The message arrived just after sunrise.
Mom, are you awake?
Simone was already in the kitchen.
She looked at the screen, smiled, and typed back.
Always.
The reply came almost immediately.
Can I come by today?
Simone's smile faded slightly.
Of course. Is everything okay?
A pause followed.
Yes. I just want to talk.
Simone put down her coffee.
She knew enough by then not to fill silence with fear. Wren had taught her that. So had years of experience. A message asking to talk could mean trouble, celebration, uncertainty, or nothing more than a daughter wanting her mother's company.
She waited.
Twenty minutes later, Wren arrived carrying a paper bag from the bakery they had both loved since she was a child.
“You brought breakfast.”
“I know how you worry.”
“I don't worry.”
Wren raised an eyebrow.
“Mom.”
“Fine. I worry efficiently.”
Wren laughed and set the bag on the counter.
They ate at the kitchen table.
For several minutes, neither mentioned why Wren had come.
Finally, Wren said, “I have news.”
Simone put down her fork.
“Good news?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
Wren smiled nervously.
“We're going to have a baby.”
The words seemed to suspend the room.
Simone stared at her daughter.
Then she stood.
“Oh.”
Wren laughed.
“That was not the reaction I expected.”
Simone hugged her.
“I'm trying not to crush you.”
“You can.”
Simone held her tighter.
Tears filled her eyes.
“A baby.”
“Yes.”
“I'm going to be a grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Early spring.”
Simone stepped back.
She looked at Wren's face.
There was happiness there.
And fear.
Simone recognized both.
“You're scared.”
“A little.”
“Good.”
Wren laughed.
“You always say that.”
“Because fear means you understand that something matters.”
Wren nodded.
“I keep thinking about you.”
“Why?”
“Because I keep wondering whether I'll know what to do.”
Simone smiled.
“You won't.”
Wren stared.
“That is not comforting.”
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody knows.”
Wren looked toward the window.
“Were you terrified when you had me?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you don't remember acting terrified?”
“I was six days into motherhood when everything changed.”
Wren knew immediately what she meant.
“The dinner.”
Simone nodded.
“But that wasn't the only thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was terrified of becoming responsible for another human being. I thought I had to make every decision correctly. I thought if I made one wrong choice, I'd damage you forever.”
Wren smiled.
“You turned out okay.”
“So did you.”
“I haven't finished yet.”
“Neither have I.”
They laughed.
Roland came home later and heard the news.
He stopped in the doorway.
“Wait.”
Wren smiled.
“Yes.”
He looked at Simone.
“Really?”
She nodded.
He crossed the room and hugged Wren.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Wren laughed.
“Dad, I'm still here.”
“I know.”
“You're squeezing too hard.”
“Sorry.”
He let go.
Then he looked overwhelmed.
Simone touched his arm.
“You okay?”
“I think so.”
Wren smiled.
“You're going to be a grandfather.”
Roland sat down.
“I suddenly feel very old.”
“You are old,” Simone said.
He looked at her.
“Not helping.”
Everyone laughed.
That evening, they called Gregory.
He answered on the second ring.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” Simone said.
“Then why are you calling?”
Wren took the phone.
“Grandpa?”
“Wren?”
“I have something to tell you.”
Silence.
Then Gregory said, “You're pregnant.”
Wren stared.
“How did you know?”
“You called your mother before calling me.”
“That doesn't explain anything.”
“It explains everything.”
Everyone laughed.
Gregory's voice softened.
“I'm happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
“And frightened?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
Wren groaned.
“Why does everyone say that?”
Gregory laughed.
“Because frightened people pay attention.”
The pregnancy changed the rhythm of the family.
Simone became careful not to become intrusive.
She wanted to help.
She also knew that wanting to help could become its own form of pressure.
So she asked.
“Do you want me to come to the appointment?”
Sometimes Wren said yes.
Sometimes she said no.
Simone accepted both.
One afternoon, Wren declined an offer to stay with her parents for the weekend.
“I need time alone.”
“All right.”
Simone felt a small ache.
She did not show it.
After the call ended, Roland looked at her.
“You're disappointed.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to call her back?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because you finally understand what it feels like to let someone choose space.”
She smiled.
“That was rude.”
“Accurate, though.”
“Yes.”
Weeks passed.
The family prepared for the baby.
Faye knitted a blanket.
Gregory found an old wooden rocking chair.
Roland bought far too many books.
Simone assembled a small box of things she wanted to give Wren.
She almost included the brass key.
Then she stopped.
Not yet.
That key belonged to another chapter.
One evening, Wren came to Simone's house.
She sat on the couch.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I want to ask you something.”
“All right.”
“If I ever make a decision about my baby that you don't agree with, will you tell me?”
Simone thought carefully.
“Yes.”
Wren looked surprised.
“Really?”
“I'll tell you what I think if you ask.”
“And if I don't ask?”
“I'll keep my opinion to myself.”
Wren smiled.
“That sounds difficult.”
“It is.”
“Why do it?”
“Because you're the mother.”
Wren nodded.
“I think I need to know that.”
Simone reached for her hand.
“You can always ask me for advice.”
“And ignore it?”
“Absolutely.”
Wren laughed.
“Good.”
The baby arrived in early spring.
A boy.
They named him Elias.
Simone held him for the first time and cried.
Wren watched from the hospital bed.
“Mom?”
Simone looked up.
“He's beautiful.”
“He is.”
Simone carefully touched the baby's tiny hand.
For a moment, she remembered herself at that age.
Six days after giving birth.
Exhausted.
Uncertain.
Afraid.
She looked at Wren.
“You're doing well.”
“I don't feel like I am.”
“You don't have to feel like you're doing well to be doing well.”
Wren smiled.
“I needed that.”
Simone nodded.
She remembered her mother's letter.
Motherhood wouldn't always be graceful.
She understood it now in a deeper way.
Grace was not perfection.
Sometimes grace was simply continuing.
A week after Elias came home, Wren called.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I haven't slept.”
“I know.”
“He cried for three hours.”
“I know.”
“I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
Simone listened.
“Do you want advice?”
“No.”
“Then I'll listen.”
Wren breathed.
“Thank you.”
They stayed on the phone.
Simone did not tell her what to do.
She did not say everything would be easy.
She simply stayed.
When the call ended, she realized something.
The lesson had moved again.
She had once needed someone to give her a safe place to decide.
Wren now needed someone willing to sit beside her while she decided for herself.
The difference was small.
The difference was everything.
Click here to continue reading: PART 22: When Elias began growing up, Wren discovered how difficult it was to raise a child without repeating the fears she had inherited from the family before her
Six days after our daughter was born, my husband left us behind for dinner, but the message from his mother revealed that my exclusion had been planned
Part 21 of 28
