8. Sebastian
Chapter eight
Sebastian
I ris is definitely tipsy. Her glass looks like it is filled with orange juice, but apparently it’s not without alcoholic content. She’s dancing with her sister in the back of the bar near the stage, waving her hands and singing at the top of her lungs. She keeps reaching down to fix her prosthetic pregnancy belly. It looks lopsided once again, like she really is carrying an octopus who slid sideways. The tables have all been cleared to the sides. A happy haze has enveloped the bar.
I sit next to her great-aunt, taking a break. She is very stylishly dressed, looks to be about eighty, and seemed sweet. Not a smart move. She can drink me under the table. I’m definitely feeling the effects of too much alcohol.
As she sips the second vodka gimlet she’s ordered since I’ve been sitting here—I said “no more” for me—she says, “Darling, we used to have martinis at lunch and go back to work. Your generation has no idea.”
Iris is back.
“Sebastian!” Iris grabs my hands.
“This one is a very good one, Iris,” her aunt Viola says. “You should hold on to him.”
Iris leans into me, and her soft hair brushes against my cheek. I can smell the flowery scent of her shampoo. I put out my hand to touch a strand but pull back just in time. I blink. I need to order a coffee or something.
“Shh,” Iris whispers loudly. “Sebastian is not mine. Sebastian is a monk.”
“He’s a monk?” Viola’s eyes widen, and she looks at me in horror.
Iris nods very seriously. Very exaggerated. And she leans in. “Why are you a monk, Sebastian?”
“Why are you hanging out with a monk, Iris?” her aunt says. “There are so many men in the sea. Go enjoy your youth. I’m worried about you. You’re pretending to be pregnant. You’re here with a monk. Darling, what’s going on? Don’t give up on men just because of one bad apple.” Viola now has her hands on Iris’s cheeks.
“I’m not a monk,” I say.
“He’s not a monk, Iris.” Viola slips off her stool. “I’m going to let you two talk. Give me that pregnancy pillow. It’s not doing you any favors.”
“I’m not taking if off in public.” Iris leans back against my leg. And I want to pull her onto my lap.
“A coffee. Strong,” I say urgently to the bartender.
“And I’m wearing it because Dahlia asked me too. Although I think all her friends are thrilled to be aunties.”
“He says he’s not a monk. I’m sure he’s seen a stomach before.” Her aunt has that pregnancy pillow off in a matter of seconds. She winks at me. “I used to sell clothes. I’m very good at undressing and dressing women—and men.” Her aunt sashays over to a table of older men in the corner.
Iris is still leaning against my leg, but then she plops down on the bar stool left vacant by her aunt.
She drops her elbow on the bar and rests her head on her hand and stares at me. “Who broke your heart?”
“My best friend.” I rest my head on my hand, mirroring her position.
She frowns. “That’s not a very nice best friend.”
“Right?” I ask. “I thought we were perfect for each other, but she didn’t.”
“Did you date?”
“We dated for about six months, and then Melody said she just wanted to be friends. That she thought we worked better as friends and she wanted to keep me as her friend.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I still don’t understand. We had the best time together. I felt like we were completely in sync. How could she think there was a relationship out there that would be better?” I pause and take a deep breath. “Still, seeing her choose Wim as her fiancé definitely made me realize we were not quite as in sync as I thought.”
I also am not quite sure why I’m telling Iris all this, but it seems safe somehow. And it feels better to get it out. It’s not like I want to discuss it again with Zeke and Rupert. They’ve heard it all before. Once. When she first broke up with me. And we all got drunk at my place.
“Do you still like her?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “Getting over it.”
“That’s hard.”
My mouth dips down, and I look away. “It’s brutal. But I’ll be happy for her.” I shake my head.
Iris just gazes at me, her brown-flecked green eyes melting my defenses.
“But it’s not like we have the same relationship anymore. I’m a friend now, and I’m definitely second place to her fiancé. Obviously. I’m coming to terms with it.” I down the coffee the bartender serves me.
“And you haven’t dated anyone since?” she asks.
“I have, but I didn’t feel that same about them—and then, breaking up is brutal. It’s not like I like telling someone I don’t want to date anymore.”
