Authors: Stephanie Fournet
LEE WAS ONLY
half-surprised not to find the Mustang outside Wren’s apartment.
Lee:
I’m parked outside your place, eating the best blueberry muffin in the world, and wondering where you are.
He waited for a moment, but no response came.
Lee:
You might think it’s callous of me to eat at a time like this, but how could I let your sweet efforts go to waste. You love me enough to make me muffins on Sunday and fried eggs on Wednesday and invite me to Dwyer’s on Thursday. Because you love me, breakfast is now my favorite meal.
He put the last bite of muffin in his mouth and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let himself consider that she’d leave him for good. If she did, he’d be wrecked.
Lee picked up his phone again.
Lee:
You love me, and I love you, but it’s going to take forever to text all this, so I’m calling you. Maybe you’ll answer.
He tapped her number, started driving, and waited through three rings, hoping — but knowing — she wouldn’t pick up. When her voicemail answered, Lee listened to Wren’s three-second greeting.
“In the studio Thursday through Sunday. Leave a message.”
“So, my dad’s an ass… I think you knew that before this morning. He’s not really an ass
hole
, but he is an ass. You can appreciate the difference. Being an ass means he thinks he knows everything — even when he’s clueless. He doesn’t like to be wrong, and he doesn’t like people to tell him he’s wrong. If he were an ass
hole
, he wouldn’t care. But he does…” Lee sighed and got ready to explain. “Don’t get me wrong. Being an ass isn’t okay, and I’ve let it go on far too long. I’m old enough to know that he’s a well-meaning ass, but I’m too old to let him tread over my boundaries… so it’s my fault you—”
Beep!
Wren’s phone cut him off, and he immediately tapped her number again, picking up right where he left off.
“It’s my fault you got hurt today. I promised never to hurt you, but I still let you get hurt because I didn’t let my family know I was in love with the most amazing and perfect woman in the world and that they needed to stay the hell away from my house on Sunday mornings when I had the good fortune of having you all to myself… and I chose the easier path. For whatever ridiculous reason, my dad and Barbara had it in their heads that Marcelle was right for me. The last time I talked to my dad, I let him keep believing that just so I could get off the phone… so stupid, Wren. Marcelle’s not right for me. She’s never been right for me. If they’d ever seen you and I together, they’d know what right looks like. They’d understand why I’d never be happy with Marcelle because you’re the only one who—”
Beep!
He called back again.
“Dammit. I hate this fucking phone. You, Wren. You are the only one who gets me. The only one who makes me happy… the only one I want… and I’m pulling up to Mamaw Gigi’s, and your kickass Mustang isn’t here. Where are you, Wren?”
“SHIT, WREN. YOU’RE
not at Studio Ink.”
Lee’s voice came out panicked over the sounds of traffic in the distance.
“Rocky said you called in sick. Baby, you never miss work. Where the fuck are you? Just text me and let me know you’re all right.”
“Was that him again?” Cherise eyed her with a disapproving frown.
Wren nodded, slumping deeper into her best friend’s couch after listening to Lee’s fourth voicemail.
“And you’re just going to let him twist in the wind? The best guy in the whole world? The best chance at happiness that’s ever landed at your feet?”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” she defended, puffing up her chest. “I have my art. I have my friends. I have Agnes. I—”
Cherise tucked her chin and gave Wren a pitying look. “Have you ever been happier than you are with him?”
Wren scowled. “If you think this is helping, you’re wrong. As my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Cherise flopped down beside her. “Sweetie, I
am
on your side. I’m on the side that knows that pushing this guy away could be the biggest mistake of your life. This is me trying to help you steer clear of disaster.”
Wren plucked a pill on her sweater rather than face Cherise. “You don’t get it.”
Cherise
tsked
. “Give me a little credit. I’ve known you for almost five years, Wren. What haven’t we shared?" When Wren didn’t answer, she pressed on. “We’ve shared everything… I know about everything that happened to you, and you know about everything that happened to me.”
Wren met her friend’s eyes and saw the conviction in them.
“My dad was a wife-beating piece of shit, and every time he tried to raise his hand to me or my little brother, my mom stepped in front of it. You want to compare baggage with me, bitch?” Cherise asked with a sneer. “Get yourself a ticket.”
