check-ins continued, arriving with humor, little reminders woven into the messages. I began looking forward to them more than I should have. They meant she had thought of me. Sometimes early in the morning. Sometimes during her workday. Sometimes right before bed. Every notification carrying her name gave me a small lift before I even read the message.
Late at night, our conversations moved away from practical things.
She told me about the books she loved. She preferred stories where people built lives for themselves rather than discovering their futures had been destined.
I told her I liked woodworking because there were rules to it. Measurements. Grain direction. Pressure. Patience.
She sent me a photograph of a sketch she’d made while waiting for a client call. It showed a row of old storefronts, loose lines becoming windows, signs, flower boxes, and people moving along the sidewalk.
Hudson: You’re talented.
Sloane: It’s just a sketch.
Hudson: That doesn’t make it less good.
She didn’t answer immediately. Then: Sloane: Thank you.
The simplicity of the response made me wonder how often people complimented her work without immediately requesting changes.
There were pieces of herself she still kept protected. I understood that. Our conversations had grown personal without becoming complete, and perhaps that incompleteness made honesty easier. We didn’t have to look at each other while admitting things. We could pause. Think. Edit.
It made me want more.
I wanted to know what her laugh sounded like, not see an emoji. I wanted to see the expressions she made while arguing. I wanted to know whether she gestured with her hands, whether her hair was still red, and whether her green eyes were dramatic or subtle.
The only problem was, she still hadn’t responded to Grandma Ruth’s invitation about the reunion, and I didn’t know how to bring it up without pressuring her, because at this point, I didn’t think I’d be able to hide how badly I wanted her to come.
SLOANE
VIDEOS OR IT DOESN’T COUNT
One evening, my phone blew up with messages that landed rapid fire, such a steady stream that it sounded like I was getting a call instead of texts. At first, I assumed the group chat had erupted over something ordinary that everyone had chosen to describe in unnecessarily dramatic terms. That had happened before. A missing casserole dish had become a multigenerational betrayal. Grandpa Alfonse trimming a hedge without telling anyone resulted in fifteen messages about personal safety, property boundaries, and various questions over why he still had access to the large pruning shears.
This was different.
The notifications arrived too quickly for me to read them in real time, so I scrolled back to the first message while the new ones continued stacking beneath it.
Mason: WE HAVE A PROBLEM
Hilary: What happened?
Mason: Eli shifted at school
Karen: What do you mean, he shifted at school?
Mason: I mean he SHIFTED. AT SCHOOL.
Patty: OH NO
I sat straighter on my couch. There was that word again. Shifting.
They used it often enough that I’d mostly stopped noticing. Shifting schedules. Early shifts. Difficult shifts. People being advised not to shift too close to public roads. I had assumed it referred to work schedules, or some kind of elaborate family tradition.
Now a teenager had apparently shifted at school, and everyone had lost their minds.
Hilary: Did anyone see him?
Mason: Yes.
Karen: How many?
Mason: A lot.
Karen: “A lot” is not a number.
Mason: It was at the dance. There were kids everywhere.
Julie: Is Eli hurt?
Mason: No. He panicked afterward, but Coach Bennett got him into the equipment room.
Grandma Ruth: POOR BOY.
Karen: Poor boy? He exposed all of us!
Hudson: Stop. He’s thirteen, and it was his first shift. Blaming him isn’t useful.
My eyes snagged on Hudson’s name. He was already taking control of this situation.
Hilary: Hudson, where are you?
Hudson: Home. On the phone with Dana Wilkes. Her pack is one town over, and she has someone on the school board.
Mason: The kids were screaming. One of them threw a shoe at Eli.
Trevor: understandable
Karen: This is not funny.
Trevor: fear and comedy can coexist
Patty: What did Eli look like?
Mason: A wolf.
Patty: Duh. I meant size.
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