Chapter 35 Iris
IRIS
At first, I think he’s talking about someone else. ADHD? What the hell?
But when Aidan turns to find me standing there, and the color drains from his face, I know.
He’s talking about me.
I stumble backward, his words ringing through my head.
She has ADHD.
What is he talking about?
A cold sheen of sweat washes over me, my ears buzzing as I try to make sense of what he means. He lurches toward me, face crumpling in despair, and I crash into the back of Tash’s chair, spilling the coffee.
Why did he say that? Why would he say that?
Tash turns in her chair, brow dipping in concern as she steadies me. “You okay?” she asks, her voice sounding as though it’s coming from underwater.
I glance at her, pulse hammering in my temple, coffee trembling in my hands, and she quickly takes the cups from me.
Did she hear Aidan too?
In my periphery, I catch Dani watching me with pity. “Oof, how embarrassing,” she mutters, and my gut turns over.
Did they all hear?
Suddenly, the air is too thick. I try to suck in a breath, but it’s not enough. My legs propel me to my desk where I snatch up my bag, and Aidan is at my side in an instant.
“Iris,” he pleads urgently. “Wait. I didn’t mean…”
But I’m already starting down the stairs. I don’t even have to think—it’s instinctive to get away. Away from my coworkers who heard it all.
Away from the man I trusted.
How could he say that about me? And to my father, no less? As if he needs more ammunition against me.
I barely notice myself clambering down the steps to the subway.
Barely register staggering onto a train.
I ride the subway in a daze, my weekend with Aidan coming back to me in flashes.
The moment he told me he loved me. How it felt to make love to him with that knowledge.
Waking beside him, cooking with him, the moment we shared in the shower where he washed my hair so tenderly, I wanted to sob.
But all I can wonder is… did I misunderstand everything? Does he think there’s something wrong with me? Has he thought that the entire time? Why would he tell me he loves me if he thinks I’m broken?
Somehow, I arrive in Queens, climbing the stairs in my building on shaky legs. I don’t even notice Aidan waiting outside my apartment until I’m on the doorstep, and I crash right into him.
“Iris.” He steadies me when I stumble, expression agonized. “Please let me explain.”
I blink up at him. It takes a moment to compute that Aidan is in my hallway. He must have driven straight here. My gaze moves over his handsome face—those stormy-gray eyes, that beard flecked with silver—waiting for the onslaught of emotion. Anger. Betrayal. Misery.
But all I feel is numb.
“I am so, so sorry,” he says hoarsely. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
A disbelieving huff escapes me. So, he wanted to tell my father I have this… this thing… behind my back?
He shakes his head, as if realizing he’s not explaining himself well. “I wanted to talk to you about it first. My sister was just diagnosed, and it made me think… Shit.” He drags both hands down his face, looking pained. “This is not how I wanted to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I choke out. “That you think I’m… I’m… defective?”
His face crumbles. “God, no, baby. No. You’re not defective. You’re wonderful. You’re everything to me.”
He steps closer, holding out his hands, but I don’t offer mine. How can I when I feel like I don’t even know this man?
“This doesn’t change how I see you,” Aidan says, growing desperate. “I love this about you, Iris. I love everything about you. I only want to help.”
“Help?” I echo, chest tight and hot. “So, you do think there’s something wrong with me?” The thought stings me to my core. All my life I’ve known I’m different. A fuck-up. That I always fall short where others succeed.
But with Aidan… With Aidan, for a little while at least, I didn’t feel that way anymore. I felt like he saw me as whole. As okay, just as I am.
How could I have been so naive?
“No,” he says fiercely. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Iris. Nothing.”
These words should comfort me, but they’re hollow. My entire body feels hollow. Empty. A shell carved out and discarded.
Aidan tries to reach for me, then thinks better of it. “I think you struggle sometimes, sweetheart,” he continues gently, “and it’s not your fault. Maybe there’s a reason, and we could find a way to make life easier for you.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I look away, too ashamed to let him see. Further proof of how broken I am. All I want is to crawl into bed and never leave.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter. “Please… please go.”
“Shit.” This time Aidan’s gentle hands land on my shoulders, but I flinch. “I don’t want to leave you. Not like this.”
