I pulled out my phone. I’d received an invitation to join a new app. As soon as I clicked on the link, a notification banner crossed the screen.
You have been added to THE PACK.
Then another.
Grandma Ruth: HELLO FAMILY
Trevor: why are we here
Karen: What is this?
Mason: Did the old chat get compromised???
Grandpa Alfonse: The messages multiplied too quickly to follow.
“Is it a new group chat? I want to be added,” Jason said.
“No can do, buddy.” Julie ruffled his hair. “You know the group chat is only for ages fifteen and up.”
Jason crossed his arms. “But I’m fourteen and the son of the alpha. That should count for something.”
Mom smirked and pretended to look at her watch. “In eight months, when you turn fifteen, you can be added.”
I looked around the table. Everyone was staring at a screen except Grandpa, who was watching the cake.
A gray head appeared in the kitchen window. Grandma Ruth had apparently slipped outside without anyone noticing. She pressed her face close to the glass, grinning with open pride.
“I set up a new group chat on a new app,” she called through the window. “I thought with all the changes possibly happening with the development and wanting to make sure we’re being as safe as possible, it just made sense to move to a more secure app. This one’s supposed to be much safer than the old one.”
I stared at her, my jaw dropping open in shock. “You moved us all over to a new app by yourself?”
Grandma bristled behind the glass, her chin tilting up with fierce indignation. This was a woman who had survived ninety-three years of far greater challenges than an app store. “I’m old, not an idiot.”
My phone vibrated again.
Then again.
The chat continued flooding.
Hilary: Mom, why are you outside?
Grandma Ruth: I GET BETTER RECEPTION OUT IN THE OPEN.
Karen: Who approved this new platform?
Trevor: @Grandma, that’s not a thing
Patty: honestly iconic
Julie: Can we please just focus on the cake?
Grandpa Alfonse: Someone had changed the group icon to a blurry photograph of Grandma holding a wooden spoon. Someone else renamed Trevor
Unpaid Debts Department. Three people began arguing about whether the previous chat had been unsafe. Aunt Karen demanded administrator access.
I lowered my phone.
Through the window, Grandma Ruth was still smiling.
Beside me, Julie cut into the lemon cake as though nothing unusual had happened.
I looked down at the dozens of notifications filling the screen and wondered whether my grandmother and I had ever shared the same definition of fun.
SLOANE
GRANDMA, THIS APP HAS LIKE SEVENTEEN BUTTONS
My phone continued vibrating long enough that I briefly wondered whether I’d accidentally subscribed to emergency weather alerts for every county in the continental United States.
I unlocked the screen to find one hundred and twelve unread messages in a messaging app I sometimes used with my clients. The number climbed to one hundred and thirteen while I watched.
At the top of the screen sat the culprit.
THE PACK
I frowned.
The icon was a blurry photograph of an elderly woman holding what looked suspiciously like a wooden spoon. Below it was a sentence I’d definitely never seen before.
Grandma Ruth added you.
“Who?”
I stared for another moment, waiting for my brain to connect this situation to something that made sense.
Nothing came.
I didn’t recognize the chat name. I didn’t recognize any of the people in it. And unless I’d developed a second family without noticing, I was fairly certain I didn’t belong.
My thumb immediately hovered over
Leave Conversation.
Before I could press it, my laptop chimed. The calendar notification flashed across my phone screen.
Video Meeting Starting Now
I blinked.
The meeting wasn’t supposed to start yet.
Then I remembered one of my clients had emailed that morning asking whether we could “hop on a few minutes early if inspiration struck.”
Apparently, inspiration had struck.
Of course it had.
Sighing, I put my phone down and clicked
Join Meeting.
The client’s camera came on immediately.
“Hi, Sloane! Thanks again for doing this on a Saturday.”
“No problem.”
That wasn’t entirely true. I tried not to work weekends. Freelancing had taught me that if I didn’t draw boundaries, clients would think I was available twenty-four hours a day and begin scheduling branding consultations during dental appointments.
Still…
Sometimes accommodating people meant they came back. Returning clients paid rent. And rent, unfortunately, remained one of my least favorite recurring expenses.
“So,” the client said, sharing her screen, “I was thinking about the logo…”
My phone buzzed again and again.
I ignored it.
“I just wonder if maybe we could make it feel more sophisticated but also more whimsical.”
Buzz.
“More premium.”
Buzz.
“Less expensive.”
Buzz.
“Maybe add another color? Magenta, perhaps?”
My gaze drifted toward the phone. The screen lit up every few seconds.
Eventually, I put it on silent and tucked it under a notebook. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Mostly.
“What do you think?”
I smiled professionally. “We can absolutely explore some options.”
The meeting went on for forty-two minutes. By the time we finished discussing fonts that looked “approachable but aspirational,” my brain had packed a suitcase and left.
I closed the call, stretched my shoulders, and grabbed my phone.
Right. Leave the weird family chat.
I opened it and read the latest messages.
Trevor: grandma this app has like seventeen buttons
Grandma Ruth: THEN DON’T PUSH THE WRONG ONES.
I smiled despite myself and began scrolling.
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