CoffeeGuy789:I’m learning to get used to it.
Omega219:You didn’t grow up in a pack house?
CoffeeGuy789:No. Just me and my mom.
I wait a few seconds before sending anothermessage.
CoffeeGuy789:Did you grow up in a pack?
Omega219:I did. One dad. Two moms.
Omega219:I miss it.
CoffeeGuy789:Do you go home to visit?
The typing bubble pops up, then disappears. I hold my breath, willing her to answer.
Omega219:My parents passed. It’s just me.
I sit up straighter.
CoffeeGuy789:I’m sorry.
It feels inadequate.
Omega219:It was sudden. Car accident.
I grip the phone harder.
CoffeeGuy789:My mom, too.
CoffeeGuy789:Eight months ago.
Omega219:That sucks.
CoffeeGuy789:Yeah.
Omega219:Are you okay?
CoffeeGuy789:I’m fine.
It’s automatic.
Habit.
I decide to be honest.
CoffeeGuy789:Depends on the day, I guess.
Omega219:I get that.
Neither of us type for a few minutes. I assume she’s done with the conversation when a new message pops up.
Omega219:What made you sign up?
I stare at the screen.
Money. Replenishing my wiped out savings account. Two months without overtime.
