Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(101)
Six years?
So she didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything at all. Instead, she simply walked away, leaving the woman she loved crying in her doorway.
Just like the coward they both knew she was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
STEVIE SAT ON the couch in her and Adri’s old apartment.
There were touches of Vanessa everywhere—new potted plants to join Adri’s ferns on the balcony, aqua-and coral-colored pillows strewn throughout the living space, vibrant art by Latin American artists on the newly painted mustard-colored walls. The place looked homier than it ever had with Stevie as half its decorator, Stevie who favored neutral colors and brain-calming gray walls.
The apartment was crowded tonight, full of friends and actors from the Empress, even a few actors from other local plays in which Stevie had acted. Everyone was here for her goodbye party, but she felt oddly disconnected from the whole event. Still, she smiled as people squeezed her shoulder, told her congratulations, stopped her to chat about New York as she moved through the room, looking for a redhead she knew she wouldn’t see.
It had been two weeks since she and Iris had broken up, since she’d emailed Dr. Calloway with trembling fingers and accepted the role of Rosalind in As You Like It. Two weeks since that simple message had turned her entire life upside down.
Even though rehearsals didn’t start until January, Dr. Calloway had mentioned that she’d love to have Stevie’s input on auditions—along with the couple of other principals Thayer had already cast, actors whose well-known names Stevie couldn’t even fully comprehend right now—which started in mid-September.
Details fell into place easily—so easily, Stevie barely felt like she was a part of it all, struggled to remember this was actually happening to her. Thayer had arranged an apartment for Stevie, a tiny, one-bedroom flat in Williamsburg that Thayer’s wife’s family owned and never used. She told Stevie to leave her car behind, bought her an annual MetroCard on the theater’s dime, and even sent her the link to a New York subway app so she could prepare herself to navigate the city.
Her professor—her director—knew Stevie well, knew her disorder necessitated planning and practice, and Stevie had to admit that all of Thayer’s help went a long way to calming her constantly frantic heart.
Still, the days passed in a blur, her phone lighting up regularly with texts and emails from Ren and Thayer and Adri and her mother, the latter of whom was already planning Christmas in New York, ecstatic that Stevie was leaning into life.
But Iris never called.
Never texted.
Never emailed.
Stevie told herself she wouldn’t check Iris’s Instagram, an account with tens of thousands of followers due to Iris’s popular planners, but she couldn’t seem to stay away either. In the end, it didn’t matter, as the last picture Iris had posted was a selfie of Iris kissing Stevie’s cheek as they sat on the edge of the Empress’s stage after a show, the soft theater lights turning the whole shot golden.
It was dated two days before they’d broken up and had over ten thousand likes, the comments seemingly endless and effusive.
Cutest couple!
Omg wlw goals!
Where can I get a gal like Stevie?
Iris, your freckles are GORG!
You two are so in love it makes me sick! Except not lol!
Stevie had made a habit of staring at the picture late at night, then promising herself she’d never look at it again, only to cave again twenty-four hours later, scouring Iris’s expression for some hint of what was to come two days after snapping this photo.
But all she saw was her girlfriend, smiling mouth pressed to Stevie’s cheek, eyes scrunched up with happiness and contentment.
“Jesus, will you put that away?” Ren asked, coming up behind Stevie and leaning their arms on the back of the couch.
Stevie clicked her phone dark, Iris’s beautiful face disappearing. She sighed, took a sip of her club soda. Ren squeezed her shoulder and Stevie smiled up at them. She and Ren had made peace—after a complete blowout that involved Stevie totally losing her shit about Ren minding their own business, followed by a full forty-eight hours of the silent treatment, which was only broken when Ren showed up at Stevie’s place with curry from Stevie’s favorite Thai place and a huge Thai iced tea. Stevie knew Ren loved her, knew they were just looking out for her. Stevie knew she was an infamous chickenshit. Still, even though Stevie’s plan to tell Iris about New York was ill-conceived and backfired spectacularly, Ren had crossed a line by talking to Iris, and Stevie made sure they knew it.
“Come on, let’s get some air,” Ren said, tugging gently on Stevie’s arm.
Stevie acquiesced—it didn’t really matter if she brooded on the couch or on the balcony—and followed Ren outside. Adri and Vanessa were already out there, pressed together against the railing, Portland glittering behind them.
“Hey, you,” Van said, holding out her hand to Stevie. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” Stevie said, and laughed, but it was true.
Van nodded. “You’re going to be amazing. Adri and I are already planning our trip out to New York for opening night.”
Stevie smiled, glanced at Adri, who just tilted her head at Stevie, an unreadable expression on her face.