I take his hand, giving it a firm shake and putting on mybest meet-the-parents smile. “Nate Wesley, sir. Nice to meet you.”
Her mother brushes a hand through Iris’s hair. “Thank you for bringing her.”
“It’s an honor, ma’am.”
They step back, and we follow them inside. The air smells like whatever’s cooking for dinner, homey and warm. Pictures line the walls, and I stop to scan them, realizing that some of them are old.
“Is that you, Darlin’?” I ask with a chuckle, pointing at a picture of a toddler with a bowl cut and big glasses.
Iris’s face flushes a deep red as she makes a mortified sound. “Don’t look at those, Nate. Seriously.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’m not trying to be a dick, but she was just so damn cute. “What? I like it!” I turn toward her parents, “I’m gonna have to get a copy of that one for the house.”
She shoots me a glare sharp enough to cut. “Absolutely not!”
Her parents are watching us with matching amused looks as her mom gestures toward the stairs. “Dinner will be ready soon. If you’d like, you can go up to your room. It’s exactly as you left it.”
“My room?” Iris asks, her voice filled with disbelief.
Her mom nods. “Of course. We hoped maybe you would come back, one day.”
A grin tugs at my mouth at the idea of seeing her childhood bedroom. “C’mon then, lead the way.”
When she pushes open the door, it’s like stepping into a frozen memory of someone else. The walls are a pale blue, the bed’s made, and there’s a corkboard by the window covered in photos and drawings. Shelves are lined with dusty booksand knick-knacks.
“They didn’t change anything,” she murmurs, looking around.
Still messy, huh?” I tease, nodding toward the cluttered desk.
“Shut up.”
My gaze keeps drifting, drawn to the paintings hanging on the wall. Even the rough ones, probably real old, still have something beautiful about them, somethingsoIris. “You were always good.”
She glances at me, her mouth parting, but then I see it.
A painting, half-finished, propped up by the window.
Dark, stormy clouds, light breaking through.
A memory surges up, so quick it steals the breath from my lungs. There’s a photo of a kid, skinny as hell, dark hair hiding most of his face, glasses too big. The name slams into me like a punch to the heart.
Kavi.
My chest goes cold.
Iris is saying something, but the pounding of my heart drowns her out.
I remember.
Iris
Before
The park is empty.
I’m hunched over a picnic table, my face hidden in my hands. My throat burns, but the tears keep coming. I should be at home right now. My parents are expecting me. But I’m so tired of pretending everything is okay.
All I can see behind my eyes is my sketchbook pages ripped to shreds, fluttering through the hallway like confetti.
