Page 55 of Beautiful Small Things

“I’m happy you got her name figured out,” I tell him. “You should get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

“James,” he says. “Thank you for everything tonight.”

Something like a knife stabs me in the heart. “You’re welcome, Marcus. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, BJ,” he says because even in a sweet moment, he is still Marcus.

I get up and use the bathroom, and when I return, there’s a message on my phone. Opening it, I see a selfie of Marcus and Iris. He’s lying on his back, and she’s swaddled and lying across his bare chest. One of his hands is resting on her back. And I know I’m officially screwed.

My body spins and weaves as I go back to that time. I jump and glide across the newly installed floor, grateful that my feet are the first to dance on it. Sweat drips from my brow as I extend and turn. It falls to the floor in silent drops. I keep moving, dancing until I glimpse myself in the mirrors and meet my own reflection. It’s not just sweat hitting the ground in round pools but also tears. I didn’t realize I was crying.

Dancing is so cathartic to me, and sometimes the emotions I’m feeling at the time are somewhere deep inside, locked up. Pain is hidden away in the depths of my heart, and dance is both the key to unlocking it and the salve that takes away some of the sting.

I continue to move in a steady rhythm until I’m exhausted, and my knee feels like it may give out. I grab my water and gulp it, not caring that it’s splashing down my chin, onto my chest, and to the ground.

I sit on the floor and stretch, processing everything I’m feeling. I miss home. I miss my family. Even though I’ve only been away a short time, the distance makes my heart ache. So much can happen when we are busy doing other things. I’m fairly certain Iris has told me that before. Most of the time, when someone in my life imparts meaningfully wise knowledge, it’s the beautiful teenager with lavender eyes.

Marcus really did pick the perfect name for her. I can’t imagine her as anyone else. She is a complete badass, after all.

I chuckle at the thought that she still allows me to call her Squirrel. She prefers it, I think. She was such a serious little thing, so introspective. She liked to laugh, but pulling it out of her wasn’t always easy. I often think she is so intelligent that she gets in her head and actually forgets how to have fun.

One day we went to the park, just Iris and me. She was sliding down the slide, enjoying herself, but none of the other kids were playing with her. She’d slide down, wipe off her pants and then hands, wait in line, and do it all over again.

Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t giggling or that she liked her clothes and hair to be immaculate, but she didn’t look like the other kids and definitely didn’t act like them. They noticed, and so did she.

After a few minutes, she walked up to me and said she wanted to leave, but then her eye caught on something, and before I knew it, she went bounding toward a large oak tree. I’d never seen her climb a tree, and I was so nervous, but she was determined to get up that tree. She clawed, pulled, and huffed, tearing her pants and getting bark in her hair and under her nails. But she persisted. She climbed to a large, sturdy branch and sat. Then, she looked down at me and smiled.

I said, “Well, look at you, Squirrel,” and she began to giggle. My heart overflowed at the sound. It was better than any music I’d ever danced to. Better than Gluck. Better than Tchaikovsky. I said again, and she laughed even harder. The nickname stuck.

To this day, I don’t know what motivated her to climb that tree. She probably remembers, but she’s never expressed it, so I assume it’s something she wants to keep to herself. But that day, she learned it was OK to be a little silly, a little dirty, and a little dangerous.

She is my Squirrel, and I am her Jem. Our relationship is everything to me.

Chapter twenty-one

The Nanny Proposition

Marcus

I’ve been struggling to focus all morning. Callan says I have the brain of a goldfish and get distracted easily by shiny, new objects and ideas. He’s not wrong. My thoughts ricochet from work to Iris to James and back again.

If I’m honest, the majority of my time is spent thinking about James. I’ve been talking to Iris so much about the past that it’s making it difficult to remain in the present. Normally, I can compartmentalize, but every day as of late, I find myself shackled to thoughts of us throughout the years.

What a monumental clusterfuck James and I made of our relationship when we were young and stupid.

Our story was so intertwined. It was like a beautiful gold chain that wasn’t properly maintained and sat in a tangled ball in a drawer somewhere. It remained precious, but no one bothered to try to fix it. Instead, it was kept as a reminder of when it was shiny and cherished.

I don’t regret our choices, especially hiring her as Iris’s nanny. I believe in karma and destiny. Iris teases me about it and calls me a hippie. She can say that all she wants, but James walking back into my life and offering to be Iris’s nanny was serendipitous.

We hadn’t seen one another since the wedding, and I had moved on. I was disappointed, but I was trying my best to focus on my growing career. Before it happened, I thought sleeping together would change everything. It would finally change our relationship. It did, just not in the way I’d imagined.

James all but disappeared the next day. All I wanted was to spend more time with her. I wanted her in ways I’ve never wanted anyone else, but she pulled a disappearing act.

She refused to talk to me. She wouldn’t take my calls. I would subtly ask Colby about her and how she was doing, and Colby would say, “She’s great. Thanks for asking.” Fucking clueless.

I was busy with my medical residency and didn’t have the time to pursue a woman who wanted nothing to do with me, so after a few weeks, I quit trying. I respected her decision even though I didn’t understand it.

Then she waltzed into my house two years later, the same day Iris appeared on my doorstep. One angel followed the other. It was meant to be, and Iris can argue with me all day that it’s not logical, but in my life, I’ve found that love rarely is.