Carolina Wren

Chapter 4

Wren's POV

Thursday night goes the way it normally does. I was able to swing by the grocery store to buy a gallon of milk before going to pick up the kids from daycare. Sheila was still asleep when I got home and she only came out to steal food that I had made for dinner, swear at Dylan for being too noisy, and then disappear back into her room with a bottle of wine.

Friday morning, she came out of her room looking like a different woman. Her eyes were still red but she was in her work clothes. She didn't say a word as she grabbed a nutrition bar out of the pantry and walked out the door. The garage door opened, the car started, backed down the driveway, and the garage door shut once more. Once it ground to a halt, it was like a pressure released in the house. We all visibly relaxed.

Once I have breakfast cleaned up, I tell Dylan to go grab his school supplies while I get the babies dressed. By the time I'm back downstairs, he's waiting for me with a sharpie in his hand. "Do you want to go watch a movie with Keegan while Juni and I get everything figured out in here?"

He nods and asks Keegan, "Do you want to pick what we watch?" All I see are blond curls scurrying away as fast as his little legs will take him while Dylan follows at a more subdued pace.

I keep Juni on my lap as I pull labels off of things, her fist shoved in her mouth as she watches my actions with interest. Every once in a while, chubby little slobber covered baby hands reach for something, like an eraser, and I have to smoothly push it out of her reach.

Around 8:30, she starts getting sleepy, so I rock her down for a nap in the pack and play. Taking the opportunity to have free hands, I grab the sharpie Dylan had left behind and start labeling all of his supplies with his name and teacher. Once that's done, I take his backpack, a needle, and thread and patch together spots where it's running thin.

Who knew little boys could be so rough on backpacks?

It's nearly 10 when Juni wakes up fussing, so I'm in the kitchen prepping her bottle while trying to distract her when the doorbell rings. "Oh, come on," I whine. I'm already starting around the corner when I hear Dylan talking. "Dylan, I've told you not to answer--"

I stop dead in my tracks when a set of familiar green eyes behind black rimmed glasses meet mine. His gaze turns from curious to confused as he sees the baby in my arms, fussy from just waking up from her nap and needing a bottle. I leave early enough in the morning with the babies that very few people are moving around and we come home at a weird hour of the day when most people are at work and the neighborhood is empty. The babies were brought in immediately from the garage when we moved in. It's clear from his expression that up until now, my ploy to make it seem like Dylan and I were the only kids had worked.

Dylan helped move in boxes. Dylan goes out to get the mail. Dylan takes out the trash. I knew the illusion would be cracked eventually, but I had been hoping for a bit longer before the rumors over me being a teen mom started. I had been hoping that things would be more settled before the neighbors started making assumptions.

Oblivious to the mine field he's currently in the middle of, where one misstep could ruin any hope I had of a normal school year, Dylan looks over his shoulder and spots me. "Oh, there's my sister. Wren, Kota's asking for you."

The ending credits for whatever movie the boys are watching has kicked on as Dylan makes his way back to the family room. I move closer to the door, nerves rattling as Kota slowly takes in Juni. He's like Dylan. I can see the gears rotating in his head as the baby becomes another part of the equation in his head that correlates with me.

"So that was you with the stroller," he says, and while I can't hear judgement, I can't piece together what he's thinking and that isn't any better.