Chapter 4
Wren
It’s not a bad house. Two stories, a slanted roof, and a porch that could use new outdoor furniture.
Back when Dad was haler, he built a deck out back for barbecues that only occasionally happened outside of Father’s Day.
The siding could use a good power wash, and the baseboard heaters clank when the wind smacks against the house, but it’s home. Or it was.
Now it just feels… old.
“Wren, honey?” Mom’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “Still take sugar in your tea?”
I shrug off my boots, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “Yeah. Two spoons.”
She’s already pouring it when I step in. Heather Hall moves like someone who never stopped being a mother. Hair pulled back, glasses sliding down her nose, and still in her work clothes, though it’s well past dinner. She sets a mug in front of me and pats my arm before turning back to the sink.
“Thank you for coming tomorrow,” she says. “I know it means a lot to your brother.”
“Sure,” I say, taking a sip. The tea is strong and sweet. Only when the sugar fully dissolves do I recognize lavender Earl Grey. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Well, that’s a lie.
“Nick’s been so busy lately,” she continues, rinsing out a casserole dish. “All that travel for work. I swear, I hardly see him anymore. He said he might be up for that promotion next year. The firm’s really impressed with him.”
“Mm.”
“And Salem! Can you imagine? He’s already met people from the governor’s office—”
“Mom.”
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “What?”
“I don’t really want to talk about Nick’s career.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Her voice softens the way it always does when she’s trying to smooth something over. “He’s doing well for himself. You should be proud.”
I stare down into my tea. “Yeah. Sure.”
I can feel her wanting to say something else—something about how I should be doing more, or maybe about how she worries I’m wasting my potential fixing up bikes instead of people. But she doesn’t. Maybe she’s finally learned that lecture doesn’t land.
Instead, she sighs and changes the subject. “I told him Edie’s coming. I thought that was nice. You three used to be so close.”
My grip tightens on the mug. “Yeah,” I say carefully. “Real close.”
“Poor thing,” Mom continues, not noticing. “I felt terrible about how things ended with her. Such a sweet girl. Always helping at those school events. Heck, always helping out around here, no requests asked! I don’t know what happened.”
“Neither do I.”
But I know how it looked, from the outside. Perfect son, golden boy, pillar of the community—dumping his girlfriend because she was, what, too loud? Too curvy? Too much?
He always did care about appearances more than sense.
It’s like he stared at that ‘90s entertainment system and huffed some of that classic lemon cleaner for so long that he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I must have more than this.” I can practically hear it in his voice.
He saw how our parents peaked before we were born, with their large middle-class house that is now way behind the times, and stroked out.
“Anyway,” Mom says, wiping her hands. “I’m heading to bed. Try not to stay up too late tinkering on that phone. Big day tomorrow.” She leans over and kisses the top of my head before shuffling out of the kitchen.
The moment she’s gone, I attempt to enjoy the silence in this old, familiar kitchen where I still have dinner once or twice a week.
The house creaks like it’s alive. Water rushes through the pipes, which at least have been updated from copper, and wind rattles against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, a door opens.
Can I enjoy this silence a little while longer?
I didn’t mean to stay long. Honestly, I dropped by because I needed to hear Mom’s voice before I went to sleep tonight.
Maybe bring up Edie, if I thought she could handle it.
Out of the whole family, my mom’s the one most accepting of who I’ve turned out to be. Dad’s oblivious, and Nick…
Well, Nick has descended from the guest room, because of course he came a day early to beat the holiday traffic from the valley. “You still drink that cheap tea?”
I don’t bother looking up. “You still a smug asshole?”
He laughs like a news anchor and steps into the doorway.
He’s wearing a crisp button-down and slacks like he’s on his way to a fundraiser, not standing in his mom’s kitchen at nine o’clock at night.
His hair’s slicked back, his tie loose, and his smile as white as a politician’s… well, you know. It’s Oregon, after all.
“Nice to see you too, sis.”
“Can’t say the same.”
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “You’re coming to dinner tomorrow?”
“Apparently.”
“Good. Mom likes that.”
“Don’t pretend you care what Mom likes.”
His eyes flicker, but he doesn’t take the bait. Damn. “You look good,” he says, instead. “Still working at the garage?”
“Still pretending you’re better than everyone?”
There it is—a crack in his polished composure. “Jesus, Wren. Can’t you go one night without being combative? ‘Tis the season of holiday cheer and goodwill toward men.”
“Can’t you go one night without being fake?”
Silence. Not the kind I was enjoying before my brother, who is only older than me by two minutes, polluted the kitchen where we used to play gin rummy every Friday night while our mom froze that night's casserole for the future.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I didn’t come down here to fight.”
“Then what did you come down for?”
