Page 39 of Guarding the Star

“I know. It's like the dragon in the stories you make up for Wesley. You're that dragon. That's why you also invented the wise turtle who keeps reminding him that he doesn't need to stop being a dragon.”

She goes quiet for a second.

“That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me naked,” she says after a beat.

“And with clothes on?”

“Oh, I have some very intense fans. You can't imagine what they tell me sometimes,” she jokes.

“I can.”

“Oh, and the mole on the collarbone…”

“What about it?”

“It's mine. I'm claiming it. Iris territory from now on.”

A little later, she falls asleep. No television. No podcast. Nothing. She falls asleep with her head on my chest and her hand on my stomach.

I stay still. Listening to her breathe.

And I think about Valentina.

This time without pain. With clarity. Valentina was a lapse in judgment. I got too close to someone I was supposed to protect, and the closeness blinded me. When everything went wrong, I decided that distance was the right answer. Three years of distance. Three years convincing myself that the problem had been allowing myself to feel, when the problem had been not looking closely enough.

Iris shifts in her sleep.

This isn't Valentina. Valentina was darkness mistaken for light. This is light. She might be complicated, loud, late, and foul-mouthed, but she's light.

I pull out my phone, careful not to wake her, and text my grandmother.

“How are you, mija?”

“Good. I'm good.”

“That sounds like more than good.”

“Yeah.”

“The soccer girl?”

“The soccer girl.”

I laugh when she says she wants to meet her.

Iris stirs. Opens one eye.

“Who are you talking to?” she mumbles.

“My grandma.”

“At eleven in the morning?”

“It's noon for her.”

“Did you tell her you're in bed with me?”

“No.”