Lindsay had been Kevin’s crush when she first moved here in eighth grade, and once he got the balls to ask her out the summer before high school, she became his high school sweetheart. They were that couple. Kevin was a wide receiver on the football team and Lindsay was the captain of the volleyball team. They were unanimously voted prom king and queen. Still, they waited. They dated for nearly ten years before he popped the question. While they both loved each other fiercely, they knew college could change them into different people. They wanted their marriage to last. I never doubted it would.
Even in rough times, when normal people would have taken a break or simply walked away, they didn’t. They fought for it. I came to realize that was the path to a successful relationship. Not love or trust—although those were definitely important—but the willingness to fight for it. Because no matter the couple, there would always be a fight that looked like it would be the last. The couples that were meant to be together fought against their struggles, not against one another. They wanted to make it right, even if that meant admitting they were at fault too. Even “the one” took work.
That was how I knew Colleen and I were never supposed to last. When the shit hit the fan, I had no interest in fighting for the relationship, or her. Not in a malicious way, or to be cruel. I just didn’t want it, or her, enough to overlook what she’d done.
I looked at Kevin and Lindsay and knew we’d never had anything close to what they had. And despite what Colleen did to me, I wasn’t so cynical that I couldn’t be happy for Kevin and Lindsay. Hell, I helped him pick out her ring, and I was currently helping Lindsay set up a secret man-cave for Kevin as a wedding present.
Regardless of what my mother thought, I knew there were still decent people in the world. I just wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to trust someone enough to open myself up that way.
My heart stopped. Because for some reason, Iris popped in my head.
Ma was bustling around her tiny kitchen, accidentally hip checking the counter every couple minutes in her excitement. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, not a hair out of place. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt that fell just past her knees and a white shirt. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. She looked like she was having tea with a queen.
“You took out the good wine, right?”
I held in my sigh of annoyance. “Yes, Ma.”
“And you laid out the nice plates? The ones with the angels on them?”
“Ma,” I said, walking over and putting my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stop and face at me. “Everything is perfect. You did a great job.” Her smile lit up the room. “But why are you going all out?”
“This woman gave you something, something she didn’t have to. Something that will affect her for the rest of her life. The least I could do was serve decent wine and make sure her plate doesn’t have a chip in it.” She withdrew herself from my hold. “Sometimes the things we do aren’t about the people we’re doing them for. Sometimes they’re just about us, about how we treat people, regardless of who they are or what they did. In this case, it’s a little of both. I really like Iris, and I won’t have your Grinch attitude ruin that.”
“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “I’m sorry. I just hate to see you running around frantic.”
“I won’t apologize for caring about making a good impression. And this is her first time over at my apartment. It’s important to me.”
“Noted.” I tried to give her my best forgive-me smile. It worked, and I relented even more. “Would you like me to get the tall candles out?”
I was always amazed at how wide my ma’s smile could get. “Yes, dear. That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”
She bought both of us a set about a year ago. Mine were collecting dust in my closet. I told her pigs would fly before I casually used long-stem candles.
Passing her, I placed my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No thanks necessary. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.” This time I didn’t add an excuse; they invalidated an apology anyway.
“You’re forgiven. Now scoot.” She laughed as she whipped the towel at my back.
After placing the candles on the table, I sat at the counter, my gaze nervously shifting to the clock. In the blink of an eye, a knock sounded through her apartment.
“Oh, she’s here. Will you grab it? And be nice,” she added sternly before grabbing a mitt, opening the stove, and carefully taking the food out.
Getting up, I slowly made my way to the door. I looked through the peephole. She was smiling, a dish in her hands and her purse dangling from her shoulder. From what I could tell she was wearing a bright purple dress under her coat. I shook my head and unlocked the door before swinging it open.
“Hi.” Her greeting was immediate and genuine. How could a girl whom I’ve done nothing but rebuff be so happy to see me?
“Hey. Uh… c’mon in.” I stepped back and my gaze involuntarily dropped to her ass as she passed. I shut the door and leaned against it for an extra minute or two.
“Iris, dear?” my ma called out.
“Hi, Catherine. I brought some of that dessert we talked about last time.” I looked over to see Iris setting the store-bought container on the counter before enveloping my mother in a hug.
A few minutes later we were all seated around a table full of food. I may love cooking, but I always appreciated my ma’s home-cooked meals.
“As always, this smells delicious, Catherine. Thank you again for having me.”
“You’re always welcome, dear. I can’t wait till you try some of Nicky’s food.” Iris glanced toward me, brows raised. “Nick is a chef,” my mom boasted proudly.
“Really?” Iris asked, eyes bright and smile broad. “How didn’t this get brought up earlier?”
“It was kinda difficult with my ma constantly fretting and doing everything for me,” I joked. My ma smiled over at me and I raised my brows, saying, See? I can be nice…
“You know,” Iris began. “There’s a Cultural Fair during the first few weeks of school. Each class is assigned a country and the students have to present on it. Five students talk about geography. Five talk about history, etc… and the teacher is responsible for the food, and well, I’m horrible at cooking…”
Uh-oh. I knew where this was headed, and judging by the excitement in my mother’s eyes, so did she.
