Page 83 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“No, let me finish please,” Wren said, pacing the floor. “When Mom left and you were so sad, I was angry. I assumed it was something us kids had done that drove her away, and then I thought it was you. That she was so angry at you, she refused to come back. Then I went to meet her, and I realized that it was her. She didn’t want to be a wife and mother, but I couldn’t see that at the time. I thought that maybe if she had left you sooner, she would’ve been happy and she would’ve loved us still.” Wren sighed, her shoulders slumping with the release of her frustration. “It took me a long time to realize that she did what society said she was supposed to by getting married and having kids, and she was miserable. And instead of trying to find the joy in the life she had and continuing a relationship with her children, she left. But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, shooting her a wry smile. “Although I’m sure there are times in your childhood when you wished that I had.”

“No. As mad as I was at you at times, I never wanted you out of my life.” Wren hesitated, unsure if she wanted an honest answer to her next question. “Would you have called in charges if I hadn’t given Sam up?”

Her dad sighed, running his hands over his face. “I wanted to. You have no idea what it’s like to try and do everything you can to keep your kids safe and happy and on the right track. Then you find a pregnancy test in your kid’s bathroom, and it can only belong to your seventeen-year-old daughter.”

“I was technically sixteen.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me of that,” he said dryly. “I was a mess. I was running on anger and terror, and all I could think about was your future. I saw that eighteen-year-old as a man on a motorcycle with no prospects. I pictured you staying in Mistletoe, moving into some dump apartment because that’s all you guys could afford. I saw you repeating your mother’s life and being miserable because we got married too young and the passion faded. When real life settled in, we were not prepared for it, and that’s why we fell apart. I didn’t want that for you, and I thought that if I could scare him away, it would save you.”

“But what if there had been a baby and I chose to keep it?”

“I would’ve helped make sure you could still continue your education. The last thing I want to do is fail you, and sometimes that comes through as me trying to control you, but that’s just because I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to make mistakes, and I didn’t want that for any of you.”

“Dad,” Wren said, sitting next to him. “You didn’t fail anyone, but you have to let us make our own decisions. You can give us an opinion, but treating us like we’re still kids and calling us stupid doesn’t work. I’ve decided that having a child on my own at thirty-five, with a good job and a house, is what I want to do. That’s my decision, and you need to respect it and be the best grandfather you can.”

“Is that really what you’re going to do? Are you going to go to one of those clinics and pick a man out of a book?”

She laughed. “Did you see that on television?”

“Is that not how it’s done?” he asked innocently.

“There are other ways. They have at-home kits now, so if you have somebody who’s willing to donate, you can take care of it yourself.”

He put his hands on his forehead, massaging it. “Are you interviewing potential fathers for my unborn grandchild here in Mistletoe?”

She laughed. “No, although it was topic of conversation between me and Millie one night over a pint of ice cream.”

“God help me.”

Wren patted her dad’s shoulder. “I have a friend who offered to help. Now I’m worried that I may have made things weird between us.”

“Does this friend drive a motorcycle and bring back PTSD to your father?” he grumbled.

Wren laughed. “Most definitely.”

Her father grunted. “Well, maybe some artistic ability will rub off on the kid.”

“Dad!” She laughed. “It hasn’t happened yet, and now that all this other stuff has come up, I’m not sure if it will.”

“Do you want to talk about other stuff with me?” he asked.

“I’d like to get through a conversation without you telling me what an idiot I am first.”

“Sweetheart, I am so used to boys. I grew up with boys. My mother didn’t have any girls. My dad was hard on me. It’s just the way I was raised. Sometimes I’m a little tactless and forget you need something different from me, but I wanted you to be tough.”

“I know, and I’m grateful because if you hadn’t raised me the same as my brothers, I wouldn’t have been able to live this incredible life that I have. I wouldn’t be as strong and self-assured as I am, but right now, I just need you to listen and be my dad and tell me if I’m crazy.”

“Lay it on me, and I promise to tell you if you’re crazy,” he said.

“When I first got back to town, I was angry at Sam because he left me all those years ago, and I was angry with you for a long time because of everything you’d done to make him leave. Then he and I had a moment—”

Her father held up his hand. “I don’t need details.”

“And we talked, and he told me about a letter he left in a tree trunk.”

Her dad looked away, confirming her suspicions.