My throat tightens. “I missed you too.”
She pulls back, eyes shiny but determined. “Okay. London recap. Because I will explode if I don’t talk about it.”
She talks with animatedly her hands about the internship. About the insane “Tube” schedule. About the tiny coffees that cost twelve dollars. About the pub where she accidentally became friends with a group of drag queens who “adopted” her for a night and refused to let her go home alone.
I laugh more in ten minutes than I have in days.
It feels like a breath of fresh air that I didn’t know just how badly I needed.
Finally, I tilt my head. “Okay. Why are you really back? Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to see you, but you planned on staying there a lot longer.”
Wren’s hands still. Her smile falters, just slightly. She picks at the edge of her overall strap like she’s trying to keep herself together with movement.
“My mom,” she says, and her voice is lighter than the words deserve. “She’s…struggling.”
My chest tightens.
Wren huffs a breath. “The divorce is…it’s still a mess. My dad moved on like it was nothing, and my mom is trying to act like she’s fine when she’s not. And my siblings—” She shakes her head, eyes flashing. “They’re pretending they don’t care, but they do. And I just…
“I didn’t want to be across the ocean while everything falls apart,” she finishes, quieter.
My throat aches, and I lean into her side. “So you’re back for good?”
Wren nods. “I’m finishing my degree here at PCU. Closer to home.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of the situation.
“I don’t know about you, but after that, I could definitely use a sugar rush. Wanna hit the cafe? I’d love to see more of campus before I start here next term,” Wren says, hopping up before turning toward me and wiggling her fingers at me.
She pulls me up, my laughter once again sneaking its way out of me, and we head to the coffee shop.
30
HARLOW
By Friday morning, I’m done with the space.
I don’t want it anymore. I haven’t wanted it since sometime late Wednesday night, if I’m being honest. But Grayson had an away game yesterday, and no matter how badly I wanted to hear his voice, I knew trying to have this conversation before that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.
So I waited.
This morning, I texted him and asked if he could meet me at the bench on campus—the one we’ve somehow claimed without ever officially saying so. The one where we’ve talked and laughed and circled around things that mattered before either of us was brave enough to call them what they were.
Ever since Wren left my dorm Wednesday morning after a night of movies and junk food and laughing until my stomach hurt, I’ve known what I wanted.
Honestly, I’ve known since the rink.
Maybe even before that.
Sometimes the truth settles in quietly, long before you’re ready to admit it out loud.
But knowing something and being ready to act on it aren’t always the same thing. Sometimes it’s better to take the space you need and let your feelings untangle fully before you make a decision you might regret later.
At least, that’s what my therapist has spent years trying to teach me.
Sometimes my mind is magic.
Other times, it’s the scariest place I know.