“Hmm.” Iris’s gaze is so soft.
“Have you dated anyone since Patrick?”
She shakes her head, and a shadow crosses over her face.
I want to make that shadow disappear. I shift on the hard wooden bar stool.
“So now you can definitely tell me what you were going to say when you hoisted me through the window?” she asks.
“No. I can’t,” I say.
“But aren’t we more than work colleagues now?” she asks.
“Yes, but we’re friends. And what I thought was…” Definitely inappropriate. Definitely not in the friend territory.
She leans forward. “Was?”
Rose comes up. “It’s time for the games to start—while the DJ takes a break.”
“You were saved by Rose.” Iris stands. “I don’t know what Elban was putting in my orange juice, but I definitely think he’s making them way too strong. I need a glass of water. Do you want one?” She goes behind the bar and pours one for each of us. She rings a bell hanging from the side of the bar, which causes everyone to stop talking, and then she turns on a microphone. “Let’s give a hurray for the happy couple.” The crowd cheers. “And now let’s start the games. The scavenger hunt is outside, so take the clue sheets by the door and go for it. The cold should sober us all up.”
We all grab our coats.
“I can’t compete because I know all the answers,” Iris says, “but you could do it.”
“I’d rather hang out with you,” I say. “And you already told me some of the clues, so maybe we can just walk down the street and you can give me a personal tour.”
We walk side by side down the street.
The chill is definitely sobering me up. I pull up my collar. My ears are freezing.
She shows me the metal stag outside Café Katja and the colorful globes outside Sticky Rice.
“What’s great about this block is that all the family businesses look out for one another, kind of an ‘all for one, one for all’ dynamic,” she says.
“That’s special—and rare,” I say.
“Do you think so?” she asks, turning to face me. The soft glow from the streetlight frames her face. Her huge eyes look both quizzical and sad.
“Yes. That’s definitely not what happened in my family business between the other founder’s son and me. His attitude was more ‘all for me,’” I say, the bitterness still evident in my voice.
“What happened?”
“I worked there after college, and I reconnected with Nathan, the son of my dad’s partner, but I thought he was still the kid I played with on weekends in the office while our dads were working. And the thing is—he was still that kid. I’d dismissed as innocent the fact that when we were ten, he suggested we raid the company pantry. We found these amazing desserts and ate them. My dad was so angry with me—he’d ordered those specially for an employee celebration.” My gut clenches. That shame. Why am I telling this story? I cringe. “I felt terrible, and I thought Nathan felt the same. And I forfeited my allowance for weeks to pay for the new cakes. But I learned my lesson that company property was definitely not mine for the taking.”
“What happened when you reconnected?”
I turn away. This story really doesn’t reflect well on me. But it’s also made me a better lawyer—because I want to figure out the truth and not trust first impressions.
“Nathan definitely had not learned that lesson. We were all working on a deal late at night, and he said he’d take us out for drinks to celebrate our finishing. But the bartender accidentally handed me the receipt after Nathan paid, and I saw this other employee’s name listed. It looked like he’d used Emil’s corporate card. I confronted him. He said he’d grabbed the wrong card by accident, and he’d pay it back and clear it up. I believed him.”
“But he didn’t?” Iris asks.
“No. I overheard Emil in my father’s office denying that he had used the company’s corporate card, and I backed him up. That was also when I realized I wanted to be a lawyer. I found past expense reports signed by Nathan to show that was Nathan’s signature on the receipt. Nathan had submitted the receipt as a corporate expense, pretending to be Emil, but I followed up with IT and they were able to prove that Emil wasn’t logged in at that time. Apparently, Emil had complained about Nathan’s lack of a work ethic, and Nathan wanted him out.”
“That’s great. You saved the day.”
“But I almost didn’t. I should have known.”
“But you did step in in time,” she says firmly, almost as if she knows how much I’ve regretted trusting Nathan. “What happened to Nathan?”
“His dad told him he was out until he could show he’d grown up. He took that as a win that he didn’t have to work in an office for the rest of the summer.”
"He sounds like Hank."
Dahlia rushes up with her answers.
“I made this too easy,” Iris says as she checks them off.