“I know it’s only the beginning of September, so it’s about a month away, but maybe you could help me?” she finished with a hopeful grin. They were both waiting for an answer. I wanted to say no. This woman was trying to worm her way into our lives, and we still had no idea what she wanted.
Then I made the mistake of really looking at my ma, the woman who gave up so much for me. She looked hopeful and resigned all at once. She knew I wanted to say no, she was expecting it, but as always there was a tiny glimmer of hope. And I really loved that look on her, so I shrugged and said, “Sure.”
The way her expression completely blew apart made it all worth it. She actually squealed. “Oh, this is great news,” she exclaimed before clapping her hands and wrapping one arm around Iris.
And something about the way she held on to Iris just a little bit longer than normal made me think how decisively ungreat this was.
I had a feeling we weren’t getting rid of her anytime soon.
I slumped back in my seat, so full I thought I might explode.
“Wow, I’m stuffed. Really, thank you for having me over. Everything was wonderful.” I turned from Catherine to her son. “I can’t wait to see your cooking in action.”
He grumbled something unintelligible. Frowning, I leaned forward. I could understand his behavior when he was in the hospital. After all, I’d be pretty ticked if someone ran me off the road and left me for dead. But now? And aimed at me? Someone who’d tried to help him? I didn’t have any excuse for his behavior. I wasn’t angry—he didn’t know me enough to actually hold any ill will toward me. But why? That was what always got to me ab
out the angry, cruel people in the world… why?
With my elbows on the table and my arms crossed, I finally asked him the question I’d been dying to know. “Why are you so prickly?”
He laughed, a real, deep laugh, like no one had ever accused him of that before. And I almost saw the dimples! “Prickly? Most—”
His mother cut him off and placed a hand on my arm. “My dear, that is very generous of you. Bastard is the most common insult.”
My eyes were wide as Nick scowled, but Catherine was unaffected by the entire thing.
“Nicholas, you should say thank you.”
His scowl deepened. “I’m not thanking her for insulting me.”
I hadn’t meant to offend him. Frowning, I said, “Prickly isn’t necessarily an insult… more like… a quirk.”
Nick didn’t seem to take it that way. Grabbing his plate, he stood up and walked to the sink.
“Don’t worry about him, dear. He woke up on the wrong side of life.” Nick’s mom chuckled as she picked up both our plates.
“Oh, let me—”
“Nonsense,” Catherine interrupted. “You’re my guest.”
She joined Nick at the sink. He was trying to hold his glare, but I saw the glimmer of affection in his gaze. Nick may have tried to act firm, stone cold, and uncaring; but he could never make it reach his eyes. His jaw was sharp, his lips in a flat line, but his eyes always held love.
There was something about him that made me not want to give up. He made me want to take a chance. I was willing to prick myself on a thorn, just to get close to the beauty of a rose. Because I knew it was there. He tried to hide it, but I could still see it.
“Do you go to church, Iris?” Catherine asked above the water Nick had turned on.
“Not with any regularity.”
“Well I do hope you’ll come with us sometime—I’d love for the churchgoers to meet a real-life angel.” Catherine was beaming, but behind her I saw Nick roll his eyes as he placed a dish on the drying rack. And despite the fact that he clearly disagreed, there was a warmth to his expression as he looked at his mother. He may not understand or agree with her, but he clearly loved and respected her. When he caught me staring his features chilled.
“I would be honored,” I answered.
“Excuse me for a minute. I’ll go grab a program.” His mother smiled at me before walking to what I presumed was her bedroom.
“Thank you again.” I turned back toward Nick. “I really appreciate you having me over.”
“Why?” I shook my head; I thought we’d cleared this up when his mom was out here. He leaned forward, keeping his voice down. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick. But my ma has the tendency to see only the good in people.”
“And that’s a problem?” I asked with a quirked brow.
“It can be. I don’t know what you want—”
Okay, now I was getting exasperated. “I don’t want anything,” I hissed, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “I don’t know what happened to make you so distrustful. But I had nothing to gain from giving you my kidney. I did it because you needed it. I came to dinner because your mother asked me to, and I agreed to go to church because I like your mother. My decisions were never based on you. I simply saw Catherine, suffering and in pain at the hospital, and I empathized. I know what that feels like—”
Nick laughed, but it was cold and mean. And I knew the words that followed would be the same. “You wouldn’t know pain and suffering if it bit you on the ass. You talk about growing up in your perfect, cookie-cutter mansion, with more money than you know what to do with—”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” I interrupted.
“Oh, so you grew up unhappy?”
