.
“Of course, I’m okay with you honoring your father.”
I remembered the night he gave it to her.
Wren had been three, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, when Matt came home and crouched beside her.
“I’ve got something for you.” He pulled a small object from his pocket and held it out.
A badge.
Not an official one, but a carefully shaped piece of metal polished like the real thing.
His number was written neatly across the front in black marker.
“I’ve got something for you.”
“I made you your own so you can be my partner.”
Wren took it with both hands. “Am I a police officer too?”
Matt smiled. “You’re my brave girl.”
***
One night, when the gown was almost finished, Wren walked over to the mantle and fetched the box. She opened it and stared at the badge.
Then she turned to me.
“I want it here.” She pressed her palm over her heart.
“I made you your own so you can be my partner.”
I stared at the badge.
People would judge it, they’d misunderstand, and that might be too much for her.
But she was 17. She knew that already, and she wanted to wear it anyway.
“I think that’s a beautiful idea,” I said.
***
When Wren came downstairs on prom night, and I saw her for the first time, my eyes filled with tears.
The lines of the original uniform were there, but softened into something elegant and graceful. And over her heart was the badge.
She wanted to wear it anyway.
When we walked into the gym together, heads turned.
A woman by the refreshment table stared. Susan, the mother of one of Wren’s classmates, paused with a paper cup halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went to the badge, then to Wren’s face.
She gave the smallest respectful nod.
Wren felt it, I could tell. Her back straightened, and she squared her shoulders.
Then the trouble hit hard and fast.
Heads turned.
One of Wren’s classmates, a pretty, sure bet for prom queen type, walked over to Wren with a group of girls trailing behind her.
She looked Wren up and down, then tilted her head and laughed.
“Oh, wow,” she said loudly. “This is actually kind of sad.”
The room quieted. Wren went still.
“You tell her, Chloe,” one of the other girls said
Chloe smirked and stepped closer. “You really made your whole personality about a dead cop, bird girl?”
“This is actually kind of sad.”
The room got quiet in that awful, hungry way rooms do when people sense a scene and decide to become furniture.
My hands clenched into fists.
Wren tried to walk away, but Chloe stepped in front of her.
“You know what’s worse?” Chloe said, sharper now. “He’s probably up there right now, watching you…” she paused. “… and he’s embarrassed.”
I took a step forward, but before I could say anything, Chloe lifted her drink.
“Let’s fix this.”
