<\/p>\n
Wren didn\u2019t <\/span>mean<\/span><\/i> to pass out between the rinse and spin cycle. It just . . .\u00a0 happened. One minute she was standing there with a laundry basket overflowing like a clown car of dirty socks, and the next, she was half-draped over the washing machine with a ratty copy of <\/span>We Have Always Lived in the Castle<\/span><\/i> flopped open on her chest like it had knocked her out cold.<\/span><\/p>\n She had even ignored the litany of texts from her friends’ group chat, making plans for spring break. Even though they had been begging her for ages to hang out outside of school, she didn\u2019t have time\u2014 not between homework, tests, SATs, college applications, hospital volunteering, <\/span>and<\/span><\/i> her job. She\u2019d told herself\u2014<\/span>sworn<\/span><\/i>, really\u2014that she\u2019d sit down at her desk and get some required reading done after work. Maybe just highlight a sentence or two. Be a productive member of society. But nope. Her body rebelled and shut down.<\/span><\/p>\n To be fair, it had been a long shift at the nursing home. A <\/span>very<\/span><\/i> long shift. She\u2019d basically speed-walked a marathon while getting residents out for seated chair exercises, balancing plates of strawberry shortcake during the Sunday social, and repeating \u201cG-47\u201d to hard-of-hearing residents until she thought her head would explode. She hated BINGO with a passion normally reserved for parking tickets and wet socks.<\/span><\/p>\n But she liked the job, mostly. The nurses weren\u2019t awful. Angie at the front desk always slipped her mints. Even Linda, her manager, could be tolerable\u2014when she wasn\u2019t breathing down Wren\u2019s neck and watching her like a hawk.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Most of all, she loved the residents. There was Clara with her fat tabby Ringo who she always greeted on her way in, Edith with her walker and fanny pack full of century-old licorice, Alan and Jim who were always accusing the other of cheating during Pokeno, and Bobby who was always mumbling to herself\u2014one time asking Wren if she was a communist spy\u2014and leaving her walker behind. Those were just to name a few. And of course, there was Laney.<\/span><\/p>\n The thought of Laney\u2014her laugh, her leopard coat, the way she would roll around backwards seated in her walker, greeting everyone with a smile as she passed them at the table playing UNO\u2014pressed in on her for a second, but Wren quickly shoved the thought aside. Not now. She couldn\u2019t. Instead, she tried thinking of her green planner splayed open on her study table, the words <\/span>ten pages of required reading,<\/span><\/i> thirty calculus homework problems, SAT practice problems, college applications, <\/span><\/i>and <\/span>AP Bio exam on Wednesday <\/span><\/i>in red pen playing back to her in a loop.<\/span><\/p>\n But the warmth of the washer and its steady hum was too much, lulling her to sleep despite her protests. She leaned her head against the cool wall with the book still in hand, promising herself just five minutes . . . . Her mind flickered for a second to the way Laney had smiled that last time\u2014thin and tired, but kind. Her thoughts sneaked back to the hollow quiet of the nursing home\u2014one empty room, the too-clean smell of antiseptic, and the chair by the window where Mrs. Laney had always sat.<\/span><\/p>\n Then\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWREN!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She jolted awake, eyes bleary, mouth dry, her sleepy daze crashing to a halt.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMavis?\u201d she croaked, wiping drool off her cheek. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Without warning, a green, fuzzy blob was shoved in her face.<\/span><\/p>\n It was Hopper, Mavis\u2019s favorite stuffed frog. The one that looked like it had seen things. His beady eyes stared into Wren\u2019s soul.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s bleeding!\u201d Mavis cried, cradling the animal like a wounded soldier. \u201cYou <\/span>have<\/span><\/i> to help!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Wren blinked, still in that post-nap dimension where nothing makes sense and everything hurts. \u201cBleeding?\u201d she echoed, her voice dry. \u201cHe’s made of <\/span>plush<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a STAIN,\u201d Mavis said urgently, flipping Hopper to show a dark smear across his back. \u201cSee?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Wren closed her eyes and groaned. \u201cI <\/span>just<\/span><\/i> got home. Mom said not to bother me after shifts. Remember?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Mavis looked up at her with that face. <\/span>The Face<\/span><\/i>. Big watery eyes, bottom lip wobbling like Jell-O. Tiny six-year-old guilt trip in full swing.<\/span><\/p>\n She sniffled. \u201cBut it\u2019s <\/span>important<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n And just like that, Wren felt it. That tug in her chest. The soft, annoying ache of being someone’s person.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFine,\u201d she muttered. \u201cBut only if you let me get back to work after. No tea parties. No frog drama. No royal decrees from Lady Penelope Duck.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Mavis gave a sharp nod, her eyes serious as if she was signing some unspoken pact, her mouth set in that determined line she only used for the most important of things. <\/span>So dramatic<\/span><\/i>, Wren thought.