Page 52 of Beautiful Small Things

Marcus

I stop talking and glance over at Iris. She’s fast asleep on her bed, lying in the fetal position and hugging Bayou, her stuffed dolphin. I got it for her when she was ten, and it’s sat on her bed ever since.

Iris wasn’t a little girl who often embraces child-like tendencies, but she lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw that dolphin at the aquarium. She looked up at me with her beautiful big eyes, and I couldn’t buy it fast enough.

I snap a quick picture of her sleeping silhouette with my phone and cover her with a blanket before flipping off her light and shutting the door.

I make my way downstairs and peek in the refrigerator to see that Bea made me a meatloaf for dinner. God bless that sweet woman. I’d marry her if my heart didn’t already belong to someone else.

Speaking of which, I should send James that picture of Iris sleeping. She will want to see it. I text her while my meatloaf is heating up in the microwave.

Marcus: Are you busy?

I grab my dinner, pour a glass of wine, and sit before checking my phone.

James: Dealing with plumbing issues in this stupid place. I could kill someone.

Marcus: So, no phone sex?

James: READ THE ROOM.

Marcus: Gotcha. Here’s a picture that might cheer you up. And remember, that stupid place is your dream.

James: Thank you. I needed that. Has anyone told you lately you’re the best?

Marcus: Just the hookers I pay to say it.

James: You leave me at a loss for words.

Marcus: At least you’re smiling.

I chuckle to myself because I know I’m right, set my phone down and finish eating. I hate how quiet the house is. Sometimes I envy Callan. Yes, his house is chaotic with three children, but there’s something magical about that. The energy in his home is electric. It pulls you in different directions and keeps you from getting lost within yourself. Sometimes, I need that.

Iris did that to me when she was young. At the time, I didn’t realize how much I would miss all of the noise and constant questions. All kids ask questions, but she took it to another level. The kid would be sitting in the backseat, kicking her feet and listening to Taylor Swift, and then stop and ask me something deeply philosophical. She once asked me what living in a moral and just society means. She was six years old.

I realized early on that she was gifted. Her physical milestones were on point for her age, but she was intellectually well ahead of her peers. I had her tested for Autism Spectrum Disorder when she was three. She was deemed to be on the spectrum, and she did exhibit certain traits that are often associated with ASD. I wasn’t surprised, and I most definitely wasn’t disappointed. I felt lucky to have some answers that could potentially make her life easier.

Iris had difficulty communicating with children her own age and would often get caught up in routines, having difficulty straying from her established normal set of rules and behaviors. I sometimes felt like I had a tiny foreign exchange student with whom I had to translate what the expressions and tones of everyday conversations meant. She couldn’t easily understand facial expressions, moods, or idioms of others. I remember clearly thinking that I could be exactly what she needed in terms of a parent. We were opposites, and in many ways, that would be positive for both of us.

I was able to take life with a grain of salt. I wasn’t prone to worry over things I couldn’t control. Iris would get upset over something, and I would be silly and make her laugh to distract her from her mood dysregulation.

Our dynamic has always been one of mutualism, whereby we benefit from one another’s strengths. I wish I could take credit for that statement, but Iris actually wrote it in a paper when she was ten.

I look at my phone and the picture of her sleeping again. She’s so beautiful and so amazing. She knows about her diagnosis. I never needed to tell her. She did the research and came to the conclusion on her own.

For my part, I tried to encourage her to engage in as many social activities as possible and challenged her to be a kid. I kept her with her age group despite the urge from teachers to excel her education.

I am certainly not an expert in the field, and I know my mistakes in raising her have been countless, but I think she’s a perfect young woman who has never allowed challenges to slow her down. I couldn’t be more proud of her.

I wish I could keep her young forever, like any parent, but she’s growing up too fast for my liking. Now she’s dating. I’m not sure how well that sits with me, mostly because I know how boys her age think. Shit, I still think that way.

I rinse my dishes in the sink and load them in the dishwasher before heading upstairs to read a bit before bed. I’m lonely and I’m sick of being lonely. This situation needs to be rectified soon.

Chapter twenty

It's a Badass Name

James