I want a lot of things to happen. “Maybe.”
Wren
“So, how did you end up in bed with Mick?” Lark asks as she watches me dry my hair.
I suddenly realize she’s glaring at me. “What?” I ask. “What’s that look for?”
“He likes you. Like, really, really likes you. You’re aware of that, right?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I like him too.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “He was crushed when you stopped taking his calls.”
I set my mascara to the side. “We went out on five dates before…you know.”
“Before you lost the baby.”
“Yeah, before that,” I whisper.
“Say it, Wren,” she says, her voice whipcord strong.
“I don’t need to say it. I lived it, all right? I don’t need reminders.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not sure you lived it. Not really. I think you shoved it to the side and tried to pretend like it didn’t happen, and it’s killing you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I didn’t even want it. Not really.”
“You wanted it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then why do you have a fully prepared nursery? Why did you have three years’ worth of clothes in the baby’s closet? Why did you put that song lyric on the wall?”
“Because that’s what you do when you make a mistake. You deal with it.”
She sucks in a quick, startled breath. “None of that was a mistake.”
“I’d have made a terrible mother.” I blink my eyes, because they’re suddenly stinging.
“You’ll be a wonderful mother, Wren.” Lark’s voice softens. “Never doubt that.”
“What makes you think so?” I look everywhere but at her.
“Because you had two perfect examples of motherhood. You had your birth mom, and then you had Marta. You’ve seen the best, and you’ve learned from the best. There’s no way you couldn’t be the best.”
“Whatever,” I say flippantly, trying to pretend like it didn’t matter.
“Stop doing that.”
“Stop doing what?”
“Stop trying to sweep your feelings under the rug. Stop trying to deflect. Stop pretending like it didn’t matter, damn it. Just stop it.”
“Why did you come here?” I ask. I stare at her in the mirror.