“Tea.”
“Mom made some. Help yourself.”
He does, rummaging through the cabinet for a mug.
When he turns back, I can’t help noticing how he’s changed.
More lines around his mouth and more tension in his shoulders.
His voice even sounds different, like he’s been practicing in front of a mirror for an audition.
I miss when he made a dumb face before guffawing like a hyena from one of his equally dumb buddy’s jokes.
Can you believe this guy was the class clown our junior year at Marshfield High?
He’s lost whatever humanity he used to have.
“Mom said Edie’s coming tomorrow,” he says casually, stirring his tea.
“Yeah.”
“Thought she might not show.”
“Why? You dumped her, remember?”
He flinches, but covers it with a smirk. “We weren’t right for each other.”
“That right?”
“She’s a nice girl. But she’s not… what I need for my plans.”
I lean back in my chair. “And what do you need, Nick? Someone photogenic? Someone who won’t embarrass you when the papers start printing campaign photos?”
His jaw tightens. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, try me.”
He sets the spoon down. “It’s complicated, okay? I have a future to think about. A reputation. The people I work with pay attention to things like that. Who you’re seen with. What kind of life you lead.”
I guffaw, but it’s not because he’s funny. “So, you dumped a woman because she was too real for your imaginary campaign?”
“Because she wasn’t right for me,” he snaps.
“Right for your image, you mean.” I stand, too angry to sit still.
The kitchen feels smaller with him in it, and you know what?
I resent that. This place is small enough without his ego filling every cabinet and taking up every chair at the table.
“You know, you used to be decent. You used to actually like people. What the hell happened to you?”
“I grew up,” he says.
“No. You sold out.”
“Don’t lecture me about growing up. You’re a college dropout living above a garage.”
“At least I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
He laughs again, but there’s no mirth in any part of him. “You think being a mechanic makes you noble?”
“No. I think being a decent person does. Which is something you have forgotten.”
“Christ, you’re dramatic.”
“Maybe. But you know what’s more dramatic? Dumping the best woman you’ll ever meet because you think her hips won’t photograph well.”
“Watch it.”
I take a step closer, voice dropping. “You don’t scare me, Nick. You never have.”
Something flickers in his eyes. I mistake it for shame at first, but I should know better. There’s only ambition in those eyes now. Thank God he has Dad’s eyes, so I don’t have to share them with him! “You don’t know everything, Wren.”
“Then enlighten me.”
He doesn’t. Just takes his tea and turns toward the hallway.
I can’t stop myself. “She deserved better than you.”
He stops for a second, then keeps walking.
I stay where I am, trying to shake the heat crawling up my neck. The rain starts again outside. I barely realize that it had stopped for even a few minutes.
For a moment, I remember—Christmas when we were kids.
Edie sitting cross-legged by the tree, wrapping paper in her lap, her hair dangerously close to the fire.
Nick laughing, me pretending I didn’t notice how pretty she looked amid the Christmas lights.
She always had that open smile, the kind that made you want to be friends with her.
I should’ve said something. Now, I can’t stop thinking about the way she tasted today.
By the time I pull on my jacket, Mom’s already asleep upstairs.
I step out into the drizzle, breathing in the humid early winter air.
The walk to my place isn’t far. Just a brisk ten minutes down the road and a slight turn onto a barely-illuminated sidewalk that I know like the back of my hand.
By then, there’s enough traffic on Virginia Avenue that I can make out where I am, even when the rain is heavy or the fog is thick.
Like now. I let it pour on top of my head and drip off my slick rain jacket like I’ve got something to prove to everyone around me.
Look how tough I am. I don’t mind some bitter cold rain.
The lights of my garage glow before me, and the sight of it loosens something in my throat. Then again, that could be the rain dripping down my cheeks and threatening to clog my nostrils. Like I’m not used to it.
The studio above it is small but warm, cluttered with old records and half-finished projects.
I hang my jacket, kick off my boots, and sit on the edge of my bed, leaving a wet imprint on my comforter.
The sound of the rain on the roof is steady.
Now that I’m no longer out in it, I kinda like its tinkling sounds.
I should be thinking about Nick. About what tomorrow’s going to look like when Edie walks into that house and Mom’s pretending everything’s fine. But all I can think about is her.
Her breath on my neck. The way she said my name like she’s bottled it up inside for most of her life. The way she trembled when I touched her.
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the water. But it’s useless. Edie’s in my head now. Soon, she’ll join my bloodstream and officially become a part of me.
Part of me knows this is dangerous. That she’s off-limits. That I’m walking straight into something complicated.
But another part—the part that’s still burning from that kiss—doesn’t care.
I want her.
And tomorrow, when she walks through my childhood door, I’ll know if she wants me back.