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Iris blinks. Then the wrinkle in her brow softens, her eyes following suit as she looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You love him. Don’t you.”
“I—” I swallow, just the thought of it rustling up a fresh wave of pain that I suspect won’t ebb for a long time to come. “Yes.” I nod slowly, looking down in my lap. “I do. Both of them.”
Iris doesn’t say anything, and really, I don’t think there’s anything left for either of us to say. I nod awkwardly at the table before I lay my fingers on the top to drum them absently.
“I’m going to leave you alone now,” I tell her. “Just... think about it. There’s no reason for any of you to keep hurting like this.”
Iris nods dazedly, still looking at me like I have a second head growing out of the side of my neck. I guess I can’t blame her, since this is the strangest encounter I’ve ever had in my life. I can’t even say if it will do any good, but at least I can say I tried.
“Cassie,” Iris calls as I move to slide out of the booth.
I pause at the edge. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “For the things I said. I was hurting.”
Another dry, hollow laugh escapes me. “Yeah, well. There’s plenty of that to go around.”
I don’t say goodbye as I leave Iris sitting at the table, and I don’t look back. I step out of the café with Wanda’s sack of bread still in my hand and my Danish forgotten. I have no way of knowing if anything will come from what I’ve done, but the hole in my chest feels smaller, less raw. Maybe it will never close. Maybe this will be the best I can hope for—that Aiden and Sophie will find happiness.
Even if it’s without me.
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CHAPTER 26
Cassie
Days after talking to Iris, I find myself feeling strangely less mopey. I’m still mostly miserable and a lot angry at myself, but I don’t feel like the sky is falling. Most of the time. I think it’s because I’ve chosen to let myself daydream that talking to Iris will lead to something good for the little family I left behind. That somewhere in all the hurt they will find their happily ever after. That I won’t be a burden for anyone. Not ever again.
I’m still on Wanda’s couch, but I’m not on my way to achieving complete homeostasis, at least. I’ve showered (multiple times, thank you), and I’ve brushed my hair. I’ve even put away my depression sweats and opted for a slightly less sad outfit of leggings and an oversized T-shirt, which is clean, I might add. That’s a definite plus.
I’ve spent most of the day working on assignments that I’ve fallen into the habit of putting off until the last second to allowfor more crying time, and by the time that I’ve gotten fully caught up with my lessons—the first time in weeks that I’ve done so earlier than the night before my labs—I’m feeling almost like myself again. Almost.
I can hear Wanda stepping down the hall from her bedroom as I close my laptop, pulling her robe closed as she peers at me over her glasses. “Look at you,” she says, sounding impressed. “There was an actual woman living under all that funk.”
I roll my eyes. “Again, so happy to have you in my corner.”
“I’m just pulling your leg. I’m happy you look more like yourself. I was starting to consider calling an exorcist or something.”
“Yes, we are all very amused by your haunting jokes.”
“Dialed that old Ghostbusters line at one point,” she deadpans. “Got some poor schmuck in Kentucky.”
“Isn’t it time for you to get ready for bingo?”
“I’ve got time.” She moves over to her chair to plop down into it, studying me over the tops of her glasses. “You do look much better. You think that mean broad heard anything you said?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I want to think she did though. It makes me feel better to think that.”
“You’d probably feel even better if you go check yourself.”
“I’m not having this discussion again.”
“We haven’t actually had it to begin with. You’re always skulking off to the bathroom or burying yourself in my couch like a real squatter.”
