Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(21)

“Let’s order, shall we?” she said instead.

“Yes, let’s,” Simon said brightly, probably eager to get off the topic of his twin sister’s sex life.

The server—a woman named Bria with a gold hoop in her nose—took their order for a pitcher of Bloody Marys, duck confit eggs Benedict, mixed fruit, and a basket of Astrid’s freshly baked blueberry oat muffins.

“So,” Claire said lightly after Bria left. “We have some news.” She looked at Delilah, her cheeks going red.

“Oh?” Astrid said, but something about the way she said that one syllable word made Iris think she already knew.

And Iris realized that she knew too. Her gut did, at least. Of course, they had all talked about Delilah and Claire getting married. Everyone knew it was going to happen. Iris had even conspired with Delilah about what sort of ring Claire would want—vintage yellow diamond surrounded by smaller stones, platinum band—but Iris had no idea Delilah was actually planning to pop the question.

Her throat went all achy and her chest felt suddenly tight like she was about to cry. She reached under the table and grabbed Simon’s hand. It was the only thing she could think to do, the only person she could hold on to right now so she didn’t float away.

He tilted his head at her, but she just smiled.

Smile, smile, smile.

“Well,” Claire said. She took Delilah’s hand, kissed her fingers. Iris could swear Delilah’s eyes were actually glistening. The whole scene was so sweet, Iris felt a surge of affection for all of them, even as her grip on Simon tightened.

“I asked Delilah to marry me,” Claire said, her eyes on her fiancée, “and she said yes.”

The table erupted in shouts and cheers. Astrid clapped and leaned over to kiss Claire’s cheek. Jordan squeezed Delilah’s shoulder. And Iris . . .

Iris promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, honey,” Claire said, getting up and hurrying over to Iris.

Simon tried to squeeze her hand tighter, but she yanked it out of his grasp. “Shit,” she said, grabbing a napkin and pressing it to her eyes.

“Sweetie, are you all right?” Claire asked, now kneeling next to her.

Iris fluttered her napkin around. Everyone was staring at her, eyes wide, mouths open. “I’m fine. I’m just happy!” She hooked her arm around Claire’s neck and pulled her in for a tight hug, forcing herself to get her shit together.

Iris had never been that little girl who dreamed of her wedding day. She’d never played with dolls as a kid, rocking tiny bald plastic babies to sleep. She’d never envisioned wearing white and walking down the aisle. Of course, she knew how monumental the Marriage Equality Act was, that people like her weren’t always able to spend the rest of their lives with their partner, legally speaking, anyway. And she wanted that for every queer person in her life who wanted it for themselves.

She wanted it for Delilah and Claire.

And while Iris prided herself on being the best kind of friend, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny swell of fear at how everything was changing. How her two best friends were experiencing something—and were going to continue to experience all sorts of things with marriage and family and kids—that Iris wasn’t going to be a part of.

She was the single friend.

And she always would be.

Iris wasn’t built for long-term. She’d been with Grant, her ex, for three years. She’d loved him and he’d loved her, but in the end, they’d broken it off because Grant wanted kids. Lots of them. He wanted a wedding in a church and matching Christmas sweaters for holiday pictures and a front porch crawling with grandkids someday.

Iris didn’t.

And while their parting was amicable and she’d agreed wholeheartedly as he explained that they wanted different things, that he needed to follow his own dream, there was a part of the whole experience that left her feeling like there was something inherently wrong with her.

Like she wasn’t the right kind of woman.

Then there was Jillian, who ended up being married—and not in an ethically nonmonogamous sort of way—a fact Iris only discovered when their phones had gotten mixed up and Lucy, Jillian’s wife, had called trying to locate her. A call Iris had answered. Jillian had used Iris, lied to her, and while none of that was Iris’s fault, she’d had a hard time shaking off the aftereffects of being an unwitting mistress.

After that shitshow, Iris decided to lay off dating, because it wasn’t just about Grant and Jillian. Throughout her sexual history, she’d always been the good lay, the one-night fuck. Even when she did date someone for a while, it always ended with very little fanfare, a ho-hum parting of the ways.

Because Iris . . . well, she was good at sex.

She wasn’t all that good at love.

She could get shit done. Plan a hell of a party. Coach her friends to chase their dreams or true loves or whatever the hell, but when it came down to it, Iris wasn’t marriage material. And after Jillian, she also didn’t want to risk getting all infatuated with someone who only saw her as a side piece of ass. Hence, her relationship moratorium, which had been working just fine for the last year. She was fine being the fifth or seventh wheel. She was fine being the single friend, the fun Aunt Iris.

She was fine.

She just needed to get her stupid, childish heart on board here, that was all.