Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
WREN
I lever up in bed in my dark room when I awake, after finally getting a solid night’s sleep. I grab my phone to check my notifications and see that I’ve got two emails from Ellis in my inbox. One that was sent right at 7:00 the night before, like he scheduled it in advance because he knew we’d be at dinner. Then one from a little after midnight. I open up the earlier one first.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Journal
(I tried to write this the way you did where I wrote about you distantly, but my brain got tongue-tied (lobe-tied? Sounds gross). Anyway, it’s me responding to what you already wrote so I hope this is okay for me to do it like this and write TO you.)
Wren,
We just got back to the hotel after a long, fun morning at the aquarium, and I want to start by saying thank you for graciously allowing this old man to take a nap. I’m not going to be able to reply to your journal line for line in the same lovely, thoughtful way that you have, but I figure if I let my thoughts unspool, something coherent will come together.
I would like to start by defending my first compliment to you. Your eyes do remind me of a cow’s. They’re big and dark and hypnotic. They’re lined with pretty eyelashes and have irises that seem to take up most of the room. They’re the kind of eyes you can get lost in and the kind you want to tell your secrets to because you know they’ll stay safely hidden.
I think when it came to you and me later on, you were always so in tune with my thoughts that I took it for granted. I started forgetting to share them out loud. Sometimes I’m just lost in my own head, Wren, and I forget to tell you that I love the little lines that bracket your mouth. They were on full display yesterday when we rode roller coasters and when you won at those overpriced, rigged carnival games, then again this morning when you watched the otters play. I love that dimple under the corner of your bottom lip that pops up when you pout or when you concentrate. I’ve noticed that your hair is lighter over the last few months. I need to remember to remark on that later. Shit, I’ll probably forget. Did you do something different, though? Is it my imagination? I will do my best to get better at compliments.
As far as vows go, I plan to apologize tonight, but I’ll say it here again. The point should have been to compromise. I could have written them. Put them on paper for you to read. Given myself time to get my thoughts out right. Even if I couldn’t speak them in front of others, I could have tried to give you something you wanted while still honoring myself.
Reading your journal and being in your mind made me feel all sorts of things, but mostly awe. We all talk about Sage seeing what people need and her empathy, but it’s clear to me that you’ve always been the same, Wren. You’re indomitable in every way when it comes to the people you love. I’m grateful you saw me. Thank you. I think your friendship made it so I could look back on my childhood and not only remember Mom dying or Dad’s flakiness and that constant instability. We talk a lot in therapy about my parents, and it probably sounds a little stupid when I say that I wasn’t expecting to, but the truth is, I wasn’t. I expected to learn how to fix me, not why I am how I am. I’ve always been scared to talk about the things I resented because they were still good parents and good people. It used to feel like I was only remembering them in a negative light if I did that, but I’m learning how to hold space for more than one feeling.
There’s something you and I have never talked about when it comes to them, too. Actually, there are a lot of things you and I never talked about. I think it’s strange when people act like there’s no room for secrets or keeping any thing (excluding nefarious shit) in a marriage. I’ve known you my whole damn life, and you still surprise me.
Anyway, back to my story…
I know I never talked to you about all the details behind the fire in our first barn over at our old house (Sage’s), and how it was started. It always seemed irrelevant. You already know that it was caused by a propane buddy heater that got tipped over—probably by some sort of mouse or a feral cat. What you don’t know is that my dad had an old TV with rabbit ears and he would take that old propane heater out to the barn to watch that TV in peace and quiet. Didn’t matter that we had a much nicer TV inside the house where the rest of us were, he wanted to be by himself and wanted his peace. I don’t fault him for that, but… Wren, I can’t tell you how many times my mom nagged him about not falling asleep out there and not leaving that buddy heater in the barn when he would come back. It was almost every time . When she was alive, he’d amble back and grab it, but later on, he’d just turn it off and leave it to save himself the load. I couldn’t understand why someone would forget something they were reminded of so consistently. It was like that for a lot of things. Practice and game schedules and anything that required adhering to a schedule, neither of them prioritized. I know that they were unusually good at living in the moment, and maybe because they came home and started having kids later in life, they’d already adopted that policy on not sweating the small stuff, or something. Not even small stuff , exactly, because they were good at making mundane things feel special, but more like the responsibilities of life. And if they wouldn’t sweat that, who would, I guess? I got tired of being late all the time, or feeling like something or someone was being forgotten. That feeling when you’re leaving for a trip and can’t remember if something was left on or unlocked, or if Macaulay Culkin was still in the attic? I felt like that all the time growing up. I think their lackadaisical approach to life only amped up my need for order.
Part of me thinks that’s why Dad tried for so long to put out the fire himself. Why he inhaled so much smoke and gave himself a heart attack. I still don’t know how I feel about that. Embarrassed that he might have been embarrassed? Mad that he couldn’t just be responsible in the first place, especially since he’d been reminded so many times?
For all that I prioritized regular life responsibilities, structure, and plans, I have realized over the years how little room I left to make other plans, simply for fun. I recognize how that stuff fell onto you by default, and I’m sorry.
I really don’t want to end this there and want to talk about some brighter things. Because, Wren, I really do feel brighter than I have in years. The last two days felt like they lasted a century in the best way, and this trip isn’t even halfway over. I’m not a writer, though, and don’t know how to make a smooth transition here. (Hold for awkward pause??)
I don’t remember the first time we met, but my memories started to get stronger right around eleven. I know we’ve briefly touched on this before, but you were the inspiration for so many of my first inconvenient, ill-timed, and very accidental boners. I remember feeling fucking alarmed by how out of control I felt, frankly. I think that’s why it took me so long to let myself own my real feelings for you when we were sixteen and seventeen. I’d always thought of myself as some perverted, untrustworthy creature who hardly deserved to be your friend, let alone more.
I remember when your voice changed for me, too, when the way you said my name felt like a hook under my ribs. When we got together and would make out between classes and I was sure that happiness was stuck in my teeth for everyone to see.
I can’t wait to see you tonight. I’m going to try to nap now, and then if there’s time to kill, I’m going to head down to the pool on the off chance that you’ll be down there, too, and I’ll get to leer at you in your bikini.
I can’t wait to see you.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank you
Thank you for kissing me tonight.
After a very dignified squeal into my pillow, I flick on the lamp and pack up my things, excited for the next leg of our journey.