<\/span><\/p>\n As Wren filled the sink and started scrubbing the stain out of Hopper\u2019s plush little butt, Mavis climbed onto a stool next to her, talking a mile a minute about some tea party she had planned to host after watching that DVD Wren had put on for her a week ago with \u201cPrincess Mia Hippopamus.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Wren fought a smile. Ever since Dad had told Mavis that she and Wren were named after birds, Mavis had been convinced everyone would be better off with an animal name.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s <\/span>Thermopolis<\/span><\/i>,\u201d Wren corrected, deadpan. \u201cMia Thermopolis. And it\u2019s pronounced hippo<\/span>pot<\/span><\/i>amus, you goose.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Mavis was unfazed, already dunking her hand into the soapy water to blow bubbles like it was her job. Wren rolled her eyes but didn\u2019t stop her. She needed to get back to her required reading soon. The faster she could wash the stain out, the better.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was kind of nice though\u2014watching her sister\u2019s tiny hands turn soap into magic. For a moment, it was peaceful. The kind of quiet chaos she could actually live with.<\/span><\/p>\n When Mavis blew a particularly big bubble, she jabbed Wren on the shoulder like she had just discovered fire. “Wren, look! Look at this one!”<\/span><\/p>\n Wren turned, already bracing herself for whatever kind of sticky nightmare Mavis was about to create.<\/span><\/p>\n When she turned her head, she paused, and her eyes caught the watery orb. They both watched entranced as the bubble, iridescent and colorful, floated delicately in the air. Time seemed to slow as it drifted higher and higher, the faint glow from the light above catching on its surface. Wren half-expected it to pop at any moment, but it took its sweet time.<\/span><\/p>\n Then, finally, it did. Plink. A soft pop, scattering into tiny droplets that caught the light like sad little dying stars disappearing in the dull, sterile air of their small laundry room.<\/span><\/p>\n Once Hopper was sufficiently soaked and smelled aggressively like liquid detergent, Mavis declared him \u201cmedically cleared for sunlight.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe needs air,\u201d she said seriously. \u201cHe\u2019s <\/span>claustrophobic<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s a <\/span>stuffed frog,<\/span><\/i>\u201d Wren muttered, but she still followed her outside, bare feet dragging across the porch.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren rubbed her temple but followed Mavis down the stairs and into the kitchen anyway, clutching the soggy green frog.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She froze. The kitchen looked like a small tornado had passed through it. Seriously, how long had she been asleep? Slices of bread, some torn in half, lay scattered alongside open jars of raspberry jam and marmalade, their lids carelessly tossed aside. Plastic containers of berries had spilled over in the sink, a few of them dripping onto the counter.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Mavis, however, passed by the wreckage as if everything were perfectly normal, humming to herself. She was already pulling the sliding door to the back porch open with all her weight, completely unfazed by the mess she\u2019d left behind.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren blinked, shaking herself out of her stupor, remembering that her mom had promised she wouldn\u2019t have to deal with Mavis after work. She wasn\u2019t about to break it to their mom that Mavis\u2019s idea of responsibility meant making herself lunch\u2014yes\u2014but also destroying the kitchen in the process.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Mom\u2019s gonna have a fit when she gets back from ShopRite<\/span><\/i>, Wren thought, imagining her mom\u2019s face when she saw the disaster as she trudged over to help Mavis with the door to the back porch.<\/span><\/p>\n The air was warm and soft, the cherry trees down the street blooming full and blinding. Spring had arrived all at once, like it always did\u2014sudden and arrogant, painting everything too bright.<\/span><\/p>\n She clipped Hopper to the clothesline with two wooden pins, his long limbs drooping in the sun like a soggy martyr.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay Mavis, I need to go inside now. I have homework.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut I made raspberry jam for the tea party!\u201d Mavis protested, already laying out plastic cups and an old sheet in the grass.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMavis, please\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The warmth, the birdsong, the blue sky\u2014it was too much. Wren\u2019s breath hitched. The sunlight was so sharp it made her flinch. It reminded her of this morning\u2014Room 206, stripped bare. The empty dresser where Mrs. Laney\u2019s bangles used to rest. The pale indent where her antique vanity had sat on the carpet. Even her flowery scent was gone. Only the window remained, the curtains drawn open wide, flooding the hollow room with warm light, the cherry trees in full bloom outside. Taunting. Cruel.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWren? You okay?\u201d Mavis looked up, her hand hovering over the raspberry jam she had brought out. Her stuffed animals were lined up in a neat circle on the sheet now\u2014Lady Penelope Duck, Sir Reginald Rabbit, Captain Paws the cat, and a few nameless others. They sat there, their beady eyes locked on her, as if they were impatiently waiting for her to join them for tea.