“A ticket?” Wren frowned.
Cherise’s sneer vanished. A look of defeat took its place. “A baggage claim ticket. I was going for a metaphor.”
In spite of herself and her misery, Wren tilted her head back and laughed. Cherise socked her in the arm, trying to stifle her own laughter.
“My point is, I know with all our shit, it’s hard to trust somebody — even when they’re trustworthy, but this is
right
,” Cherise said, balling her hands into fists and settling them on her knees. “I’ve seen the way that sexy doctor looks at you, honey, and this is for real. He’s a saint, and he’s in this for the long haul.”
“Cherise, it’s only been a couple of weeks. I don’t know—”
“So find out!”
Wren shook her head. “It’s not just that… it’s
everything
.”
Her best friend gave her the stink-eye. “’Everything’ is a little vague.”
Wren shut her eyes on a sigh. “It’s…”
“Is it the sex? Does Dr. Dreamy have a tiny pecker?”
Wren’s eyes flew open. “Cherise! No!”
Her best friend clutched her arm, laughing. “Oh my God, Wren. Are you ever blushing. He must be
HUGE.”
Wren slapped her on the knee. “Cherise!”
“You’re not denying it,” she teased, shaking her head. Wren covered her face to hide both her blush and the smile that threatened to tell more than she wanted.
“Dr. Hawthorne has a pon-der-ous pecker,” Cherise sang.
“Have I ever told you I hate that term?” Wren scolded behind her hands.
“What? Pecker?”
“Yes, who wants to associate
that
with chickens?”
“What would you rather? Prick?”
“Ugh. No.”
“Member?”
Wren lowered her hands and looked at Cherise like she was crazy.
“Member?
Member of what? What’s wrong with you?”
“Well, what do you call it? Please don’t say
penis
.”
“I don’t know…
cock?”
Wren ventured with a shrug.
Cherise returned her crazy stare. “
That
doesn’t make you think of chickens?”
“Well, it didn’t until
now.”
Wren laughed until she had to dry her eyes.
Cherise laughed just watching her.
When she could finally breathe, she sat up a little taller against the back of the plush couch. Her laughter had dried up, but her eyes had not. She kept dabbing them on the sleeve of her sweater, but her tears still fell.
“Want some tequila?” Cherise asked.
“Hell yes."
Cherise got up and returned with a bottle, two shot glasses, and the required lime and salt.
“Okay,” Cherise said, pouring. “We do one shot for courage, and then every time I say
bullshit
, you drink. Every time you say
you don’t get it
or the equivalent, I drink. Deal?”
“I think we’re about to get hammered.”
“Fist, please,” Cherise said, raising the salt shaker.
They licked, shot, and sucked the courage round. Courage, it seemed, did come in a bottle. Courage warmed its way down her throat.
“Okay…” Cherise winced, shaking off the shot. “Why do you think you can’t be with Lee?”
“Because I’m not good enough for him.”
“Bullshit!”
“Wait. Hear me out—”
“Drink first,” Cherise ordered, topping off her shot glass.
Wren licked the salt, knocked back the tequila, and bit down on the lime wedge. A shudder rolled over her, but her skin tingled, making it easier to say the words.
“His folks… You should have seen the way they looked at me today.” Wren shook her head as the memory stung her again. “It was like they were staring at a criminal. His father actually said I looked like an addict.”
Cherise scowled. “But you’re not an addict. You’ve never even smoked pot. You didn’t try your first drink until you were twenty-one. I know. I was there.”
Wren sighed. “You don’t understand—”
Cherise put a hand up. “Hang on, I have to drink now…”
“What? Oh, sorry.” She watched Cherise toss back the shot and silently scream against the lime. “At least we’re even.”
Cherise nodded, her eyes still shut. “Okay,” she panted, “keep going.”
“It’s not so much how they saw me,” Wren began, struggling to put it in the words. “It’s more that I know what they see is the truth.”
“Bull—”
Wren threw up a hand. “Wait, before you say it, let me explain while I’m still sober.”
Rolling her eyes, Cherise sighed. “Okay, fine. Explain.”
Wren took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m not an addict, but I’m not clean either.”
Cherise met her words with a frown. “Wren, what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You’re innocent. You were a child.”
