6. Iris
6
IRIS
“Do we need to look up the definition of fun in the dictionary?” Avah grabs a handful of pretzels and pops one in her mouth as she narrows her eyes at me. “Because there’s no way in hell?—”
Molly elbows her. “Iris is right. Her challenge, her choice.” She offers me a gentle smile. “Tell us more about why a long-ass run feels fun to you.”
“Because it sounds awful AF.” Avah takes Molly’s arm when the redhead starts to elbow her again. “But also something you could handle with no issues. The challenges need to push us out of our comfort zone.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Like Sadie’s V-Card.”
“Training for a fifty-mile run will push me,” I insist. “And accomplishing that kind of task will be fun.”
“Debatable,” Taylor says with a shudder.
Molly makes a similar face. “As much as I hate to admit it, Avah’s right.”
“Is someone recording this moment?” Avah demands.
“An endurance event would show people that I’m resilient and dedicated. I don’t flake out once I commit. Doing hard things is fun.”
“Reread the quote,” Sloane tells me. “The part about joy, laughter, and play.”
I oblige, then close the book and thunk it against my forehead. “Why is fun so hard for me?”
If I’m being honest, I already know the answer. How many times as a kid did I beg my mom to give up the nomadic life she loved so much? To prioritize paying bills and keeping us in one place for an entire school year. Her derisive response was that I needed to loosen up and have fun. But her kind of fun meant disappointing the people counting on you. Joy and play meant damaging your kids because you only cared about yourself.
“Do people in town really think I want to kill fun?” I ask my friends.
“Kill is a strong word,” Molly answers.
Not precisely the fervent denial I’d hoped to hear. My gut tightens as I ask, “What do they think?”
“The bucket list challenge isn’t about other people,” Sloane offers.
“I want to know. Maybe I chose fun as my challenge because of what happened earlier, but I can’t be associated with the slogan ‘this is where fun comes to die.’” My gaze settles on Avah, the truth-teller of our group. “I can’t fix my reputation if I don’t know what it is.”
“People might have the impression you’re a little intense,” Avah says. The fact that she worded the criticism so mildly strongly suggests that hella-intense is more like it.
“Rigid,” Molly adds.
“Standoffish,” Taylor whispers.
Each of their words hits like a punch, but it’s sweet Sadie who delivers the knockout blow.
“A lot of residents chose this town because it feels like home and they love it here. It sometimes seems like you came back because you have something to prove.” She shrugs apologetically. “Once you check us off the list, you’ll leave Skylark in your rearview mirror without a backward glance.”
“Oh.” I reach for my sangria glass—which Taylor has just refilled—because I need something to do with my hands, but my fingers are trembling too hard to pick it up without the liquid sloshing over the sides. I could argue that I do love it here, but I haven’t let myself love anything or anyone for a long time.
I don’t even want or need to examine the reasons why. Because if these women—my friends—think these things about me, I’m guessing most people in town would straight up call me a bitch.
“We know your intentions are good,” Molly assures me, “but some of your words and actions might come off harsher than you intend.”
“Harsh. So I need to prove to people that I’m fun and playful. Not harsh and rigid and…” I glance at Taylor.
“Standoffish,” she repeats, then bites down on her bottom lip like it’s painful to tell me the truth.
Not half as painful as it is to hear.
“You can do this,” Sloane promises, but she doesn’t look convinced. She knows me best, is why I’m in the book club and bellying up to the bucket list challenge. It’s not a great sign.
“Think about what brings you joy,” she encourages. “Or a time when you did something for the simple reason that it made you happy without worrying about proving yourself in the process.”
“Okay,” I agree. “I can do that.” I hope to God I sound more convincing than I feel. Growing up in a state of constant chaos, fun doesn’t come without worry in my life.
It didn’t help that my larger-than-life mother tied a sparkly bow on the madness to convince Nick and me we were having fun. But a shit sandwich loaded down with colorful condiments still stinks like crap.
“It might feel impossible now.” Sadie reaches across the table and grabs my hand, as if she can sense my anxiety and unease. Like I’m one of her dog clients and she needs to whisper me. She’s not wrong. “But I’m proof that amazing things can come from putting yourself out there in a new and scary way.”
I take a moment to admire the diamond sparkling on her finger. The one former NFL quarterback Ian Barlowe put there at the end of the summer. Not only did Sadie succeed in checking off her bucket list item, but she also managed to fall head over heels with a man who absolutely worships her.
