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Sloane: Hudson.

I laughed softly as I typed.

Hudson: I had coffee.

Sloane: I’m choosing to believe that wasn’t your real answer.

Before I could defend myself, the door to the hall opened, and Julie stepped out, carrying a paper plate full of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, watermelon, and a biscuit.

“I assumed,” she called, “that if I didn’t physically hand this to you, you’d think lunch was optional.”

I snapped a picture.

Hudson: Saved by Julie.

Sloane: Julie deserves an award.

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.