Gritting my teeth, I answered, “No, I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean—”
“That’s what I thought. We didn’t have much growing up; I had to work and earn my way into adulthood. And I’m sorry you’re bored out of your mind, playing around with all of Mommy and Daddy’s money, trying to make up for the extravagant lifestyle you led by wandering around looking for do-gooder tasks to make you feel better about your vain life. You don’t know anything about the hell my mother has been through.”
I rarely got angry, especially over people like Nick who weren’t worth it. If I were to get angry, it was usually at Aster. But Nick had no right to talk to me this way.
I looked toward Catherine’s room before leaning forward. My voice was even and calm.
“Let’s get something straight. Just because I smile and want to see the best in people and believe thinking positively is the way to go, just because I wear bright purple dresses and I like makeup and getting my nails done, doesn’t mean I live a vain life or didn’t work for what I have.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. “I talk to babies in a high-pitched voice, but that doesn’t mean I’m not smart, and I try to save random crickets and spiders that get in my house, but that doesn’t mean I’m weak.
“I went to college. I studied hard, and when I graduated I got my job on my own. I stayed late, worked weekends. I worked hard for what I have, all of which I paid for.”
“I—”
“No. You don’t have the right to come into my life and judge me for doing well for myself. I won’t apologize for working hard and doing what I enjoy as a result of it. Did I have help? Sure. My parents paid for my schooling, but they’ve also set up scholarship funds for others. I won’t apologize for having a good life. Or for trying to help others.”
I pushed my chair back and grabbed my purse.
“And for the record, there’s a lot about me you don’t know. Things that sucked. Things that were heartbreaking. But I chose not to let those be the things that defined me. I’m a strong and capable person, and that was my choice. None of it happened by chance. And your flawed perception of me won’t change me either.”
And with that, I walked out.
“Can you believe it?” she whispered; her tone was an odd blend of disgusted and gratified.
“Are you sure?” Terry asked softly.
“Uh-huh. Barrett got twelve months in prison for—”
Shaking my head, I left the teachers’ break room, leaving my two coworkers and their gossip about another teacher’s husband to themselves.
I had no interest in it. Although I was sure I’d end up hearing about it eventually—work gossip spread quicker than germs through a daycare, and no one was immune.
Something I had learned working with children… adults weren’t a real thing. Most just pretended really well.
It was the first week of school, and already teachers were gossiping about what other teachers had done over the summer. I shook off the thought. I didn’t want to participate, even passively by thinking about it.
Sipping my coffee, I walked into my classroom and sat at my desk before looking over my lesson plan.
The first unit of the year was a general overview of world cultures, where we went over all the wonderful aspects of diversity and how important every person was to society. Then at the end of the three-week lesson the school held a Cultural Fair and each class was assigned a different country to research and present. My students had Italy.
I loved it. Truthfully, there wasn’t much about my job I didn’t love, but this was one of the few lessons the kids really enjoyed. It almost seemed like play to them rather than actual work.
The only thing I didn’t love was the cooking, and now I was saddled with that alone.
My plan to befriend Nick flew out the window when I walked out Catherine’s door a week ago. I wouldn’t try if it meant I was being insulted the whole time. Even though I could let his attitude roll off my shoulders, that was a lot of shrugging, and I wasn’t convinced Nick was worth it at this point.
The warning bell rang and I finished my coffee before I started organizing my desk and writing on the board. I listened to the eager pitter-patters of kids shuffling in. Kids who hadn’t figured out they
were supposed to hate school and rebel against everything. I loved teaching, but I was doubtful I could teach anyone over the age of eight or nine. I couldn’t see myself enjoying it as much. I had such a passion for learning, and I wanted to instill that in as many kids as possible.
Everyone was still jittery coming off summer break, yet somehow they managed to stay focused, for the most part, on the lessons. Math, language arts, and science all went well. But when we came in from recess they struggled with the social studies and foreign language sections. And before I knew it, the day was ending and it was time to go.
“Okay, guys. We made it through our first week of school. Don’t forget to start working on your Class Culture assignments. Three weeks will be here quick.” I finished with a smile as everyone packed up and the bell rang. Their excited chatter rose in a flurry. I heard the door open and kids shuffling out. Once I was seated behind my desk, I took out my planner and began planning out my weekend.
I was babysitting Mirielle for the first time alone tomorrow. Calla was hesitant, but after nearly four months, I insisted she and Kent go out and spend the day together.
“Oh, excuse me, dear.” My head snapped up.
“Catherine.” I rose as she held the door open for the last of my students.
“It’ll be wicked fun!” Matthew shouted at Abby.
With a shake of her head and a chuckle, she glanced at me. “No matter how long I live here, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
My brows crinkled. “Used to what?”
“The word ‘wicked.’”
“Where are you from?” I asked, realizing we’d never really touched on Catherine’s background. She’d mainly kept the focus on me or Nick during our dinners.
“Oh, a bit of everywhere. I was an Army brat.” She smiled. Then grew a little awkward and shifted around uncomfortably.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, walking forward to draw the blinds so we could have some privacy.
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