“No. It was perfect. A trip down memory lane.” Dahlia hugs her. The sister resemblance is unmistakable. She has the same silky brown hair and green eyes.
“I heard you saw the cat pawprint underwear,” Dahlia says.
“Meet Dahlia,” Iris says. “We give each other silly gifts every year. That was last year’s Christmas gift.”
“Great gift,” I say.
“Well, let’s see if you like this year’s gift.” Dahlia grins.
Iris swats at her playfully. “Don’t mind her,” she says.
We all pile back inside the bar. Iris turns on the microphone again.
“The next game is Icebreaker Bingo. I’ll hand out the sheets. When I ring the bell, you can start. The first one with five in a row wins the prize. You can only use a person once as an answer, and that person has to sign your card.” Iris hands out the sheets to all her sister’s friends and then rings the bell to signal the start of the games. “Go!”
I scan my sheet.
“I’m putting you down for ‘is single.’ You can put me down for the same,” she says. “Everyone else may be paired up here except for Uncle Harvey over there.” An older man sits snoring in the corner, a green tasseled pillow under his head, very close to where I hung the mistletoe. I definitely won’t be going near him.
“What about your aunt?” I ask.
“If she is, she’s not going to admit to it. I think she always has an admirer on hand.”
“Let’s do it together,” I say. “We need ‘speaks another language.’ That’s Arjan, Dahlia’s husband, or any of his Dutch friends here.”
Iris grins at me. “Sharp.”
We join the circle of friends around Arjan, and he writes his name in the blank square. There’s a lot of good-natured joking and camaraderie. This feeling of warmth from Iris’s family reminds me of my own. Melody’s family does not give off the same warmth, especially her mother. That one Thanksgiving dinner I attended was an extremely formal affair. I brought flowers, but they didn’t match the color scheme, so Melody swooped in and put them in the second bathroom. They weren’t even good enough for the first bathroom. After Melody broke up with me, Rupert tried to console me by saying, “At least you avoided her mom as a mother-in-law.”
“‘Kills houseplants’ is Rose, my older sister, or her best friend,” Iris says.
“My younger sister is the same,” I say. “My mom has learned to give her only succulents.” Annabelle would like Iris.
We ask Rose to sign our card, and she asks Iris to sign hers as a cat person.
“Definitely. Fatma will be insulted if she’s not part of this,” Iris says. “Do you like cats?”
“Yes,” I say.
“But you don’t have one?”
“Maybe someday.”
The bell rings.
“What?” Iris looks around to see who won. “Already?”
“That was quick,” I say.
“Insider advantage,” Iris mumbles grumpily. “It’s my sister’s best friend.” It’s cute that Iris is so competitive. Iris awards Rose’s best friend a bottle of wine.
A tall guy who looks very similar to Iris joins us, standing very close to her, feet hip distance apart. He puts out his hand. “I’m Iris’s brother, Liam. I don’t think we’ve met.”
Very protective vibes. Given the way Iris was treated by her last boyfriend, I’m not surprised.
“This is Sebastian,” Iris says. “He’s Rupert’s best friend.”
Her brother’s stance relaxes…slightly. Nice to know that Rupert is liked here.
“And we work together. We’re just friends,” Iris adds.
That’s right. We’re just friends. Even though I’m a little less than flattered at how matter-of-fact she is when she conveys this information.
“Work colleagues. Right. That’s why you brought him while dressed as a pregnant woman?” her brother asks.
“It does sound odd when you point that out, but work colleagues can be good friends.” Iris pats Liam’s back. “Someday, you’ll learn.”
“Where’s Maddie?” Liam asks.
“She’s covering a story,” Iris says.
“Are you in cybersecurity too?” Liam asks.
“No. I’m a lawyer. We’re really just work colleagues,” I say.
This does not seem to impress her brother. If anything, he seems to look at me with even less favor. Why am I claiming we’re just work colleagues?
“And becoming good friends,” Iris says.
I smile at her. “Yes, definitely.”
“Do you game?” Liam asks.
“Um, not really,” I say.
“All right, I believe you, Iris,” Liam says.
Is not being a gamer a fatal flaw?
Liam says, “Hey, come meet my friend who works for Shooting Stars—I thought you guys should connect. He just moved back from LA.”
