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.
“I love the hell out of you,” she said to Claire now, then pulled back and beamed at Delilah. “Both of you.”
“I’m touched, Kelly,” Delilah said wryly, but she was smiling.
“Show us the ring!” Astrid said as she got up and came over to Iris’s other side, settling on the arm of the wooden chair. Iris leaned into her.
Delilah scowled. “We’re really going to do all the squealing over the rings?”
“Hell yes, we are,” Jordan said. “Cough it up, Green.”
Delilah pursed her lips, then winked at Claire in a way that made Claire audibly sigh.
Jesus, these two. Iris kissed Claire’s temple.
Delilah finally displayed a very important finger, upon which sat a square black diamond with a black rhodium band that swirled over the centerpiece stone. Very Delilah.
“Wait, so you asked Delilah?” Iris asked Claire.
Claire nodded. “It just sort of happened. I was in Portland this past Tuesday night for a reading at Graydon Books—that queer romance author I really want to do some events with you at River Wild, Ris—and I stopped by this little curiosity shop afterward. I found this ring and it was like . . . I don’t know. I just knew I wanted the ring, and I wanted Delilah to wear it.”
“I’ll never take it off again,” Delilah said, and Iris didn’t even think she was being sarcastic.
“How’s Ruby?” Astrid asked. “Is she excited?”
“She was actually with me when I got the ring,” Claire said. “She spotted it first. And, yeah, she’s really excited.”
“Who wouldn’t want me as their super awesome, cool-as-hell stepmom?” Delilah said. “Show them yours, babe.”
Claire brandished her own hand, which was now sporting a gorgeous vintage yellow diamond, the very same style Iris and Delilah had discussed about a month ago.
“Luckily, I had it on hand,” Delilah said.
“For months,” Claire said, stretching out her fingers. “You’ve had my ring since Christmas.”
“That’s gorgeous,” Simon said, inspecting Claire’s ring.
“Okay, let’s talk details,” Astrid said, clapping her hands. “At the Everwood, next summer. Or maybe spring? I’m thinking outside, with a gauzy tent that—”
“Shit, Claire, we’re eloping,” Delilah said.
Claire laughed. “Ruby would never forgive us.”
“Oh my god, Ruby as your maid of honor,” Iris said, then her tears started flowing again, because apparently, she was a fucking mess, a status she was not enjoying.
So Iris did what she did best.
She got loud and funny and opinionated.
“A toast!” she said, grabbing her glass of champagne Bria had placed on the table in lieu of their actual order, and climbing onto one of the wrought iron chairs. Eyes followed her like bugs to a blue light, even those brunching at the inn who weren’t with her party. She felt the attention, felt it soak into her bones, making her feel strong and invincible.