“It’s love, babydoll,” she corrects. “What time are you done with classes tomorrow?”
I glance at my schedule, the corner of my notebook peeking out from under my e-reader. “I’m done at two.”
“Perfect,” Wren says. “I’ll swing by around three. Is your brother going to be around?”
My brain instantly pictures Kai’s face when he sees Wren. The way his posture will go rigid. The way his eyes will do that quick, sharp flick like he’s been hit with a memory.
Wren and Kai were together throughout middle school and high school for long enough that it felt like a permanent part of the landscape. Then Kai left for college, and the world crackedopen in different places for all of us. Wren’s dad cheating and the divorce that detonated right at the end of our junior year, while I was already sinking into my own private disaster. They broke up, and we all pulled away. Not because we didn’t care, but because none of us knew how to stay connected while everything around us was on fire.
Wren and I kept texting. Not always. Not perfectly. But enough to keep the thread alive. Kai and Wren…didn’t. And I don’t know if it was heartbreak or timing or pride, but I know the history sits between them like a bruise that won’t go away.
“I don’t know where Kai will be,” I say carefully.
Wren hums, like she hears what I’m not saying. “Okay. Well…I still want to say hi to him.”
My chest tightens a little. “Are you sure?”
Wren’s voice softens. “Harlow.”
That one word carries nine months of missed physical proximity and twelve years of knowing me.
“I’m sure,” she says. “I’m not scared of Kai.”
I snort. “That makes one of us.”
Wren’s laugh is warm. “I’m not coming to reopen wounds. I’m coming to say hi. Like a normal person. And if it’s weird, it’s weird. We can survive weird.”
Wren has always been better at walking into discomfort without letting it swallow her.
“Okay,” I say. Then, because I’m learning how to do the responsible thing before my anxiety makes it a whole production, I add, “I should probably warn him.”
“Please do,” Wren says cheerfully. “Let him emotionally prepare his rage.”
I laugh again, more quietly. “He’s going to glare.”
“That’s basically his love language.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Wren makes a happy sound. “Okay. Three o’clock. I’m bringing gifts and emotionally destabilizing British candy.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” she repeats, pleased. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, ending the call.
When I hang up, the room feels warmer. Not quieter. But softer. I stare at my phone for one beat. Then I open my messages and type Kai’s name before I can overthink it.
Harlow: Wren is back home. She’s stopping by Tuesday to say hi.
I hover over send, my mind starting a spiral and my stomach doing some type of flip, then I hit send.
If there’s one thing I’m trying to learn, it’s that avoiding things doesn’t make them less real. It just makes them harder to deal with later. I set the phone down and stare at the door.
Wren is almost home. She’s going to meet Grayson. Kai is going to have feelings about her being back, most likely big ones.
And I’m going to have to exist in the middle of it all without panicking. Just have to walk out that door and get through class first. No big deal. Except it’s terrifying. But it’s also something I want, and wanting anything after so many years of just surviving gives me a little flicker of something I’m not ready to name.
