Chapter 8 Wren #2
“It’s not revenge,” Edie says. “Wren recognized something in me you never did.”
His sneer returns. “So you spread your legs for her after three days?”
The sound of Edie’s slap echoes through the room, sharp and satisfying. Nick reels back, hand on his cheek, eyes wide with shock.
“You don’t get to shame me,” she says, her voice rattling like she’s finally found a way to control the pressure building up inside of her. “Not after the way you made me feel.”
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. “We’re leaving.”
“Wren, wait,” Mom pleads. “Please. It’s Christmas.”
“It’s Christmas, and you let him walk in here knowing what he’d do,” I say. “You always let him do it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth.” I look between them. Mom’s pinched face, Dad’s constant disappointment.
“Nick’s the golden child. Always has been.
And me? I’m the mistake you keep trying to fix.
” I shake my head. “Well, guess what? This mistake is happy. Finally. With someone who loves me for who I am, not who she wishes I’d become. ”
Nick scoffs, his cheek already pink from Edie’s hand. “She loves you? After three days?”
I turn to Edie. She’s looking up at me, full of adoration and the kind of quiet contemplation that could power me for the next year.
“Yes,” she says. “I do.”
Here we are again. The smell of my mom’s cinnamon rolls and the Christmas tree feels too sweet. Like, cloyingly sweet. My heart stumbles, finding its rhythm in her voice.
“Edie…”
She squeezes my hand tighter. “I love you, Wren.” The words land like a heavy Christmas stocking falling off the holiday mantle.
“Maybe it’s too fast, maybe it’s insane…
but I’ve been falling for you since the moment you handed me that Christmas tree and treated me like I was there. And you liked me just the way I was.”
“This is ridiculous,” Nick mutters.
“No,” I say, pulling Edie close until her head rests against my shoulder.
“This is inconvenient to you. That’s what you can’t stand.
” I snort. “Two people in your life finally getting what they want… and it might make you look bad… I’m telling you right now, Nick, I don’t give a shit if this ruins your stupid political ambitions. You’re in Oregon. Deal with it.”
I look to my parents, something shifting inside me.
All of the defiance I’ve been carrying my whole post-pubescent life has mutated into exhaustion these past few years.
I was able to ignore it because I moved out and started a business that mattered to me, but…
this is it. We can’t move on as a family until all of this is settled, and they accept Edie as my girlfriend.
“I can’t apologize for taking what’s mine.
For finally claiming the woman who should’ve been by my side all along.
But I am sorry for the timing. For the chaos. ” I sigh. “I know it’s Christmas.”
Dad gets up. “If you hurt her…if you break her heart or treat her badly…”
“You’ll all kill me,” I finish for him. “But I won’t.
If you’ve ever learned anything about me, Dad, you know that I say what I mean.
I don’t go after anything—or anyone—that isn’t important to me.
I love this family, despite our differences over the years.
Yes, Nick, I even love you, even though that’s like the worst thing I could do.
” Don’t look at me. My voice is slipping into a vocal fry as I address the man with whom I shared a womb almost three decades ago.
“I don’t believe in crap like blood being thicker than water, dude, but we also can’t choose our family.
I’m stuck with you like you’re stuck with me.
” I look back at our dad. “I swear, as long as Nick doesn’t throw another pretty boy fit after this, we’ll all get along just fine. ”
He studies me for a long moment, his expression softening in a way I haven’t seen in years. Then he glances at Mom, something from their past, something only they understand from a time long before their stupid twins were born, understand.
“I suppose,” Dad says, “we should set two more places for Christmas dinner tonight.”
“What?” Nick cracks. “You’re accepting this?”
“I’m accepting that your sister’s happy,” Mom says.
“That Edie—who is a long-term family friend, may I add—seems happy. And that sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. Love doesn’t always come wrapped in a neat bow.
” She giggles, amusing herself with her own wit. Yes, Mom, we get it. Christmas joke.
“This isn’t love!”
“Yes, it is,” Mom interrupts, sharp enough to make her baby boy flinch. “Look at them, Nicholas. Really look. When did you ever look at Edie like that?”
Nick opens his mouth, but no words come out.
“You didn’t love her,” Mom continues, and even I’m shocked to see her talk to Nick like this. Normally, this is how she talks to me when I’m in trouble! “You loved the idea of her. The version that made you look good. But Wren loves her. The actual girl we all knew!”
He shakes his head. “After three days…”
“After growing up together,” Mom says, her gaze turning on him like a spotlight.
“A lifetime of wanting what she couldn’t have.
Of watching you chip away at someone’s soul.
I kept thinking Edie was just settling down, becoming more refined…
” She shakes her head. “But she wasn’t. She was disappearing. ”
“Mom—”
“And you let it happen,” she says. “You encouraged it.”
The room is closing in on us, and even I’m shocked at how open my mother is right now. For once, Nick doesn’t have a defense.
“While Wren stayed away,” Mom goes on, “respected boundaries even when it was killing her.” She turns to me, nodding. “That must have been torture.”
“It was,” I admit. “Every damn day.”
Mom moves closer, stopping in front of Edie. “I owe you an apology. I saw what was happening and said nothing. I told myself it wasn’t my place.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mrs. Hall.”
