Chapter 17 Arthur Wren Stay in Bed All Day #4
Was this what it would feel like to actually, well, be a grown-up? And if not be one, at least act like that? She was never going to get her childhood back, she realized in this moment. But she could create a good one, a really good one, as the mom she never really had.
Bassinet done. It was a little plain, a little flimsy, but a quick double check of the reviews and safety ratings confirmed it was good enough for now.
The next thing she needed was a go bag. Of course, Arthur had packed his a while ago, and she had put it off. Was there anything more fitting than that?
“Let’s go look and see what we’ve got in the closet,” she said to the baby, hoisting herself up off the floor by the edges of a doorframe.
She shuffled around inside the master closet quietly until she found her old backpack from college.
Ratty, dusty, empty except for a few crumpled papers. It would do.
She began stuffing it like a pinata, haphazardly throwing in a pair of leggings, some underwear, a spare phone charger, a small reading lamp that was out of batteries, a first-aid kit (as if they wouldn’t already be at a hospital), a pack of gum.
She had no idea what she was doing. Yes, she could google it, but that was the answer to everything, wasn’t it?
Fucking google it, watch an influencer reel, read a thousand blog post checklists, skim a YouTube video.
She ached in that moment for someone to call who could tell her, show her how this was supposed to be done.
She’d figure it out in the morning. For tonight, Wren was running out of gas.
But there on the floor of the closet was…
something. A corner of the closet that had been converted into a graveyard of cough drop wrappers, loose change, and if you can believe it, even more outdated charging cables.
Buried beyond that was a small bin of her old paints.
It had been ages since she’d used them, and they were covered in dust bunnies.
More importantly, there was one more thing that caught her eye, buried among the rubble.
A small black velvet box that she hadn’t seen in years.
Wren didn’t need to open it; she knew what was in there.
But she did want to see it again. She grabbed it, flipped open the lid.
The ring was still there, shiny as ever. Hardly ever touched by human hands.
When Arthur had asked her years ago, this tiny thing had filled her with terror.
She knew that was not what an engagement was supposed to feel like.
It was funny that he’d brought up dying, and his funeral.
Because that’s exactly what had been so scary.
It was never that she wasn’t sure he was “the one,” whatever that meant, but she had learned early in her life that people sometimes disappeared, whether they wanted to or not.
That was not something she ever wanted to go through again.
She was always the Girl Whose Parents Died.
It followed her around like a brand for years, people walking on eggshells around her and treating her with kid gloves, for the most part.
A few cruel kids used it as bullying fodder, but they were easily dealt with.
(Step one: Apply one scoop of dirt taken from a fire ant hill to bully’s backpack.
Step two: Enjoy the show.) The large majority of everyone else looked at her like she was a fragile antique.
Better to keep their distance, just in case.
If Arthur got hit by a car or struck by lightning, she didn’t think she could live with being the Widow.
At least, if they weren’t married, she could disappear and start over in the event of the unthinkable, take on an alter ego.
Maybe become an international assassin, an exotic escort, or a mysterious railroad tycoon.
Keeping just that little bit of distance felt like a way to keep herself safe. And, until recently, she’d been doing it with the baby, too. Too scared to decorate, to give it a name, to get attached. The baby deserved better. And so did Arthur.
But back then, she’d felt she had no choice but to do the hardest thing she had ever done—she’d said no. She did love him, and she’d told him that, reminded him endlessly, and they’d worked through it. He never asked again.
But he did keep the ring.
Looking at it now, the teeny-tiny diamonds that Arthur had been able to afford at the time somehow still sparkling, Wren felt completely different about it.
It was so cute, like a little bike with tassels and training wheels.
Adorable. The kind of thing broke young kids who have nothing in their bank accounts but all the love and passion in the world buy.
When she looked at it now she saw their family growing, their skin getting wrinkly, dull days full of laughter, hard days full of tears.
She didn’t want to put it back in its dark place.
So she closed the lid, put the box in her go bag instead, and shut off the closet light.