Page 25 of Beautiful Small Things

IRIS! HER GPA IS A 4.8, BUT SHE’S A 10!

Orion. He’s such a good friend to her. Callan and Colby are raising some incredible humans. I’m infinitely proud of all of them.

We sit and listen to the presentations as the students come up and take their awards. Finally, they call Iris’s name. Orion and I scream like we won the lottery as Iris walks across the stage to accept her award.

Her headmaster reads accolades from her teachers and, finally, something Iris wrote for the occasion, as pictures from her childhood flash on a screen behind her. I stare with tears threatening to escape my eyes as pictures of Iris light up the theater. Photos of her and me on a surfboard; her riding a dirt bike; Iris, Marcus, and me at the grand canyon; soaring in a hot air balloon over Napa Valley; rappelling in Zion National Park; camping with family at Joshua Tree. Finally, she and Marcus laying next to one another on a boat, both reading the same paper on the efficacy outcomes in the treatment of medically unfit pediatric patients with acute myeloid leukemia. He read it because he had to; she read it for fun. I smile through the tears at the memories.

Her headmaster continues. “Iris would like to credit her family for helping shape her into the person she has become. Iris acknowledges her many gifts and the advantages she’s been given, but also wishes to let those perceived as different know that they are worthy and have a valuable place in this life.”

She’s called to receive her award as Orion and his friends clap and yell. Everyone gets to their feet to acknowledge her accomplishments. I can’t help but think of my own life and achievements; she is by far the best thing I’ve ever done. I’d do it all over. I’d give up everything. Even though it would kill me to do it twice.

Afterward, when we meet for photo opportunities, I proudly pose with my beautiful girl and take pictures of her with Orion. I can’t help but notice something between them. It’s a tension that isn’t normally present. I make a mental note to ask her about it.

I’m doing my best not to get sidetracked by people who want time with us, so afterward, we waste no time ushering ourselves out of the auditorium.

We walk to the nearest coffee shop, order drinks, and find a quiet table in the corner.

“I can’t believe you’re almost a full-fledged adult,” I remark.

“I feel like I’ve been an adult since I was ten,” Iris jokes. “Sometimes I think I’ve missed out on being a kid, you know?”

I set my coffee down and put my hand on top of hers on the table. “I understand, Squirrel. Your brain grew up so fast. You never really got a chance to be young and stupid.”

“There’s still time to make horrible and regretful decisions,” she says with a chuckle. “I mean, I’m Marcus’s daughter, so it’s in my DNA.”

“That’s true,” I laugh. “What would you do differently if you could go back, say, five years?”

She blows on her tea and then sets back in her chair with a sigh. “Maybe try to connect more with people. I missed out on sleepovers, going to the movies, and first crushes.” She stops talking and gets a faraway look in her eyes.

“You’re only seventeen, Squirrel. You can still have all of those things,” I tell her. “You have plenty of time to make horrible mistakes. I was about your age when I made one with your father.” Shit. Why did I say that out loud?

“What did you do?” she asks with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

I look up at the ceiling and spit it out before I lose the nerve. “I may have thrown myself at him.”

“Jem, No!” she laughs. “How did it go?”

“How did it go?” I repeat. “Well, I crashed and burned. Then I crashed again, but this time, I crashed into a mountain in the Andes only to be cannibalized by my soccer teammates.”

A laugh erupts from her chest as she leans over, laughing.

“OK, OK,” I giggle, holding up a hand in the universal sign for stop. “It’s not that funny.”

“I’m sorry, Jem, but it really is,” she says, eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery,” I deadpan.

“It’s just that my dad was twenty-four years old? Did he even know you were throwing yourself at him?”

“Not. A. Clue,” I say straight-faced.

“Oh, my God. That makes it even better,” she laughs. “Do I wanna hear the story?”

“You do not,” I admit. “It will make both of us exceedingly uncomfortable.”

Iris takes another sip of tea and smiles before speaking. “Thank you for that, Jem. I needed it.”

“Glad to be of help,” I tell her. “So what’s with the personal reflection tonight?”