“No,enough!I’ve spent too much time and energy wishing you’d make an effort to connect with me, but, suddenly and surprisingly, I now don’t need you to.” Chester looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe that she was in his face, meeting his eyes, her voice pointed and her words directed at him.
Chester lifted his hands, confused. “What are you talking about, Baby Bird?”
“My name isWren,” she stated. “It’s the name my mother chose, so use it.” Then she waved her hand and shook her head. “You know what, don’t even bother. It’s not like I was ever important enough for you to rememberanythingabout me, to rememberme.”
Wren felt Poppy’s hand on her back and felt her silent encouragement. Yes, this was long overdue. Chester started to turn away, and Wren moved to stand in front of him. “No,you will not walk away, you will stand here and listen to me!”
She felt her chest rising and falling, but she kept her eyes locked on his face. He felt uncomfortable… Good! “I’ve always thought that I wasn’t interesting or valuable enough for you to stick around for. But your leaving was never about me, it was about you and your inability to love and care for a little girl who needed and loved you. You fucked up, not me,” Her voice cracked.
“Go, Wren,” Poppy whispered from somewhere behind her.
Wren looked at her father, knowing that this might be her last encounter with him,ever. She wanted him to argue with her, to tell her that wasn’t how it was, that he never intended to be this way. She wanted to know if he’d ever, even a little, loved her, if he’d ever considered keeping her and making an effort to raise her. The struggle to keep herself from asking him the question she so badly wanted an answer to burned her tongue, her throat, her mouth. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
But she still wanted him to fight for her—and loathed herself for being so stupid, and still so stupidly hopeful. He wouldn’t, he’d proved that over and over again.
Chester couldn’t look at her or meet her eyes.
“I wish I could go back and tell little Wren, teenage Wren, and Wren from last week that you leaving was not her fault. That she deserved better, much better, and that she shouldn’t spend another minute hoping for you to be better. You won’t ever be.”
“Wren … I know that I messed up,” Chester said, but his words trailed off.
“That’s it? That’s all you have for me? That you messed up?”
He looked away, rubbed his head, shifted from foot to foot. Was he on the verge of trying to explain, to apologize? She waited, then waited some more. After a minute, she shook her head. It didn’t matter, there was nothing he could say that would make this better. There was too much neglect, too much pain to work through. Sometimes cutting off the limb was a better option than allowing it to remain, infected and mangled. And ugly.
She drilled her finger into his chest. “I do not need your approval, Chester. I don’t even need an explanation anymore. And I certainly don’t want, or expect, you to apologize.” Wren hauled in a deep breath. “My mom loved me, then Luna stepped in when she died; Poppy, always. Poppy’s grandparents, the people of this town.”
Even Dane, although she couldn’t say his name aloud, or else she would break down. “Family is people who stay, they matter far more than blood relations who disappear when they get bored.”
Wren pulled in a deep breath, feeling a lot calmer than she expected to. Then she looked at her father one last time and tried to smile. When she couldn’t, she shrugged. It was what it was.
“Goodbye, Chester. I really hope you do better in your next life.”
* * *
She wasn’t going to let Chester affect her anymore, Wren decided, as she made her way back to the festival crowds. She had a good life without him, and he was nothing more than a sperm donor. Her mom, then Luna, had given her everything she needed, and she was done giving him any more energy. Or the power to affect her emotions.
If only she could start thinking about Dane the same way…
After ordering two Pink Phantom cocktails—very pink, very lurid and, she was promised by the vendor, with the kick of a mule—Wren decided she’d get a little, or a lot, tipsy, dance with her best friend on the wooden stage next to the bandstand, and in a little while, she’d write a wish and throw it into the Bonfire of the Bewitched. She’d try her best not to think about Dane.
“Bird!”
Wren’s hand wobbled, and her drink sloshed as Poppy wrapped her arms around her waist to hug her. She took the drink Wren offered her, placed her lips around the big straw, and sucked, emptying half of her glass. “Ooh, yum, strawberry daiquiri. Strong, too.”
Wren lifted her glass, one arm wrapped around her friend, hugging her back the same way they did when they were kids.
“Seriously, Wren, you were amazing! I’m so proud of you!”
“For shouting at Chester or for the dance?” she asked, then sipped. Yummy.
“Both! The choreo was kickass, and your kids were amazing. As for your dad …babe.” Poppy hugged her again, releasing a low growl. “How can someone as lovely as you be his daughter?”
“Wren Dunlop, if you spend one minute thinking about your waste-of-a-penis father, I will beat you!”
Wren and Poppy jumped apart and faced Luna, who looked like a witch on acid. Wren winced. She placed her hand over her eyes and pretended to squint. “You should come with sunglasses, Luna.”
Luna ran her hands over her sequined hips. “Fabulous, isn’t it?” she purred.