It’s a high bar. And while I have zero chance of matching her success, my competitive drive kicks in. Yes, I want to have fun. I also want to be elected mayor and convince Gloria Johnson to mentor me. I’m not sure I can or want to separate the two.
Still, the thought of Gloria triggers a memory. One that fits the criteria Sloane just gave me.
“I’m going to dance,” I blurt.
“Yes, queen.” Avah’s velvety voice takes on an even huskier note as she bops her head from side to side to music only she can hear. “Let’s go clubbing in Denver. That would be a metric shit ton of fun.”
“But not exactly the spirit of the bucket list challenge,” Sloane murmurs.
“Iris could set the goal to dance on every bar, Coyote Ugly style,” Molly offers.
Avah nods and starts the head bopping again. “And dance with the hottest guy in every club.” She jabs a finger in the air. “Or the hottest girl. That would be fun, at least to watch.”
I wish it was as easy as going dancing for the evening, but even without Sloane’s reminder, I know I need to do better.
“I’m going to take dance lessons,” I tell them. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” And by a while , I mean approximately ninety seconds, but I don’t mention that.
“There’s an adult class that meets twice a week at the community center, and I’ve invited them to perform at the Skylark Fun Fest the first weekend of November.” At least I plan to do so when I enroll in the class tomorrow morning.
Taylor makes a soft sound of distress next to me. “I thought you were canceling this year’s Fun Fest so you could put that money toward the library’s literacy program.”
“I’ll find another way to fund the library,” I promise, taking her hand. “Fun Fest is happening.”
Sloane takes a drink from her mug of tea. She hasn’t been able to stomach even a sip of alcohol since starting her treatments. “Are you sure you’re choosing a dance class because you think it will be fun, and not to make voters believe you think it’s fun?”
I take a sip of my sangria, relieved I can hold the plastic cup with steady hands. Sloane’s skepticism is valid, but having a plan is my favorite form of fun, even if no one else appreciates it.
“It’s for me. Promise.” I ignore the nerves churning in my gut at what I’m about to share, and focus my gaze on Sloane.
“When I was eight, we lived in Albuquerque for six months. I had a best friend for the first time, and eventually, her mom enrolled me in a dance class with all the other girls from our grade. She felt bad that I was being left out.” A smile plays at the corners of my mouth. “I loved everything about it. The leotards and tights and special shoes, even though all my stuff was hand-me-down or from the lost and found bin. Most of all, I just loved dancing.”
“Okay, that’s adorable,” Sadie says. “I can totally picture little Iris twirling.”
“Twirling was my favorite,” I confirm with a grin that falters as I continue. “Mom thought it was stupid because, in her mind, dancing—fun in general—was mutually exclusive to structure. Why did I need lessons when I could move to music in any old way?”
“But she didn’t stop you from taking lessons, did she?” Avah asks.
“Not exactly.” I lower my gaze and pick an invisible speck of lint off my black sweater. “In retrospect, I don’t think she liked that another mother was doing something for me. Mom might have been lax in parenting, but she didn’t want anyone involved in our business. I guess I understand.” I tried to back then anyway.
Sloane lets out a disdainful huff of breath. “Then she should have stepped up and taken an active role in your life.”
Sloane’s parents weren’t like my mom. They’re both archeologists and professors, but from what I gather, they always—and still—placed work and their own needs above taking care of their kids. I know she understands how that neglect can eat away at a child’s soul.
“A week before the recital, Mom decided we were moving to Texas. She’d met some guy on Myspace and was convinced she’d found the love of her life. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.”
“What about your recital?” Taylor asks.
“I didn’t get to dance in it.” I shrug. “I kept the leotard and other stuff and danced my heart out alone in my room. But after that, I stopped participating in extracurricular activities. I didn’t want to let anyone else down.” I swallow around the ball of emotion lodged in my throat and smile. “If you need verification, I still have the leotard.”
“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet.” Molly gets up and comes around the table to hug me. “You’re going to be a ballerina.”
The lightness that fills my chest at her words surprises me. Maybe I have an ulterior motive for enrolling in Gloria’s dance class, but it could help me discover what fun means. The fact that my potential political mentor also loves to dance is a happy coincidence, and I need something happy to end this day.
My gaze meets Sloane’s, her eyes shimmering with tears. “You’re doing it,” she says. “You’re taking my challenge seriously.”
