Page 81 of The Bright Side of Christmas
It’s about making her grandmother proud. My sweet girl is still grieving and has channeled all of that into this festival, into the holidays, into filling shoes that she’s afraid to walk in. I swipe the tear away with my thumb and shake my head.
“She wouldn’t have wanted you to run yourself ragged, Wren. She loved you, and anyone who loves you doesn’t want this for you,” I say. Her body goes still with my words, and if I were in a different frame of mind, I’d probably realize I should step back now and give her some space. But I’m not, so I don’t.
“That’s not fair,” she says.
“Isn’t it? This isn’t your job. It’s a volunteer position, and it’s surely not life or death. No one will get hurt if it’s not totally perfect. You don’t have to work yourself to the ground just to make everyone else happy.” She shakes her head and tries to back away, but I hold her tight.
“It’s what my grandmother would have done.”
“No, it’s not,” I say confidently, and she stops everything to look at me, blinking. “And it’s definitely not what she would have wanted.”
“You don’t?—”
“I met her, Wren. She talked about you, and I’m telling you, she wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself, taking on everything and then some, just to uphold some town’s stupid tradition. And she surely wouldn’t want you doing it in her name.”
She steps away from me then, and I let her as hurt flares in her eyes, though it’s quickly smothered by anger. It’s foreign to her, but I get that it’s easier to be mad than it is to be hurt.
“Oh, fuck off, Adam. You had a drink with her in an airport bar while she was on vacation. I grew up with her. I am who I am because of her.”
I shake my head and step closer, reaching for her hand and twining my fingers with hers. “No, you’re not. You’re you because you’re Wren. My sweet Wren, who worries that people won’t like her if she doesn’t do everything for them. Wren, who believes that with a little more effort, she can tackle anything. If she gives a bit more of herself, everyone will be perfectly happy, even if it leaves nothing left for her. Wren, who is grieving the loss of someone important to her, keeps herself busy to avoid dealing with her emotions. I may not have known her for years and years, but I do know this isn’t what she would have wanted for you.”
I dip my head a bit, leaning back to look into her eyes better, spotting the hurt and betrayal on her face, but sometimes, you have to go with your gut. And I think it’s time for Wren to hear these truths finally. “This isn’t the way you should be honoring her, Wren.”
It’s too far, I think, because she steps further, wiping beneath her eyes, which now have a shield pulled up.
“I have to go,” she says low, turning away and moving toward the bags, lifting one over her shoulder.
“What?”
“I said, I have to go. I have things to do.”
I shake my head at her in disbelief. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“No, we’re in the middle of you telling me who I should be and what I should do and how things are. I’m sorry that you’re unreachable and you only care about yourself, but that will never be me. If you don’t like how I have to help the people I love, help my community, then maybe we should end things now.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it,” I say, taking a step closer to her.
She throws her hands in the air like she’s done with all of it. “Fine, you care about yourself and me, for some unknown reason.”
My own anger sparks. “Don’t play that game. We both know the reason, we just haven’t had a fucking chance to talk about it because you’re too busy wearing yourself to the bone day in and day out! I care because I’m falling for you, Wren! I’m so sorry if my feelings are inconvenient for you, if they get in the way of your working yourself into the ground for people who won’t even remember to throw a thank you your way.”
Silence fills the room, and my words hang like an anchor between us.
“You’re falling for me?” she whispers.
“I’ve been falling for you since you duct-taped a wreath to my door, but you’ve been so busy jumping in to help everyone, you haven’t been able to notice.” She looks at me with hesitation and a touch of uncertainty in her eyes. I sigh and reach out for her hand, and relief washes through me when she lets me hold it. “Please. Stay. Talk to me. This all can wait, Wren. The world won’t stop turning if you don’t get there right away.”
A beat passes, and I think she’s going to stop, to stay and talk to me, but then her phone beeps with a new message, and it’s like some kind of bat signal, reminding her she’s needed elsewhere.
She shakes her head, and I’m relieved to see a bit of apology there.
“They’re waiting on me. I can’t keep them waiting.”
I don’t tell her that I was waiting for her. I don’t tell her. It won’t be productive, because it really won’t matter. I’ve already said too much, pushed her too far. I don’t want to push her away for good.
So I nod.
“Okay. Then come to my place tonight,” I ask in a whispered plea. She looks at me, a mix of frustration and hurt on her face, the same look I know is mirrored on mine. “I don’t care how late it is. Just come over. We’ll talk things out, figure it out.”
