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Oh man. I’d known her mother died in a car accident but hadn’t realized it was a wrong-way driver. I suddenly regretted asking her to tell me her story. I was just about to tell her she didn’t have to continue when she started speaking again.
“Wren’s life as she knew it ended that day. She no longer trusted that the universe had her back. It was no longer a safe place. From that day on, she lived on the edge of her seat, waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next tragedy. Wren became particularly paranoid that something would happen to her father. She refused to sleep anywhere but in his bed at night until the age of ten and felt extreme anxiety if he returned home late from work. Nevertheless, she still felt grateful to have Chuck McCallister for a dad. He was her entire world.”
It struck me how similar her and Rafe’s situations were. They’d both lost their mothers prematurely. The difference was that she had Chuck, a great dad. Rafe was stuck with me.
Wren took a long sip of her wine before she continued. “A few years after Eileen’s death, Wren started learning to play the cello, and her love of music began. But even her musical talent couldn’t save her from the dreaded teenage years. Like most parents, Chuck only had so much power over his daughter. Perhaps due to unconscious anger, Wren became rebellious, sneaking out at night and defying her father’s rules. Chuck didn’t deserve the worry Wren’s actions caused him, but everything was out of his control. No matter what he did, Wren would find a way to go against him. Someday, as an adult, she’d want to go back and strangle her teenage self.”
She paused, and her breathing became heavier.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You should stop if it’s too much.”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
It seemed, though, like she was gearing up for the next part. I’d soon learn why.
“In a sad example of history repeating itself…like the woman who’d given her up, Wren became pregnant at age sixteen.”
Shit. Feeling my heart in my mouth, I offered a nod of encouragement, prompting her to continue, even though I was a bit afraid to hear what happened next.
“Unlike her birth mother, who chose to give her baby up, Wren had decided she would raise her baby. But…” She swallowed. “Her pregnancy ended in miscarriage after three months. She didn’t know how to feel—whether to be devastated or relieved. She often felt guilty for the latter. But the experience was a wake-up call, one that sent Wren into a life of solitude. She immersed herself further in the cello and stopped sneaking out. As much as Chuck no longer had to worry about her in one respect, he now worried in a different way. Because Wren was depressed. Everything—the failed pregnancy, the trauma from her mother’s premature death—seemed to bombard her at once.”
Once again, feeling terrible for opening the flood gates, I offered my hand for support. She took it and squeezed as she continued.
“Wren came out of her funk by the age of eighteen, befriending the boy next door, whom she grew to love and trust implicitly. Benjamin eventually moved away to attend college, leaving Wren behind and breaking up with her when he returned home that first Christmas. After that Wren would always dread Christmas, as it reminded her of being blindsided.” She stared off for a moment. “Wren fell into a period of self-reflection after that, a time where she realized it was more important to love herself than be loved by someone else. That’s not to say that she didn’t hope to love another person again, just that she understood it wasn’t the most important thing for survival. The phases of her life might have been very different, but her love of the cello and the support of her father remained constant. Despite her hardships, she’s always known how lucky she is to have Chuck and her music.”
She looked over at me, and I offered a smile, not sure if the story was over. But then she went on. “In her early twenties, after finishing college, Wren wanted a new challenge. So she decided to go to massage school to learn something that would make others feel good. She embarked on a new career and truly loved it.” Her mouth spread into a smile. “One day, it led her to a mysterious man—the handsome and distinguished Dax Moody. He was more than just a client. He became a friend, and eventually Wren realized there was so much more to their meeting.” She lowered her voice. “It was through Dax that Wren learned she had a brother, whose life—unbeknownst to her—had paralleled her own. Rafe, too, had lost his adoptive mother who loved him. He, too, had lost his entire world far too young. And in turn, he’d lost his voice in the same way Wren had figuratively after the loss of her unborn child.”
