She doesn’t stir when I whisper her name, so I climb out and walk over to her side. Open the door carefully since she’s slumped against it and try to wake her up again. Wren groans, this time burrowing her face against my neck. I glance toward the house. There are enough lights on downstairs that it appears someone is awake.
I sigh because this is a terrible first impression with her family, then scoop Wren up for a second time tonight. Rather than wake up and demand to walk in on her own, she just snuggles closer to my chest.
Careful steps lead me to the front door. I have to ring the doorbell with my elbow because Wren is still conked out.
The door opens a few seconds later, a blonde woman wearing matching pajamas and a frantic expression appearing in the doorway.
“Hi, Mrs. Kensington,” I say. “I’m Sawyer Bennett. I’m just … dropping Wren off.”
Wren’s mom glances at her sleeping daughter. She still appears concerned, but there’s some mingled frustration and disappointment too. “I see. Thank you for bringing her home, Sawyer.”
“Of course. I’ll … it’s okay if I carry her upstairs?”
Wren stirs at the sound of my voice, murmuring something unintelligible.
Mrs. Kensington nods once. “Thank you.”
I nod, passing Wren’s mom and continuing upstairs.
Too late, I realize I should have asked which room was Wren’s. Needing no directions is essentially advertising the fact that I’ve been here before.
Her room looks the same as when I was here last. I carry her straight into the bathroom, repeating her name until her eyes blink open. Once she’s conscious and squinting, I set her on the counter. I squirt some Crest on her toothbrush, then hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she whispers, sticking it in her mouth and starting to brush. She bends over to spit in the sink, and then I take the brush back. “Hand me those?” she asks, pointing to a package labeled as makeup wipes.
I do, and she pulls two out, using them to clear her face and then tossing them in the trash. She tries to slide off the counter but sways, so I pick her up again and carry her into her room. Wren nearly falls, tugging her shirt off, so I help guide it over her head, praying her mom doesn’tcome upstairs to find me undressing her drunk daughter.
Not that her mom’s opinion of me really matters. Odds are, we’ll never meet again.
Wren manages to get her bra and jeans off herself while I search through her drawers for something that looks like pajamas. I toss her the first pair I find, keeping my back turned until I hear the sheets rustle.
Once she’s in bed, I head back into the bathroom, filling an empty glass on the counter with tap water and carrying it back into her room. Her eyes are closed again, so I just set it within easy reach.
“Sawyer?” she murmurs.
I glance at Wren’s face. Her eyes are still closed. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Then she nestles against her pillow and appears to fall fast asleep.
43
When I stumble into the kitchen with a pounding head and dry mouth, both of my parents are waiting for me. I hustle straight for the espresso machine, pressing the necessary buttons. I took two painkillers and downed a glass of water as soon as I woke up, but nothing has kicked in yet.
“Day off, Dad?”
He crosses his arms before answering, always an ominous sign. “I took the day off, Wren, and got up at six a.m. to drive here after your mother texted me in the middle of the night, saying a stranger drove you home and had to carry you inside because you were too drunk to stand.”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s … important.”
“Important? We’ve never even met this boy.”
“He’s not aboyeither. He’s twenty, the same age as me. I am sorry for staying out so late and for drinking. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s more than last night, Wren,” Mom says. “Your behavior has been extremely erratic lately. Everything seemed to be going so well atCambridge, and then you come home and tell us you broke up with Pierre. You resisted coming here at all. Suddenly, you’re extending your trip, and now you’re out half the night!”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
