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𝘙𝘏𝘠𝘚 𝘔𝘖𝘖𝘙𝘌
I’VE NEVER SEEN SOMEONE AS focused as Wren. She takes in all the news about her mother like someone is telling her ice cream flavors. Totally blank.
We haven’t actually seen her mother-Margo. But we’ve heard just about everything that is wrong with her. The doctors said that she’d gone from bad to worse since yesterday night to this morning. Her airway is restricted but having surgery would cause more harm then good.
Just listening to this makes me uncomfortable, I don’t know how Wren is managing to keep it together. It’s her mother. And she’s acting like she’s a doctor talking about a patient she doesn’t know.
After a few more minutes of the doctor talking to Wren, she walks away. Wren turns to me with her mask on tight, but when she sees i’m the only one in the room, she lets her eyes fall.
“You don’t have to stay here. I know you have work to do and this is probably the last thing you want to be doing. I won’t cry if you leave.” She shrugs.
“I’ll stay.” I take a seat on one of the chairs and she follows.
It’s quiet, but oddly not awkward. There’s a tv playing faintly in the back and I pick up a magazine. Wren looks into space. I feel a weird tug inside my chest when I look at her.
“Do you want a coffee?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“I’ll go with you.” She stands up and we walk to the food area.
I order a black coffee and Wren orders a green tea with lemon. I almost smile at how perfect the drink order matches her.
She picks out a small bracelet at the gift shop and before she can pay for it, I add in two wrapped brownies, and hand over my card.
Wren’s eyes search my face as I take my things off the counter. She then slides the bracelet off the counter and places it in her fist.
We walk out of the gift shop and Wren takes my wrist in her free hand, and starts leading me to the elevators. “I’m just going to give her this bracelet and then we can leave.” She says; my arm still in her grip.
I slide my arm up so that I can intertwine our fingers. Wren looks at our hands before looking at me.
“If you do things like that, i’m going to start thinking you like me.” You have no idea.
I rub my thumb on her hand in response. She narrows her eyes at me. And then the elevator stops and opens. Surprising me, Wren doesn’t let me go as we walk to her mothers room.
We walk into a room and hear the beeps of machines, then the sound of heavy breathing. I see a woman, who’s wrinkled but otherwise young-looking; sleeping. She has the same hair color as Wren, but that’s it.
Wren walks over to her mother and lets go of my hand-not before I give it a squeeze. She looks strangely disassociated when she lifts her mother’s hand and slips the bracelet on her wrist.
It’s a simple gesture but I feel like it has a heavier meaning. One that i’m afraid to ask about. One that i’m afraid that if I do ask about, it’ll make me fall deeper and deeper.
Wren places her mother’s hand down and stares at the woman on the bed before rubbing her own nose-almost irritated-and turns back to me. Neutral.
She doesn’t wait for me when she walks to the exit. I look at the woman for a second longer, realizing that this is the woman who made Wren who she is now. This is what made Wren, Wren. And with all the faults to her, I have this woman to thank for Wren.
__________
The day at the hospital has gone extremely slow-but somehow also fast. I’ve picked up lunch for us, it was sandwiches, and i’ve listened to about five different doctors tell Wren that she should prepare to pull the plug.
One doctor was a lung specialist, the other was a neurologist-they’d seen that the blood clots were moving to her brain. The next was a doctor talking about the DNR. And the few others were talking about what to do next.
Wren had signed the DNR-like she was signing an autograph-and had told the doctors to just keep her mother comfortable since there wasn’t anything else they could do.
I felt for Wren. I did. I had a mother of my own. She was one of my favorite woman in the world. I couldn’t imagine going through this. I didn’t want to go through this. But if Wren’s mother was anything like my father-I could stomach it.
I check my watch: eight fifty-two p.m.
Wren’s scrolling on her phone, and i’m texting Maxon about the whole situation. I’ve never had to ‘comfort’ a woman before-well maybe Stella but that doesn’t count-and I have no idea what to do.
𝙢𝙖𝙭: 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧.
𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨
𝙥𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙨 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨
𝙢𝙚: 𝙞’𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙧.
𝙢𝙖𝙭: 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨
I roll my eyes at his text messages. I feel sorry for whoever he ends up with.
“Wren.” We both look up to the voice.
It’s a man and he’s holding flowers. They’re red roses. He has a card in his hands. I look at his shoes and his haircut-a bad one at that. I’d rather have no haircut-that I have now-compared to whatever is on his head. He’s wearing sunglasses in a hospital, and has on a soccer jersey.
“Yes?” Wren asks from beside me.
“These are for you.” He says and extends the roses.
“I’ll take the card, but I don’t like roses. You can keep them. Goodbye.” Her attention focuses on the card she took from the man. He looks confused for a second before turning around and walking the other way.
I turn to Wren and watch as she reads the card. Her eyes have a conflicted expression filling them. Her face is normal-except that her bottom lip is being tugged by her top lip.
“It’s from my brother.” She says quietly.
I thought he was in the Marines. Guess he’s back.
“That’s…nice.” I say as Wren meets my gaze. She nods. “Yeah, yeah it is.”
__________
I sip my third cup of coffee as Wren stares wide awake at the tv. It’s currently past midnight and we’re still at the hospital. The last update we got was three hours ago.
I can tell Wren doesn’t want to be here, I can see it in her eyes. I see it in the way she’s sitting straight up in the chair, or the way she’s gripping the card for dear life. But it all melts away when the doctor approaches us.
Wren stands up, and by the look on the doctors face I can tell this is the last update. I stand up behind Wren and place my hand gently on her back, rubbing up and down. She molds into my hand.
“Miss James.” The doctor starts. “We’re so sorry.” There’s a pause. “Your mother passed away about an hour ago.” The doctor clutches their clipboard.
A muscle in Wren’s back becomes relaxed. I keep a hold on her.
“Thank you for all you’ve done.” Wren’s voice is even; relaxed, professional.
The doctor nods sadly before turning around and walking away. Wren doesn’t look at me as we start walking back to the car. She doesn’t speak to me when we’re in the car.
I sit in the drivers seat and slightly slouch, I roll my shoulders back; alleviating the tension there. That’s when I notice Wren’s hand come up to her eye. It’s a split second action, but I catch it.
I look over at her and that feeling in my chest multiples a hundred times. I see a stray tear roll down her blank face. There’s a tug on my chest.
“Come here.” I motion toward my lap.
Wren flicks away the tear but still gently climbs onto my lap. Her body fits perfectly in mine. I wrap my arms around her and feel her sigh against my chest. My heart squeezes as she wraps her arms around me and starts talking.
“I don’t know why i’m crying.” She admits. “She was a terrible mother. Really, she was. She was the worst.” Is it bad that I don’t feel bad for Margo anymore?
“I know. I know.” I whisper gently and run my hand up and down her back.
“It’s just…” She sighs. “She was always getting into trouble and making me feel like I was the problem. She was so controlling and I didn’t know how to get out. I didn’t want to. That’s the thing. I was so stupid I didn’t want to because I thought that-“
“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I smooth out her hair and she holds me tighter.
“Is it bad that I feel…better?” She asks into my chest. “Of course it does, that’s so wrong to feel that way about someone who’s dead.” I feel her shake her head.
“It’s not wrong.” I whisper into her ear. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve everything Wren.” It’s my turn to tighten my grip on her.
“Thank you.” She says. “For everything. The ride, the food, the coffee, the hug, you.” She burrows further into my chest, softly whispering.
“Just you.”
Just you.
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