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I’d gone from speaking almost exclusively to clients and occasionally my parents to managing three separate streams of regular human interaction. Some days, the notifications overwhelmed me, and I muted everything for an hour or two. Nobody punished me for disappearing. When I returned, the conversation continued without anyone demanding an explanation.

The chat was almost always open on my phone. I ate dinner while reading arguments about whether Grandpa Alfonse should be allowed to use a leaf blower without supervision. I took my phone into the kitchen while baking another batch of cupcakes and sent a picture when Julie asked what everyone was making for dinner.

Julie: Those are lovely.

Trevor: mail me one

Sloane: I don’t think frosting travels well.

Trevor: cowardice

Hudson: Ignore him. They look great.

The compliment made me stare at the tray longer than necessary.

It had been less than two weeks. I knew that rationally, this wasn’t the real connection I felt like it was. Every time warmth spread through me while reading the chat, another part of my brain whispered the truth: They didn’t know me. They knew Loany.

They knew the woman who’d traveled through New Mexico, once had red hair, hated tomatoes, and had a tattoo of a pinecone.

This lie was becoming too large to keep pretending it was a misunderstanding. Sooner or later, the real Loany would return. Sooner or later, somebody would want to video call.

I considered confessing to Patty twice. I nearly told Hudson once. But each time, someone sent another message, and the fear of losing them outweighed the guilt of remaining.

Then, on the second Thursday evening, Grandma Ruth posted a large image into the main chat. It was an invitation decorated with trees, mountains, and several wolf silhouettes.

SEASONAL BLACKWELL PACK REUNION

The date was six weeks away.

Grandma Ruth: I KNOW IT’S STILL A WAYS OFF, BUT PLEASE, EVERYONE, RSVP SOON IF POSSIBLE. PUT DOWN WHAT DISH YOU’RE BRINGING AND HOW MANY BEDS YOU HAVE AVAILABLE FOR VISITORS.

Julie: We have the guest room and two air mattresses.

Mason: I’m bringing pasta salad and my girlfriend.

Karen: Who authorized him to bring a non-family member?

Mason: me

Trevor: I have floor in my bedroom

Byron: Everyone has floor.

Trevor: mine is premium

Patty: I’ll bring brownies and can take one person if they don’t mind sleeping under a mural of a crying moon.

People who rarely participated in the chat began appearing. College students. Cousins who had married into other packs. Names I’d only seen once or twice. Several lived hours away and were arranging rides. Others were discussing who would arrive early enough to help set up.

Grandma Ruth: REMEMBER, THIS IS A VERY LONG OVERDUE PACK REUNION, NOT THE MONTHLY BIRTHDAY DINNER. WE HAVE FAMILY AND FORMER PACK MEMBERS COMING FROM OTHER AREAS, SO ANSWER THE BED QUESTION SERIOUSLY.

Grandma Ruth: SLOANE, YOU’RE COMING, AREN’T YOU?

The typing bubble appeared beside Hudson’s name. It vanished just as fast, then returned.

Hudson: It would be good to see you.

My stomach flipped.