“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Wren started immediately, her words spilling out. “Lily and I were really disrespectful being here and not telling you, and you know, drinking. And—uh—I’ll replace what we drank. Like Lily said, it was kind of gross, and we didn’t like it, so we didn’t drink a whole lot of it, and?—”
“Wren,” Sarah said calmly, smiling at the tall girl as she leaned against her desk. “It’s okay. I’m not mad about that. But I appreciate the acknowledgement. Please, sit.” She motioned to the armchair across from her. Wren lowered her lanky frame into the seat, crossing her legs as she tilted her head in curiosity, her long, wild ringlets tumbling over her shoulder.
“So if I’m not in trouble, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure how much you’ve shared with Lily about your family and your home life before you moved here, and I wanted to respect your privacy. Those are things about yourself that you are entitled to share at your own pace, but they do warrant a further conversation between you and me about experimenting with alcohol.”
“I don’t…” Wren started, a puzzled look spreading across her face.
“When we went through the emancipation process a few years ago, you mentioned to me that your dad drinks more than he should.” She hesitated, wanting to take care to phrase what she needed to say in a way Wren could hear. “I remember howhard that was for you to talk about, but it would be remiss of me not to take this opportunity to discuss something this important with you.”
Wren swallowed, looking away, fingers nervously running through her curls. “Yeah, okay, I remember saying that. It’s not that big of a deal, though. All dads drink.”
“To excess? No. That’s not a normal relationship with alcohol. Which is why when I got home last night and saw the bourbon bottle, I wanted to talk to you to make sure you’re thinking about the whole picture when it comes to these decisions,” Sarah said gently.
Wren nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything.
“Growing up with a parent who drinks like your dad, like my dad too, it changes things. For most people, alcohol is just alcohol. But for some people, people like you and me?” She hesitated, tracing her lower lip with her tongue, trying to decide how much to divulge about her own past to Wren before deciding that it was now or never to get her point across. “For people like us, alcohol is never neutral.”
Wren glanced up quickly, green eyes wide. “Like us?” she whispered.
Sarah offered a small, wry smile. “Yes. Like us. My father was an alcoholic, too.” Wren’s eyes were wide as Sarah continued. “For some of us, the experience of having a parent like that—it can leave you with this tiny little voice in the back of your head when you drink that tells you you’re fine. That you can have just one more.” She softened her gaze. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Wren’s breath hitched as she nodded. “You hear it too?”
Sarah nodded, simultaneously relieved that she didn’t need to explain the voice to Wren while unnerved at the fact that Wren was already familiar with it. “That voice? Most people don’t have that, but some people who grew up like us do.”
“I hate it. It freaks me out.”
A tug pulled in Sarah’s chest at the quietness of Wren’s admission. “I unfortunately know that feeling,” she said. “Hearing that voice doesn’t mean you’re doomed. It means you might need a little more awareness and intentionality with your decision-making to make it manageable. But knowing this and understanding this about yourself? That knowledge is power. Does that make sense?”
Wren nodded; the relief was visible on her features as she leaned back in the armchair, pulling her knees to her chest. “I’ve never had someone talk to me about this before. Everyone has always pretended like it wasn’t happening. I kind of thought I was a little, you know, fucked—uh, sorry—a little messed up.”
Sarah’s heart sank, a little too familiar with the feeling Wren was describing. “You’re not messed up at all.” She drew in a long breath, planning the words she wanted to say. Being vulnerable on the spot had never been her strong suit. “Wren, I know I’m not your mother, and I know you’re an adult, but I hope you know that I am always here for you—for anything. And I hope you know you are very cared for.” Her voice was steady with the intent of her words.
Wren’s tilted smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she looked up at Sarah with those bright eyes. She looked so much older than the nervous sixteen-year-old version Sarah had first met four years ago. “I know. Really, I do. And you may not be my mom, but you’ve been more of a parent to me than either of mine ever was. You taught me how to do my taxes, and you took me on that hell trip to IKEA to furnish my apartment last year when you didn’t have to. You’re literally my emergency contact if I get injured in a game.”
“Okay, good. Just making sure you know.” Sarah pushed herself off the desk as Wren stood. “Thank you for listening tome and knowing that it all comes from a good place,” she said, opening the door to find Lily waiting on the other side.
“Okay, lecture time is over, Mom. We get it. We will follow your rules. Now, can you please stop being embarrassing?” Lily burst into the room in a swirl of her typical fiery energy.
Sarah watched as Wren slipped her hand into Lily’s, giving her a slight squeeze that seemed to stop Lily’s blaze in its tracks.
“Lily, it’s okay. Really. Your mom’s been great.”
Lily groaned, tugging Wren by the hand, pulling her back into the hall.
“Thanks, Sarah. For—you know—everything.” Wren smiled at her over her shoulder as the two girls disappeared down the hall.
Sarah grinned as she moved back to her desk, shifting the mouse, bringing the computer screen to life. Settling into the plush leather office chair, she pulled up her text message window, clicking on the purple circle with the initials BW.
Sarah: 9:13 AM
The situation with the girls has been handled. Don’t worry, we’re still the cool—but slightly embarrassing—moms.
Beth: 9:14 AM
Knowing you, I bet you enjoyed every minute of that.
