Ren lifted their glass to seal the deal. Stevie clinked Adri’s coffee cup against Ren’s but didn’t drink it. No way in hell was she toasting her impending one-night stand with her ex’s cold coffee.
CHAPTER THREE
BY THE TIME Iris escaped the birthday dinner from hell, it was nearly ten o’clock. The meal had dragged on and on, and her mother insisted that everyone play at least one round of Scrabble before leaving, which turned into three, because Aiden couldn’t handle the fact that Emma was incapable of losing a word game and kept calling for rematches.
Iris endured it all, particularly after her theatrics, as Emma called them, had caused her mother to drink not one, but two glasses of Pinot Noir at dinner. Iris had never known her mother to consume more than a sip or two of alcohol in a single sitting, and the resulting hiccups were both comic and worrying.
Still, when Maeve brought up Grant’s impending wedding as soon as Emma’s final letter tile hit the triple word score, bringing game three to a merciful end, Iris had had just about enough.
“Yes, Mother, I got the invitation,” she said, scooping tiny wooden letters off the dining room table and into the velvet bag while her siblings gathered their sleeping children from the living room. She’d always known her ex, Grant, would get married eventually. He’d dreamed of a big family, wanted to grow old on a front porch, snapping peas at twilight surrounded by grandchildren, so it wasn’t like Iris was all that surprised to receive the thick ivory invitation in the mail a few weeks ago.
“Her name is Elora,” Maeve said, taking a sleeping Christopher in her arms so Emma and Charlie could collect the amalgam of shit needed to keep a baby alive for an evening. “What kind of name is that?”
“A nice one,” Iris said brusquely, packing everything away in the Scrabble box and jamming on the lid.
“Odd, if you ask me,” Maeve said. “Not as nice as Iris.”
“Mom,” Iris said, pushing her fingers into her temples. “Please don’t.”
“I’m just saying, you two were great together,” Maeve said.
Iris pressed her mouth flat. More and more lately, coming over to her parents’ house felt like undergoing a root canal—she felt exposed, judged for her choices, and left with a fierce need for some self-medication.
“You talking about Grant?” Aiden said, a passed-out Ava propped on his hip and probably drooling on his shoulder. “God, I miss him.”
“We all do,” Maeve said. “I felt like I lost a son when he and Iris broke up.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Aiden said, rolling his eyes.
She swatted at his arm. “Oh, you know what I mean. He was a keeper, that one.”
Iris slipped the game into the sideboard, alongside several other board games, and tried not to scream.
“I wonder what his fiancée is like,” Aiden said. “Bet she’s hot.”
“Who’s hot?” Addison said, appearing in the doorway, holding Ainsley’s hand. The little girl was nearly asleep on her feet.
“Um,” Aiden said, and their mother grinned.
“Grant’s fiancée,” Iris said, smirking at Aiden’s betrayed look.
Addison barely batted an eye though. “Oh, she is. I Instagram-stalked her when we got their wedding invitation.”
“You did?” Maeve said. “What’s she like?”
“Here, I’ll show you,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pink cashmere coat. “She’s gorgeous. And Grant looks so happy.”
The family huddled around Addison, quickly joined by Emma and Charlie, all of them oohing and aahing over Grant’s perfect new life in Portland with his perfect new dream woman.
Iris stood alone and wished for an asteroid to collide with earth.
“My god, these two will have such beautiful babies,” her mother cooed, clasping her hands to her chest as she ogled the screen.
And that was the last goddamn straw.
Without a word to anyone—her father had long disappeared into his study for some peace and quiet and, honestly, fuck the rest of them—Iris grabbed her coat and bag from the rack in the foyer and slipped out the front door. She didn’t dare slow down but headed straight for her Subaru parked on the curb, started the engine, and peeled down the street so fast, she was positive she left tire marks on the asphalt.
At this time of night, the two whole stoplights in Bright Falls were blinking yellow, so she didn’t stop until she parked outside her apartment building in downtown. She shut off her engine, but then flopped her head against her seat instead of getting out. She glanced up at her unit’s window on the second floor—she hadn’t left any lights on. She always forgot to do that when she left for the evening, but tonight, for some reason, the idea of walking into her place in the dark, alone . . . it all felt like a bit too much.
She dug her phone out of her bag and texted the group chat.
Iris: You won’t believe what my mother did tonight
She waited for someone to respond. The chat’s name was currently I’ve Got a Queery, but it changed on the regular, usually because Iris was bored or sitting at home alone while everyone else participated in their domestic bliss and—she could admit it—she was vying for some attention.
She stared at the screen.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Iris: Actually you probably would believe it
Iris: I think I might be engaged to a fitness icon. It’s unclear
She added a bicycle emoji, followed by a diamond ring, still to no avail.
There was a time when their group chat was on a constant stream, hardly quiet for even an hour. Iris knew it was to be expected for things to take a little longer these days—everyone was coupled up, living together.
Everyone but Iris.
Her throat went a little tight and she gave herself a mental slap, then set her thumbs to work again.
Iris: ALL RIGHT LOVERS, CODE RED OVER HERE!
Then, finally, a response. Iris ignored the way her heart literally fluttered in her chest with relief.
Astrid: Stop yelling
Iris: I am most certainly not yelling. I’m cajoling Delilah: You’re yelling
Iris: Astrid and Delilah agreeing, well, my my Delilah:
Claire: Were they cute, at least? Your mom’s setup?
Iris: He was orange. And hated Diet Coke
Jordan: That stuff will kill you
Iris: Wait, Jordan . . . are YOU actually a spin instructor named Zach?
Astrid: I sure as hell hope not
Jordan: I have a confession . . .
Iris smiled, then started tapping out her next pithy reply when an email notification from Fiona popped onto her screen.
“Shit,” Iris said, wincing as she tapped on her email app. She shouldn’t even read it. While her agent worked at all hours of the day, Iris knew it was perfectly acceptable for her to delay her own work until the morning, but she was a glutton for punishment.
Hey Iris, Fiona’s email started, I wanted to check in and see how the novel was coming along. Are we still working through the ornithologist on a Caribbean island idea?
Oh, Jesus, no, they were most definitely not still working through that idea. While a hot bisexual scientist who studied birds was appealing, Iris knew zilch about poultry and, honestly, didn’t give a shit about the mating habits of parrots.