“I do.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel her watching me.
“You spoke about your family earlier,” she says. “Do you have siblings?”
“No. Just me.” I glance at her. “What about you?”
“I have a brother. Hawk.”
I can’t help but smile…again. I haven’t smiled this much since… I leave that thought behind and focus on Wren. “Hawk. That’s different for a human.”
Wren laughs. “My parents are serious birders. Like, really serious. They spend every weekend out in nature with their binoculars and field guides. It’s part of why we went camping so much as kids. It’s why they named me Wren and my brother Hawk because of their love for anything feathered.”
This time, I actually laugh out loud. I can’t help it. The image of two humans so obsessed with birds that they name their children after them is somehow both ridiculous and endearing.
“What?” Wren asks, but she’s grinning.
“Nothing. I just think it’s great. Your parents sound…interesting.”
“They are.” Her smile softens. “I miss them so much.”
We’re silent for a few moments. Wren’s eyes are hazy.
“What about you?” she asks, changing the subject. “Did your mother give you the name Grim? I can’t imagine anyone calling a baby that. Unless it’s a shifter thing.”
I shake my head. “Grim isn’t my given name. A friend at school called me that once, and it stuck. Before I knew it, everyone was calling me Grim.” I pause. “Everyone except my mother. She still uses my real name.”
“What is your real name?” she asks.
Worry eats at me suddenly. Sharp and insistent. Wren must see something on my face because she narrows her eyes, looking concerned.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice gentle.
I stare down at the pot, stirring even though it doesn’t need it.
“I’m worried about my mother hearing the news and all the lies they’re spouting. I don’t want her worrying about me.” I set down the spoon. “She’s in a care facility. She doesn’t watch television much. She also refuses to use the cellphone I gave her. She’s very forgetful and seriously old. I’m hoping she is oblivious. I’d love to call her, let her know I’m okay. The phones here are still working, but...”
“They’d probably trace the call,” Wren finishes.
“Yeah. I’m sure they’re monitoring our loved ones. That’s what I would do.”
“You’re probably right to be cautious.”
I nod, pushing down the knot of anxiety in my gut. “I’ll figure something out. For now…” I turn off the burner. “Supper is ready.”
I grab two bowls from the cabinet and ladle generous portions into each. The rice and beans look simple but hearty, steam rising from the bowls in little wisps. I add a couple of slices of the crispy Spam to each bowl.
“Sit over there,” I tell Wren, gesturing to the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
She does, watching as I set her bowl in front of her and another one opposite her. Knives and forks are already on the table, where I put them earlier.
“Found this in the pantry,” I say, producing a bottle of red. “Want some?”
“God, yes,” she pushes out. “Pour me a big glass, will you?”
I smile. “Coming right up.”
I pour us each a glass and sit across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other.