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Mavis stared at her, confused, before asking, \u201cAre you sure? Wren\u2014 \u201c<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI said I\u2019m fine!\u201d Wren snapped, the words leaving her mouth before she could catch them. Mavis\u2019s eyes went wide, like Wren had just knocked the wind out of her.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren turned and stormed back inside and up the stairs, her heart pounding in her ears. She didn\u2019t need a tea party. She didn\u2019t need her friends, jam, the stupid spring day, or her sister and her dumb animals.<\/span><\/p>\n She needed control. She needed her schedule. She needed her desk and her planner, and her college applications. She didn\u2019t need anyone else but herself.<\/span><\/p>\n The laundry was finished in the dryer. She yanked open the dryer door and pulled out the warm sheets, clutching them like a shield. She was alone. No distractions. That was better. That was safe. She was in control again.<\/span><\/p>\n The warmth, the scent of clean fabric and dryer sheets, the soft folds\u2014they reminded her. Mrs. Laney’s small room in 206, where the antique dresser once held framed photographs of Nantucket summers and family gatherings in the grand house that had been passed down for generations. The glint of her old jewelry, delicate clothing neatly pressed, and the white gloves she wore when she had time to dress up, even if it was just for a card game. Wren used to listen to her stories, sitting beside her as Laney recounted her days as a debutante, the elegant parties, the grand house by the shore. In that room, it felt like Laney could almost reach back to a time when everything was still hers\u2014the house, the wealth, the family.<\/span><\/p>\n But over time, Wren watched as Laney\u2019s strength slowly disappeared. Between setting up card games for the residents, Laney would wheel by, using her walker like a wheelchair, rolling herself backward with a defiant grin, wrapped in her leopard print coat, still smiling brightly at everyone. The arthritis grew worse, and the woman who had once been so vibrant began to fade. Wren remembered sneaking into her room when Linda wasn\u2019t looking, painting Laney\u2019s nails white because Laney said it was the latest trend. But as the days passed, Laney\u2019s once-energetic body grew frail, her voice faded to a mere whisper, and the pain became too much to bear. She\u2019d often be too doped up on painkillers to even speak, her smile slipping away as she lost herself bit by bit. And Wren would rub lotion on her swollen feet, watching her once-lively friend become a shadow of herself, too tired to even hold on to the woman she once was.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren shook herself out of the memory, trying to focus on the present, but she couldn\u2019t shake the feeling of loss that weighed down her chest. And Linda\u2019s words from that morning came ringing back to her, \u201cUnfortunately, room 206 has passed on and we\u2019ll be expecting a new resident to move in tomorrow . . .\u201d confirming her worst fears.<\/span><\/p>\n And suddenly, she was on the floor. Sobbing. Into a pile of laundry. The sheets wrapped around her like arms, failing to comfort her, and the crushing realization that she wasn\u2019t in control anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n She didn\u2019t hear Mavis enter\u2014just felt small hands around her shoulders. Then a wad of toilet paper pressed to her nose.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBlow with your mouth open,\u201d Mavis said gently, patting her back like she\u2019d seen Wren do all those winters Mavis would get sick. \u201cDon\u2019t blow out your brains.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n That made Wren laugh, a sharp, wet laugh, still cracked in the middle. She sniffled, looked down at the mess of tangled sheets, then back at Mavis\u2019s proud face.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh no,\u201d Mavis said solemnly, \u201cWe still have to fold these.\u201d Her sister seemed only to notice messes that weren\u2019t hers.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren sat up, wiping her eyes. \u201cI have a better idea,\u201d she said with a small smile.<\/span><\/p>\n Later, a blanket fort stood triumphantly in the living room, made from clean-but-slightly-damp sheets. Inside, under the fort\u2019s canopy, Mavis and Wren curled up on pillows, a picnic of jam and crackers between them, Hopper reclining beside them with a tissue tucked under his chin.<\/span><\/p>\n On the TV in front of them, <\/span>The Princess Diaries<\/span><\/i> played, and Mavis kept giggling at Mia\u2019s name.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMia Rhinoceros,\u201d she whispered.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a mouthful,\u201d Wren smirked. \u201cHow about Mia the Platypus?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s <\/span>two<\/span><\/i> words,\u201d Mavis said, taking a matter-of-fact tone that seemed almost all too similar to Wren\u2019s own. \u201cCheater,\u201d she added smugly.<\/span><\/p>\n Wren threw a pillow at her sister\u2019s head. \u201cStickler,\u201d she said, laughing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFine, Mia . . . \u201d Wren said, tapping her chin. \u201c . . . Tyrannosaurus.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n They both cracked up. The room echoed with laughter, with jam-sticky fingers and warm sheets and the TV\u2019s glowing screen.<\/span><\/p>\n For the first time in a long while, Wren\u2019s green planner stayed splayed open on her desk upstairs, untouched, and the red boxes unticked.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\n