“Of course I am, you bald nut. I’d do anything for you.”
“We all would,” Molly says as she returns to her seat.
“Thank you,” my friend tells the group. “It means the world to me. Especially because...” She trails off and swipes under her eyes. “All these stupid tears.”
“You can cry all you want,” I tell her, and my voice comes out a little fiercer than I meant. “There’s nothing wrong with crying,” I say in a gentler tone.
Sloane smiles because she knows I don’t cry. But that rule only applies to me.
“What is it?” Sadie asks, and it’s obvious by the look on the faces around the table that we’re all worried and trying not to show it.
“I went to Nashville for a follow-up last week.”
“Without telling anyone?” I demand.
Sadie takes her hand. “One of us could have driven you to the airport or gone with you. You’re not alone.”
Sloane laughs, but it sounds hollow. “I didn’t want to worry anyone. But I wasn’t alone. Jeremy picked me up in his company plane.”
Sloane’s brother, Jeremy, is some sort of tech genius billionaire. He lives in California, and they hadn’t been close until her diagnosis. In fact, from everything she’s said about him or I’ve read online, Jeremy Winslow is an asshole. Yet, he stepped up for Sloane, taking her to Vanderbilt in Nashville, where he has connections in the oncology unit.
We know he wants her to move to California, where he can be more closely involved in her treatment, but like Sadie said, Skylark is a home that people choose. Sloane isn’t leaving. At least not yet. For that, I’m grateful.
“My body needs a break, but they want me to start a more aggressive course of chemo at the end of the month. Six weeks of it.” She grimaces. “I’ll have to be in Nashville for most of that time.”
Avah blows out a long breath then asks, “This will kill the fucking cancer, right?”
“They hope so,” Sloane answers, but sounds less than sure.
“What do you need?” I ask. “We’ll do anything.”
“You’re already doing it.” Her smile is soft. “Embracing the bucket list challenge. You make me feel like I’m not alone, and I love living vicariously through your adventures. Dancing is perfect, and performing at Fun Fest gives me a goal. I need to get home for your big debut.”
My stomach knots at the thought of what I’ve just committed to, but I don’t let my fear show. Compared to what Sloane’s facing, my challenges are nothing.
My friends seem relieved at the chance to lighten the conversation once again.
“We’ll all be at your performance,” Molly assures me.
“Do they offer pole dancing?” Taylor asks, and we all go silent once again.
“Pole dancing,” Avah repeats. “The librarian wants to pole dance.”
“Just because I like books doesn’t mean I don’t have a racy side.” She holds up this month’s book club selection, which she chose for us. It’s a dark motorcycle club romance with a beefed-up guy on the cover.
“Oh, we know.” Sloane shakes her head. “I was reading this at the hospital in Nashville, and I swear the nurse was worried at how red my cheeks were. It had everything to do with your spicy book selection.”
Taylor grins unabashedly. “Be honest, how many nights did it take you all to finish it?”
“One,” Sadie answers immediately. “Well, one and a half because Ian made me read certain parts aloud. He was inspired.”
Molly grins. “I’m happy for you and also insanely jealous.”
“Samesies,” Taylor agrees. “What about everyone else?”
Each of us holds up between one and three fingers.
“That’s right,” our favorite librarian says. “People might bad mouth romance, but they suck you in, in the best way possible.”
“ Suck being one of the more G-rated words,” Avah murmurs.
“I’m adding pole dancing to my bucket list activity,” I tell the group, “and you’re all taking part.”
Taylor suddenly looks terrified. “As long as we don’t have to do it on stage.” She suffers from intense stage fright and has trouble even reading out loud during the weekly programs she hosts for local kids at the library.Molly, who brings her kids to the library on the regular, has admitted it’s painful to watch.
“A private class,” I assure her.
“I’m in,” Sadie agrees.
“If you get good,” Sloane tells her with a wink, “Ian’s going to install a pole in your new bedroom.”
When I first met Sadie, that comment would have sent her into a fit of anxiety, but now a smile plays along the corner of her mouth.
“It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” she says, and we all laugh.
The lightness I felt a few minutes ago when I chose dancing as my challenge has expanded. I take a deep breath, feeling like I can salvage not only my chance of being elected mayor, but also my bid to have Gloria Johnson help me with the next step in my career.
The bucket list changed Sadie’s life in countless ways, so maybe my dance classes will have the same positive effect on me. I could definitely use it.