“It means exactly as it sounds,” Roman said. The streetlamps were beginning to flicker to life, illuminating his face with amber light. She hated how handsome he was. She hated how her heart softened when he looked at her. “Autry is giving you a special favor so he can promote you instead of me.”
And that softness fled, leaving behind a bruise.
“What?” The word burst from her; it tasted like copper, and she realized the cut on her lip had reopened. “How dare you say that to me!”
Roman was frowning now. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I was under the impression that this position would be fairly earned, and I don’t—”
“What do you mean by this ‘favor’？”
“He pities you!” Roman cried, exasperated.
Iris froze. His words struck her, deeply. She felt the frost in her chest, spreading outward to her hands. She was trembling, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Autry pities me,” she echoed. “Why? Because I’m a low-class girl who’s out of her depth working for the press?”
“Winnow, I—”
“In your opinion, I should be washing dishes in a restaurant kitchen, shouldn’t I? Or I should be cleaning houses, on my hands and knees, polishing floors for people like you to walk over.”
His eyes flashed. “I never said you didn’t deserve to be at the Gazette. You’re a bloody good writer. But you dropped out of school in your final year and—”
“Why does that even matter?” she exclaimed. “Are you someone who likes to judge a person by their past? By what school they attended? Is that all you can look at?”
Roman was so still, so quiet that Iris thought she had charmed him into stone. “No,” he finally said, but his voice sounded odd. “But you’re becoming unreliable. You’ve been running late, missing assignments, and you’re sloppy.”
She took a step back. She didn’t want him to sense how badly his words wounded her. “I see. Well, it’s reassuring to know that if I get the position, it will only be due to pity. And if you get columnist, it will only be due to how much your rich father can bribe Autry to give it to you.”
She spun and strode away, against the flow of traffic. The world blurred for a moment; she realized her eyes were burning with tears.
I hate him.
Over the noise of conversation and the bell of the tram and the jostle of strangers’ shoulders, she could hear him calling to her.
“Now wait a minute, Winnow. Don’t run from me!”
She melted into the crowd before Roman could catch up to her.
{6}
Dinner with People You Love （or Don’t）
Iris was still reeling from the things Roman had said to her when she dragged herself into the flat. She didn’t notice that all the candles had been lit or the fragrance of dinner until her mother appeared wearing her best dress, hair curled and lips painted red.
“There you are, sweetheart. I was getting worried. You’re home an hour late!”
Iris merely gaped for a moment, her eyes flickering from her mother to the dinner set on the kitchen table. “Are we expecting company?”
“No. It’s just you and me tonight,” Aster said, stepping forward to help Iris from her coat. “I thought we could have a special dinner. Like we used to, in the past.”
When Forest was still with them.
Iris nodded, her stomach rumbling when she realized her mother had bought dinner from her favorite restaurant. A roast with vegetables sat on a platter, accompanied by rolls that gleamed with butter. Her mouth watered as she took her seat, Aster fixing her plate.
It had been a long time since her mother had cooked or bought dinner. And while Iris wanted to be cautious, she was so hungry. For warm, nourishing food. For sober conversations with her mother. For the days of the past, before Forest had left and Aster had turned to the bottle.
“Tell me about work, sweetheart,” her mother said, settling across the table from her.
Iris took a bite. How had her mother paid for such a feast? And then it hit her; the money from Nan’s radio must have bought this meal—and alcohol, most likely—and the food suddenly tasted like ash.
“I’ve been working on obituaries lately,” she confessed.
“That’s lovely, darling.”
Lovely was not how Iris would describe her obituary work, and she paused, studying Aster.
Her mother had always been beautiful in Iris’s mind, with her heart-shaped face, russet-colored hair, and wide, charming smile. But there was a glaze in her eyes that night, as if she could look at things but not truly see them. Iris winced when she realized Aster wasn’t sober.
“Tell me more about the Tribune,” Aster said.
“It’s actually the Gazette, Mum.”
“Ah, that’s right. The Gazette.”
Iris proceeded to tell her bits and pieces, leaving Roman out of it. As if he didn’t exist, but his words continued to haunt her. You’re sloppy.
“Mum?” Iris began, hesitating when Aster glanced up at her. “Do you think you could help me curl my hair tonight?”
“I’d love to,” her mother said, rising from the table. “In fact, I bought a new shampoo for my hair. We’ll wash yours and set it with my rollers. Here, come into the lavatory.”
Iris picked up one of the candles and followed her. It took a little bit of effort, but Aster was able to wash her hair over the side of the tub with the bucket of rainwater they had. And then it was back to her mother’s bedroom, where Iris sat before the mirror.
She closed her eyes as Aster combed the tangles from her hair. For a moment, there were no blisters on her heels or heavy sorrows in her heart. Forest would be home soon from the horology shop, and her mother would turn on the radio and they would listen to late-night talk shows and music.
“Is there someone you’re interested in at work?” Aster asked, beginning to section Iris’s long hair.
Iris’s eyes flew open. “No. Why would you ask, Mum?”
Aster shrugged. “Just wondering why you want me to curl your hair.”
“It’s for me,” Iris replied. “I’m sick of looking like a slob.”
“I’ve never thought of you as a slob, Iris. Not once.” She began to clip the first roller into place. “Did a boy say that to you?”
Iris sighed, watching Aster’s reflection in the speckled mirror.
“Perhaps,” she finally confessed. “He’s my competition. We both want the same position.”
“Let me guess. He’s young, handsome, suave, and knows you write better than him, so he’s doing all he can to distract and worry you.”
Iris nearly laughed. “How do you know that, Mum?”
“Mothers know everything, sweetheart,” Aster said with a wink. “And I’m casting my bet on you.”
Iris smiled, surprised by how much her mother’s reassurance bolstered her.
“Now then. If your brother knew a boy said such a thing to you…” Aster clucked her tongue. “There would be no hope for him. Forest was always so protective over you.”
Iris blinked back a surge of tears. Perhaps it was because this was the first true conversation she had had with her mother in a long time. Perhaps it was because Aster’s fingers were gentle, coaxing memories to the surface. Perhaps it was because Iris finally had a full belly and clean hair. But she could almost see her brother again, as if the mirror had caught a flash of him.