“Thank you,” I say. “I have no idea where I’d be if Lily hadn’t found me and brought me here. Probably nowhere good. You saved me, Sol.”
“Aw, shucks,” he says. “You’re going to make me blush!”
“I mean it, though.” And I do. The words don’t even feel like enough. The gratitude I feel to him, to all the girls here, is immeasurable. Saying I appreciate what he’s done for me is like saying infinity is a big number; technically true but vastly understated.
He chuckles and gives my shoulders a squeeze before lettinghis arm fall away from me. “Well, as you know, I don’t believe in traditional gift giving. Our society puts far too much emphasis on material goods, but you and I both see through all that. However, I do have something for you. Something of more value than anything that could come in a box.”
I watch with curiosity as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a folded slip of paper. I open it as soon as he passes it to me, but I don’t expect the words I see written in black ink.
It’s my name. First and last. The name I came here with before Sol called me Iris. I haven’t heard it spoken or seen it written in a year.
I look up at Sol, uncertain of what this means, and find him beaming at me. Shining like the sun he’s named for. “It’s time to burn it,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He gestures to the fireplace and the crackling flames dancing behind Rose and Violet. “Burn it. Because that’s not you anymore. The girl who wore that name is gone. She’s been replaced by a wiser and stronger young woman. You’re Iris now.” He pauses, his smile turning sheepish as he shrugs his shoulders. “I know it probably seems like a silly, symbolic thing. But symbolshave power. So … how about it? Are you ready to say goodbye?”
I look down at the paper again. My eyes trace the familiar, curving letters. I remember learning to write them when I was little. Practicing each letter over and over on a sheet of notebook paper until I could string them all together into a real name. My first successful, legible attempt at writing the name ended up stuck to the refrigerator for a solid year. Until it got replaced by a spelling test with a big A+ written at the top in red ink.
I feel a lump forming in my throat and the familiar burning of tears in my eyes at the memory.
I’ve heard that name spoken with love, with amusement, with exasperation, with rage, with disappointment. And now not at all.
Sol’s right. That girl, the one who carried this name, is long gone.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
I shuffle over to the fireplace. Rose and Violet both stand, moving away to make room for me to position myself at the hearth. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I look down at my old name one last time.
I fold the paper up neatly, pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, and then toss it right into the flames. I hear Lily give a little reassuring cheer followed by Poppy and Zinnia clappingwith enthusiasm. Sol puts his arm around me, while somewhere off to my right I can hear Violet say a dry, “Congratulations.”
And I can feel Rose watching me, but I can’t see her face to know what she’s thinking.
Because my gaze never leaves the fire as I watch the girl I used to be turn to ash.
The attic is empty when I go upstairs to get ready for bed. The snow has begun to fall in earnest, and through the slightly open window I can hear Poppy and Zinnia laughing as they make snow angels while Lily begs them to put on more layers, “Before y’all freeze to death!”
But there are two pieces of paper waiting for me on my pillow. The top sheet is a note, written in pencil.
Iris,
I know we’re not really supposed to give gifts. But I think this is probably okay. And if not, I won’t tell if you won’t. Congrats on your anniversary! Can’t wait until it’s my turn.
—Zinnia
Alittle heart replaces the dot over the secondiin my name, while stars float above thei’s inZinnia. I laugh to myself as I set the note aside and look at the second sheet of paper.
And I immediately stop laughing.
It’s a stunningly detailed pencil drawing of a girl. Her beautiful long, gently wavy hair blows behind her in a soft breeze as she looks up at what appears to be a full moon. Even in shadow, I recognize the mouth, with its sharply arched Cupid’s bow and the sleepy, down-turned eyes.
Because those are the same eyes that look back at me from the mirror every day.
“What do you have there?”
I’m so transfixed by the drawing that I don’t even hear Rose come in, and it takes me a second to register her question.
“Uh … Zinnia. She made me something.”