“I
was
innocent,” Wren corrected. “But something innocent can be tainted, and that’s what happened to me. I’m not innocent anymore.”
Silence.
Cherise wasn’t calling bullshit. Because she couldn’t.
“If I ever had a chance of being washed clean after what Darryl did to me, it died with Laurie.”
The woman beside her narrowed her eyes at Wren and stared hard. “Bullshit!”
“That’s the truth, and you—”
“Aah-aah-aah!” Cherise stuck out a palm again before reaching for the tequila. She filled both their shot glasses. “I’m preloading so you don’t interrupt what I’m about to say.”
Lick. Shoot. Suck.
Wren shuddered and wiped her mouth with a knuckle. The room seemed to go a little fuzzy at the edges. “I won’t be able to keep this up much longer.”
With a shiver, Cherise shook her head. “Me either. Okay… what was I saying?” She frowned at Wren and seemed to pick up the thread. “Oh, right. If you believed that, why did you get the phoenix tattoo?” Cherise lifted her hand and tried to aim it at Wren’s chest, but it bobbed in front of her in a loose circle.
Maybe Cherise’s hand bobbed, or maybe her vision wobbled. Wren couldn’t tell.
“Because I made it past twenty-three,” she said as though this was obvious. Her words might have slurred, but she couldn’t be sure. Her tongue was definitely heavier.
“What?” Cherise squinted at her. “What does that mean?”
“Laurie was twenty-three when she died. My Uncle Lyle was twenty-three when he died,” she explained. “The day I turned twenty-four, I started the phoenix tattoo because I’d outlived them. It felt sort of like a big deal for my family… like we were coming out of the ashes.”
Cherise narrowed her eyes at Wren, but it seemed to happen in slow motion. “There’s more to it than that. I can tell when you’re holding back.”
Wren sighed. Even with three shots down, Cherise knew her too well.
“I knew then that what killed Laurie wasn’t going to kill me.”
“Heroin?” Cherise asked, frowning.
“Not heroin,” Wren said, shaking her head and losing her balance just a little. “Heroin was the instrument of her death, but it’s not what killed her. She couldn’t live with what happened to me… with what she allowed to happen to me.”
Cherise said nothing, but her gaze never faltered.
“For a while… for years, I wasn’t sure I could live with it, either. I wasn’t sure if it would take me too,” Wren said the words aloud for the first time. “That’s what the phoenix is about. It’s sort of a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let that shit kill me.”
Cherise’s hand shot forward and grabbed Wren’s. “You’d better not let that shit kill you, girl.”
Wren smiled at this, squeezing back at the hand that held hers. “I’m not planning on it.”
Cherise looked at her hard for a moment. “But you know what? It can kill you in different ways. If you let it steal something good that should be yours, you’re letting the shit win.”
Pulling her hand away, Wren flopped back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The room tilted, so she picked her head up again. “Lee Hawthorne shouldn’t be mine.”
“Bullshit.”
“I might puke if I do another shot.”
Cherise rolled her eyes. “Lightweight. Fine. Just listen then. That guy is crazy about you. When I sat across from you two at Dwyer’s, his eyes were on you the whole time.” She leaned forward and grabbed Wren’s hand again. “The look on his face… it was like he was having the time of his life just eating breakfast with you.”
In spite of herself, Wren’s smile broke free. She’d seen that look. She’d felt its power. It had washed over her like a warm rain.
“And that look right there,” Cherise said, pointing in her face. “That’s what you looked like when I caught you staring at him. It was so cute, I almost barfed, and I want you to have that forever.”
Wren looked down at their hands. “I can’t. I’d always feel like I was ruined… like I carried a stain.”
“So clean it off,” Cherise whispered.
Wren felt her face fall. “I don’t know how.”
At that moment, her phone chimed.
Cherise reached for it, but Wren snatched it up just in time. “Um, mine, thank you.” She looked at the screen.
She shouldn’t have looked.
Lee:
It’s humbling, you know? You disappear on me for a couple of hours, and I have no peace. I’m completely at your mercy. Please tell me you’re okay.
Guilt twisted in her heart. Lee would start a twenty-four-hour shift at 6:00 p.m. He really needed to be resting up for it. Ignoring him, she realized, was just selfish and cruel. She held her breath and typed.