Weekends were often used for pack business and pack bonding. We didn’t have a meet every Saturday, but this week we’d been called to our country lodge two hours outside town. I parked my beater beside Nick’s minivan, because looking at that Mom-mobile gave me glee. Nick had ridden a Harley, back in the day, dressed in biker leathers with his long hair pulled into a ratty ponytail. The evolution of rough and tough Nick into Nick the Doting Family Man had been a fast one from the day he met his wife. Love and family looked good on him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t give him a hard time about the van.
As Second, he stood by the door watching the pack come inside. I murmured, “Your babywagon looks dirty. Don’t you wash it in the driveway every week like a good little househusband?” as I passed.
He stuck out a foot, trying to trip me, which I dodged. “I can make you wash it for me,Fifth,” he reminded me with no real menace.
I laughed. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“I say find some food and get your ass into the meeting room.”
Since that was exactly what I was planning to do, I waved behind my back and headed to the great room. Some meets, the whole families showed up, and we brought a lavish spread, turning a get-together into a party. This time, the tables along the wall were laden with takeout. We had a bunch of boring pack business to get through, wolves only, though some of the wives were agitating to change that. We men could cook for ourselves, of course. Some of the guys were even great at it, although I wasn’t. But greasy takeout on pack-only days was a longstanding tradition.
I filled a plate with burgers, fries, and pizza and found a place along the wall where I could sit in a high-backed chair and focus on the food. My pack was mid-sized at seventeen. Of those, two were elders who no longer fought for rank, and one was Charlie, just turned eighteen and not in the least eager to Challenge anyone. Charlie was a good kid but soft as a werewolf could ever be. Even in our now-more-image-conscious pack, he was going to stay at the bottom of the ranks till he was ninety.
My packmates gradually filled the room, chatting and jostling, friendship and food mixed with the little bits of push and posture that happened when bored wolves hung out together. Whoever our ancestors or creators were, they’d made us far more driven by rank and status than any wolf or human ever was. Each of us knew exactly where the rest stood, in fixed array from Alpha down to Charlie at Fifteenth, and the two elders. Each of us recognized the wolf above us, whom we’d have to fight if we wanted more power, and the one below who might be gunning for us.
Fights and changes of rank were rare in a settled pack like ours. Unless someone left or we gained a new member, there was little to unbalance the status quo. But occasionally, a young wolf was feeling his oats or an older one was impatient, and there’d be a Challenge. Periodically, a sense of uneasiness seemed to affect the pack, and people got snappy. The last true upheaval happened seven years back when Joe moved from Second to elder. Nick, who’d been Fourth, had challenged our Third, Elijah, for that open Second spot.
When the fur was done flying and we’d mopped the blood off the floor, Elijah had shown his belly, to the relief of many of us, and Nick was Second.
I wasn’t sure why the pack felt unsettled again now. Not as bad as when we’d been watching Joe, knowing his retirement was coming, but something was afoot. Maybe just the restlessness of a boring fall, though.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out.
Kendrick.~Larissa drew a picture of you saving her and chasing away the boys.
The next text was a photo of a child’s drawing with a big black amorphous creature grabbing one human figure in its jaws while another ran away, a speech bubble above its head saying, “Ahhhhhh!”
~I didn’t bite anyone,I texted back.
~Artistic license. You okay? You didn’t text me last night.
I didn’t want to tell him I’d been too uncertain of what to say, whether to even contact him at all. I’d stayed awake long into the night wondering if I wanted to shake up my life. Because Kendrick felt like an earthquake in the making. Turned out, one text from him and I was caving, just as I feared.~Stayed in fur. Makes typing difficult.That was true, if not the whole truth.
~Of course. I’m being a worrywart. Side effect of single-dadding.
~I don’t mind.I’d sent that before I realized how true that was. It’d been a long time since anyone had worried about me. Mom died when I was nineteen, and my father, heartbroken at the loss of his true mate, had left the pack and the home they’d made together to travel overseas. Fifteen years ago, he’d pledged to an Alpha in France and was now pack Tenth there. We called each other now and then. I knew he loved me, but it was a remote and pale version of love. Unless I missed contacts for a month or two, he’d never know anything was wrong.
Kendrick replied,~Good. Wouldn’t want to overstep.
~What are you doing right now?I wondered what his weekend was like. Childcare, no doubt, with Larissa out of school, but he couldn’t spend two days playing with his kid.
~I’m cleaning the downstairs bathroom. There’s all this black fur on the floor.
~Sorry.I’d never had to worry about that at someone else’s place before. Vacuuming was a fact of life.
~I’m teasing you. It took one run with the Swiffer. I’m actually looking up recipes to make boxed mac and cheese healthier. Sadly, they all sound kind of gross.
~I wish I could offer cooking skills, but I got none.
~When I started this single parent gig, I could barely boil water. Slow progress.
~That stew last night was great.
~Thank you. Although throwing chunks of things together in a pot isn’t haut cuisine.
~I’d eat it again anytime.I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but excitement fizzed like champagne in my veins, chatting with Kendrick.
~Yeah? Want to come over tonight? I promise something better than Kraft Dinner.
