Page 9 of Beautiful Small Things

I give him a wink. “Surf’s up.”

“So you lied, but it was for the greater good?” Iris says as she slides the fried eggs onto my plate alongside the pancakes. “That’s a slippery slope for a six-year-old.”

“I did lie. I did it for Callan. I think I realized, even then, that he needed me. His life was so fucking depressing. Making things more bearable for him would be up to me.”

“There’s honor in that,” she says.

“I don’t know about that. I just know I became a bit more silly, a bit more crazy, a bit more wild, to balance out his seriousness.”

“So you think part of who you are now is a direct reflection of who you had to be as a child?”

“I think that’s true of all of us, don’t you?” I inquire.

“Nature versus nurture,” she contemplates. “It’s difficult to say. I know some things about me are like you and some like my mother. Strictly genetic when it comes to her since she’s never been in my life. So, yes, I would postulate that we are products of our environment.”

“Have you given any thought recently to reaching out to her?” I ask.

Iris says she is unbothered that her mother abandoned her. I can’t help but think it’s difficult for her. I saw firsthand what neglect did to my best friend. As a result, I’ve worked very hard to surround Iris with people who love her unconditionally.

“No. Chelsea is who she is and she made the choices she made. I won’t begrudge her the life she chose.”

I walk around the counter and lean down to kiss the top of her head. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?” I say, looking into the violet eyes she shares with her mother, a trait that affects less than one percent of the world’s population.

“I do,” she smiles. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Old Man,” she warns. “I’m fine. I’m not missing out on not having Chelsea in my life. I promise.”

“I know,” I concede.

It’s partly my fault that Iris doesn’t have her mother in her life. But the truth is that she wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t gotten involved with an older, married colleague. I didn’t know she was married until after all was said and done. I’ve done some shitty things in my life, but I’ve never crossed that line.

The phone on the counter dings, alerting Iris to a message. She glances at it and smiles.

“I’m going to go over to Orion’s. Can we meet tomorrow to talk some more?”

“Sure, Kiddo. Just come by my office in the morning.”

“Will do,” she replies. “Love you,” she calls as she leaves the kitchen, and the pile of dishes behind.

Later that evening, I find myself looking out over the cityscape. The lights remind me that there’s a world going on around me. James is out there instead of here, and it’s pissing me off. I miss her more than I can say, and I hate our distance.

I drop into my wingback chair with a heavy sigh. Iris will approach this undertaking with the tenacity of a pitbull with a new chew toy. She’s excited about it, and there will be no stopping her. A private investigator couldn’t dig up the things she will learn.

I’m not particularly concerned about what she will uncover about me. I’ve always been temerarious, even as a child. I never cared to change because, while far from perfect, I inherently like who I am. I hope James doesn’t mind the intrusion. Coming from Iris, I’m sure she will be accepting of it.

Chapter five

Squirrel and Jem

James

I’m on my second cup of morning coffee when I hear a faint knock and the front door open tentatively.

“Come in,” I yell as I slowly reach the door, pulling several Nascar-evasive maneuvers to avoid all the boxes scattered on the floor.

Iris meets me just inside the door as we wrap each other in a hug. I haven’t been able to spend as much time with her as I’d like since I began opening this new dance studio. I can’t believe she drove two and a half hours to see me.

“Hey, Squirrel,” I say, using my standard nickname for her. “This is a lovely surprise.”

“Hi, Jem,” Iris replies with a bright smile. “This place looks very disorganized and dangerous,” she adds as we weave back to the office.