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The last reminder had become my favorite. She never explained it. But every few days, she sent it. Sometimes with a meme. Sometimes with a joke. Sometimes with absolutely nothing else.

Remember to laugh today.

It sounded simple. It wasn’t. Somehow, she’d come to suspect I wasn’t doing it as often as I should. I hadn’t even noticed myself.

It was odd, how I’d started to feel like I no longer carried every piece of responsibility alone. Problems still came my way, and I wasn’t technically sharing the responsibility. She couldn’t fix a broken fence from wherever she was. She couldn’t negotiate with the council or calm frightened teens after difficult first shifts. But she had found a way to remind me that I existed underneath all the responsibility.

It made my days feel lighter. Not easier. Just less lonely.

“Earth to Hudson.” Jason snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You’ve been zoned out, smiling at your phone.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.” He leaned sideways, trying to see the screen. “Sloane?”

I locked it. “No.”

“So definitely Sloane.”

“I was answering a message.”

Jason crossed his arms and smirked. “You smile like that for exactly three reasons.”

“Oh?”

“Mom’s cinnamon rolls. Grandma winning arguments. A text from Sloane.”

I shoved my phone into my back pocket. “I smile for other reasons.”

“Give me one.”

I frowned as I thought about it.

“Told you so,” Jason said.

I shoved him lightly. “Go help Mason with the volleyball net.”

Jason rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “He doesn’t need help.”

“Do it anyway.”

“You abuse your authority, big brother.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have any authority.”

He laughed. “Sure.”

The afternoon continued in organized chaos. People raced around, trying to get everything done. Someone forgot serving utensils. A cooler sprang a leak. One of the string lights refused to cooperate until Caldwell unplugged the entire strand, reversed two connections, and solved the problem without telling anyone how.

By sunset, everything was ready for the next day. Warm lights stretched across the lawn. Long tables stood beneath the pavilion. Children were playing on the swings. Smoke drifted lazily from the barbecue pits. Laughter carried through the open windows where Julie and the others finished tomorrow’s desserts. Even though each person planned on bringing a dish, Mom always insisted that the pack provide the bulk of the food.

I stood on the top step of the porch and took it all in.

My phone buzzed.

Sloane: Well, did you survive?

Hudson: Barely.