Liam waves to a tall guy who joins us. It turns out he works in creative, but he’s very excited about Shooting Stars opening a studio in New York and has nothing but praise for the CEO. We chat for a while, until Iris looks at her watch.
“Oops. I lost track of time. I have to announce the next game.” Iris grabs my hand and pulls me away, back towards the bell above the bar. “Do you want to be my partner for the three-legged race?”
“Yes,” I say. Definitely.
She announces the “three-legged race down the aisle.”
“Dad will be the timer. Everyone, line up behind the starting line. Mom will hand out the scarves, and you’ll all have a few minutes to practice.”
She hops off the bar stool and grabs my hand. “C’mon. We definitely have a shot at this.”
Most of the women are taking off their heels.
Iris’s mom hands us a scarf, and I bend down to tie our ankles together. Iris’s skirt ends just above the knees, and I feel like I’m peeking at forbidden skin as I slide the soft fabric around her ankle. I place my foot next to hers and finish tying the knot. I look up. Iris is very still. I swear the vibe is more than “just friends.”
I break eye contact first and pull my leg to make sure the knot holds. Then I stand, and Iris wraps her arm around my waist and says, “Let’s take a few practice steps. Tied foot together first. One, two, three.”
I’m off, and she falls slightly against me. I hold her up. She looks up at me and laughs.
I say, “Sorry, let’s try again.” All around us, couples are practicing. It’s a pretty narrow space in this front part.
More steps. We have a rhythm now.
Aunt Viola rings the bell. “Practice time over. Line up.”
We’re fourth in a line of couples. Rose and her husband are first. They race to the stage in seconds. The next two couples do well but not brilliantly.
“I think they’ve been practicing at home,” I say.
Now we’re up. Iris’s dad blows a whistle, and we’re off. Iris is counting out loud, “One, two, one, two.” And she’s speeding up. We’re leaping now. Like flying reindeer. Or unwieldy elephants.
“One, two.” Iris counts the pace.
“Go, go,” I say, my arm gripping her body in a death lock.
And we’re across the line. We bend down at the same time to catch our breath, knocking elbows.
Her dad yells our time. “Iris and Sebastian for the lead.”
Iris hugs me, and we jump up and down together. Her head is thrown back, laughing, and the feeling in my chest is like joy bubbling out of a champagne glass.
I give her one last hug and release her.
“Hurray for the singles,” says Rose.
“That signals good long-term potential there,” Aunt Viola says.
We move off to the side and sit on the stage.
“At least you’ve now garnered Aunt Viola’s sign of approval. She’s usually very stingy about granting it. She liked Patrick, but not for long-term.” Iris sighs. “She said, ‘You should definitely date him, but try to hold back a bit of your heart.’”
“And did you?” I ask.
“Maybe. Maybe that’s also why it didn’t work out.”
She reaches down to untie the scarf. Her fingers brush lightly against my leg.
“It’s stuck.”
I crouch down too. Iris’s skin is flushed, making her green eyes all the brighter.
Our hands touch as I reach to help.
“I think you’re only making it tighter,” I say.
“Our leaping didn’t help,” she says.
“It helped us win. That’s what’s important,” I say. The knot is impossible to loosen.
“Exactly.” Her eyes crease at the corners as she chuckles. “Even if we’re now attached for life.”
Our glances hold, and my hands still. She just seems so alive. And there’s that scent of flowers around her.
“Do you guys need scissors?” Rose asks. “Here.”
I take the scissors and focus on cutting the scarf. We both step away from the crumpled fabric and don’t look at each other.
The last game is a ring pop hunt, and Iris sprints off to take a ring pop from the top of a light fixture. I can’t help but tease her. She looks so intent on winning.
“I think there’s one behind the stairs going up to the stage,” I whisper.
Iris glances back. “Are you sure? Then why aren’t you getting it?”
“I want you to win.”
She finds the ring pop there and is on to the next possible hiding place.
“If you really want me to win, go look for some ring pops and bring them to me,” Iris says.
“Is that allowed?” I ask.
“Nothing in the rules forbids it,” Iris says.
“But it’s so much more fun to follow you around,” I say.
Iris plucks another ring pop from between a napkin holder.
