We pull up to the curb in front of a pretty white house with perfectly trimmed bushes. The place sorta reminds me of my own childhood home, before mom died.
Iris is in the passenger seat, tugging at the fabric of her dress.
“You look beautiful, Darlin’, Stop worrying about your dress,” I say for the tenth time since we left her place.
She huffs. “You have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.”
“I don’thaveto,” I reach over, brushing my hand against her knee to take hers. “I get to. Big difference.”
“What if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t likeyou?”
“Hey, I’m real likable,” I tell her, all confidence, while my stomach twists itself into knots.
What if they don’t think I’m good enough for Iris?
“I’m serious, Nate. My parents… they’re traditional.”
“I’m sure they’ll love me,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as her. “Because I love you.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I hope so.”
I manage to get her out of the truck and lead her up to the porch. We’re almost to the front door when I remember what I stuffed in my pocket on the way out. “Hey, almost forgot.”
She looks at me with a puzzled expression as I pull it out.
My mother’s locket.
“Figured you might wanna wear this tonight.”
Her breath catches. “Nate…”
“Turn around.” She does, gathering her hair to one side with trembling fingers. I reach around her neck and fasten itgently. “There. Perfect.”
Her hand is trembling in mine as we walk up the steps. But when she reaches for the doorbell, she hesitates. “I’m right here,” I tell her, and she nods, pressing the doorbell once before pulling her hand back like it burned her.
A few tense seconds stretch out until the door opens.
The woman who opens the door is older and a few inches shorter, but she looks exactly like Iris. When she sees us, she freezes, like her brain’s catching up.
“Iris?” she whispers, testing out the name.
“Hi, mama.”
Her mom steps forward, and I think Iris might step back, but when her mom wraps her arms around her, she lets go of my hand to hug her back desperately. Behind them, a man appears in the hallway. Tall, wearing a polo and khakis. He stops, gaping at her like he’s seeing a ghost.
“Hi, Papa,” Iris says, turning to him. He cups her face in his hands, his voice rough as gravel when he says, “It’s so good to see you.”
Whatever her parents are like, traditional or not, it’s damn clear they missed Iris.
That they love her so much.
It’s making my heart ache. I know why Iris did what she did, and I’m not judging her, but as a semi-parent, I can’t imagine how it must’ve felt for them.
If I lost Alex…
She steps back, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Mama, Papa, this is Nate. My boyfriend.”
Her dad’s gaze flicks to me, measuring at first, but it quickly relaxes when he offers his hand. “Rajesh.”