“It was my silence.” She reaches out, brushing a stray curl from Edie’s face. “Welcome to the family. Properly this time. As yourself, not as anyone’s accessory.”
Nick exhales through his nose, but it’s so damn loud we all turn toward him. In the end, we always give him the attention he wants. “This is insane.”
“No,” Dad says. “What’s insane is trying to own people instead of loving them.” He looks at Nick with something like grief. “You should go.”
“It’s Christmas—”
“And you’re not welcome if you can’t be civil.” Dad’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Your sister’s found happiness. Either accept that or leave.”
Nick looks between us all, his expression slipping between anger and disbelief. “Fine. Choose her. But when this burns out in a week…”
“It won’t,” I say. “Because I know what I have.”
“Besides,” my mother interrupts, “so what if it does? I’d rather have my kids feel passion in their dang lives and make mistakes that way instead of curating a freakin’ experience for some silly career!”
He mutters something, grabs his coat, and storms out. The front door slams hard enough to shake the ornaments on the wreath hanging on the front.
For a long moment, no one speaks. Then, Mom sighs, tugging her apron straighter. “Well,” she says, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Who wants some eggnog?”
She heads into the kitchen before anyone can respond. When my mom decides it’s time for alcohol, by God, we’re drinking.
The rest of brunch feels… different. Still cautious, but lighter somehow.
Dad asks about my shop, really listens this time, and even nods when I mention expanding into custom restorations.
Mom and Edie talk about baking, swapping recipes, and laughing as they’ve done for years.
Only now there’s this recognition in my mom’s expression.
It’s like she no longer sees Edie as some high-schooler who has a hobby in baking, but a grown woman who will help carry on the family legacy one day.
Who knows? We might even inherit this house, you know?
The sound fills the room. We’re warm and united, almost enough to drown out the early afternoon wind outside.
When we finally stand to leave, Mom pulls me aside near the front door. The faint smell of her Christmas candy perfume takes me out for a second before my nose adjusts.
“She really loves you?” she asks.
“She really does.”
“And you love her?”
“More than I ever thought I could.”
She nods, lips pressed together and shoulders squared. “Then don’t fuck it up.”
“Language, Mom.”
Laughing, she says, “Sometimes the situation calls for some swearing. Remember what I always said when you were a potty-mouthed sailor in this house? You have to mean it. Save those swears for when they truly add to the meaning of your words.” She maintains her grin even after the laughter dies down.
“Be happy, Wren. That’s what every mother wants.
To see her children happy and thriving.”
“Even Nick?
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Oh, sweetie, yes. I want that for your brother, too. I worry about him.”
The way she references him hits me in the gut. Right. He’s still as young as me, isn’t he? “I guess he’s doing his best. The way he understands the most.”
“He’ll figure it out. But now you both are adults.
Your father and I can only do so much to guide you in the direction we think best now.
And, as time goes by…” Finally, her shoulders sag.
“It gets harder to know what’s best for your children.
Maybe you’ll understand one day. I hear Edie loves kids, being a kindergarten teacher and all. ”
Yes, I catch the giddy purse of my mom’s lips as she thinks about babies. “Maybe one day. I think Edie and I will just spend the next few years figuring that stuff out for ourselves.”
“Of course. Can’t ask for a little happy accident with two gals, now can we?”
“Mom. Accidents. Really?”
“What do you think you and your brother were? Do you think your father and I were planning on twins?”
“I’m the youngest, so that makes me the accident.”
“No, for all I know, you developed first, sweetie.”
“Is that how it even works?”
“Would you get a move on?” She hurries me out the door, shooing me against the butt. I’m totally caught off guard as her hand smacks my jeans and her hair swishes in the humid air once we’re outside. “Show Edie the best Christmas she’s had since she was a little girl!”
Outside, the coastal air is wet and salty, the kind of cold that seeps through your coat and makes you breathe deeper anyway, because nothing feels better than your lungs tasting that fresh air. Edie’s waiting by the truck, hands in her pockets, the December light catching the pink in her cheeks.
“That went better than expected,” she says as I open her door.
“You told them you love me.”
“I do.”
“After three days.”
“After years of pretending I wasn’t allowed to lust after you, Ms. Hall.” She catches my hand. “I love you, Wren. Deal with it.”
I grin, the words sticking somewhere between my heart and my head. “I love you, too. Have since that Christmas dinner when you escaped to the kitchen to actually talk to my mom instead of schmoozing with Nick’s colleagues.”
“That long?”
“That long.”
She smiles, and I know I just gave her the best holiday present. “Take me home.”
“Your apartment?”
“No. Home. Your place.”
“Our place,” I correct, warmth unfurling in my chest. “Definitely our place.”
As we drive back toward the coast, the bay glints silver under the pale winter sun. The town’s quiet, shop windows still dressed in lights from last night. For the first time, the gossip doesn’t bother me. Let them talk in their homes and the back of their cars on the way back from Grandma’s.
Because this—her hand on mine on top of the stick shift, laughter in her chest, the future wide and waiting for us—this isn’t just the beginning.
It’s the continuation of everything I’ve wanted since I was a kid.