“You don’t seem to be taking this competition seriously.” She pokes me in the chest.
I laugh.
“You must have been a terror to your little sister,” she says.
“My sister can more than hold her own,” I say proudly.
“Will she be at Lily and Rupert’s party tomorrow?” she says.
My lips turn down. “She’s in London now. Plus, she’s annoyed with me, so we haven’t talked recently. I miss her.”
“Just call her and tell her that,” Iris says. “I’m sure she misses you too.”
Aunt Viola rings the bell. Liam is the winner. He raises his beer to Iris. “Usually, Iris wins the Easter egg hunt. Thank you, Sebastian, for distracting her.”
I tip my head. Iris gives me a mock glare.
“I’m calling it a night. I need to sleep.” Dahlia pats her rounded belly. “But thank you all so much for coming to celebrate our wedding. Sorry we eloped, but I never wanted a big wedding. And this party was absolutely perfect for me. Thank you, Iris, for organizing this.”
Her husband Arjan adds his thanks, and a bit of teasing back and forth among all the friends follows.
Iris smiles at me. “I’m so relieved I could be here with my family and Dahlia’s friends.”
And then the party is over.
“Do you live around here?” I ask. “I’ll walk you home.”
“That will be a very short walk,” Iris says. “Home is upstairs. I keep meaning to get my own place, but now with the uncertainty about what’s going on at work, at least this gives me a chance to save some money. I was initially hoping to buy an apartment with Patrick, one that our neighbor wants to sell. But that’s probably not in the cards now. She said she’ll hold off on selling it for a bit. It has the most amazing hardwood floors and this terrace that I love.”
I should go then, but I hesitate.
Iris says, “But you can help me gather up the votives we placed outside in the garden.”
Is she also reluctant to part? After today, I feel like we’ve developed a relationship—a friendship—that I hope will grow.
We slip out the back door to the small garden.
Iris shivers, and I take off my sweater. “I run hot.”
Iris glances at my chest. “Clearly. Thanks.” My sweater envelops her, but it looks good.
“You have a swing,” I say.
“Dad put that up for us. And now the grandkids use it.”
We gather up the votives and put them in a cabinet by the back door.
“I’ll still walk you home,” I say.
Iris unlocks the door next to the bar, and we’re in a narrow hallway behind the pub. We hike up the steep stairs to the second floor, and she pauses at the threshold before another door.
“I have to open this carefully because my cat, Fatma, likes to try to escape. She thinks she makes a good bar cat.” She swings open the door carefully—no cat—and we enter a large kitchen. Iris flips a switch, illuminating a table. The lighting is dim, and I swear Iris sways towards me. We stare at each other. Our lips are inches apart. Her breath brushes my cheek. I smell chocolate and orange juice. I reach out to touch her waist. Gently. Her gaze shifts to my lips. I shift closer. Her eyelids flutter closed. I want to kiss her. Her soft body is heating mine, and I pull her even closer. I dip my head. But something holds me back. And then her eyelids open. I swallow. She’s so close. I’m so attracted to her.
We pull back at the same time.
“Well, you’re home. I should go,” I say.
“You should go,” she says. She ducks her head. I take one last look at her head, angled down, her shining brown hair, and leave. She deserves a better guy than me.
A guy who can’t trust his judgment. Who read Nathan completely wrong. Emil almost lost his job—and his reputation—because I believed the wrong guy.
And then read Melody wrong. Thought it was all going great. That we shared the same values.
A guy who’s not still torn up about whether he can figure people out.
I say good-bye to her family and walk outside.
I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck. The cold air feels like icicle-nosed mosquitoes prickling my face. The wind takes my breath away.
I’m in trouble. I like Iris. But it didn’t work out with Melody. And my judgment was completely wrong about Nathan. Am I reading Iris correctly? Does she like me enough? Could it work out with her?
I’m happy being single. None of the highs and lows. And then there is the incontrovertible fact that both my best friends are dating her best friends. We will definitely continue to see each other if we break up. What if the breakup doesn’t go well? Will they have to choose sides? Will I be invited to some events and excluded from ones she attends? Rupert definitely chose me in the break-up with Melody.
I am torn.