I swallow, blinking the tears from my eyes, and force my gaze to his. My heart stumbles when I see his eyes are moist, ringed with worry and heartache. He didn’t intend to hurt me. He means what he’s saying.
But is that enough?
“I need…” My voice catches, and I try again, saying words I never imagined I’d have to say to this man. “I need space, Aidan.”
His face falls, but he nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, voice raw. He withdraws his hands, letting them hang uselessly at his side. “But… please call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be here in a heartbeat. This doesn’t change anything for me, Iris. At all.”
I nod stiffly, fumbling with the key to unlock the door. Exhaustion sweeps over me as I finally step inside, trying to wrap my head—my heart—around what’s just happened.
Maybe it doesn’t change things for him, but it changes everything for me.
I send a quick email to Debbie in HR telling her I’m unwell and won’t be back in, then turn my phone off. Dad will be pissed I walked out again, but I can’t find it in me to care. He can’t possibly say anything worse than what Aidan said in his office.
She has ADHD. The words play on a continuous loop in my head, so much that they mean nothing.
I watch from my window as Aidan leaves, his shoulders low, head bowed.
He climbs into his car and sits there for a long time.
I study the blue roof of his Mercedes, feeling the numbness slowly thaw, and when he drives off at last, I crumble, crawling into bed with tears streaming, heart aching, head whirling.
It’s a relief when sleep comes.
The sound of knocking wakes me sometime in the afternoon. At first, I think it’s Aidan, and a massive wave of relief washes over me. He’s here, and everything is okay.
Then I remember this morning. What he said. How he came here, trying to talk to me. How I asked him to leave. Even though it was the right thing to do, all I feel is the muted ache of loss.
Pulling the covers over my head, I wait for whoever is at the door to get the message and go away, but the knock comes again, more insistent.
A sudden burst of rage surges through me, and I kick the covers off.
Maybe it’s Dad, coming to tell me for the thousandth time what an utter disappointment I am.
As I plod down the ladder from my loft, I hope it is, so I can say to him all the things I want to.
Things I should have said a long time ago.
But when I whip the door open, Eric stands there, face lined with concern.
And I completely fall to pieces.
“Oh, honey,” he says, catching me as I collapse into his arms, shaking with sobs.
“Iris, honey.” His soft voice soothes me as he walks me carefully into the apartment, kicking the door closed.
Then he holds me as I cry, tears soaking his cardigan, hands rubbing circles on my back.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. It’s okay. ”
When I finally run out of tears, I draw away with a grimace. “I’m sorry. I just saw you, and…”
“I know. It’s okay.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I should have brought wine, huh?”
A watery laugh slides from me. “Yes.” I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together. “What are you doing here?”
Now it’s his turn to grimace. “I overheard you in the hall this morning with Aidan. These damn thin walls.” His expression softens. “What happened?”
Oh. Shit.
I drag in an unsteady breath, reaching for the kettle. At the very least, I need tea for this. Eric steps forward, taking the kettle from me gently, and motions to the chair.
“Sit. I’ll make tea, and then we can talk.”
I slump into the blue wingback chair by the window, gazing listlessly over the street below while the kettle boils. It’s not until Eric places a mug in my hands that I realize I was looking for a blue Mercedes. Hoping it might be there.
I shove the feeling away as Eric lowers himself onto the ottoman.
“Okay,” he says, blowing on his tea. “Tell me what happened with Aidan.”
I gnaw on my lip, staring into the steaming liquid. Gratitude warms me that Eric is here, trying to help, but I hesitate. He’s the closest thing I have to a genuine friend, and I don’t know what he’ll think once he hears Aidan’s words.
But as much as I don’t want to say them aloud, they’re eating away at me. She has ADHD. I’m not even sure I know what they mean. Maybe saying them to someone will help me make sense of them.
Taking a deep breath, the words spill from me in a rush: “He thinks I have ADHD.”
Eric nods. “Right,” he says slowly. “Well… yeah.”
Wait.
“What?”
“Honey.” Eric sets his tea on the bottom rung of the ladder, touching my knee. “You’re a classic case. I thought… I just assumed you knew.”
I stare at him in shock. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes swim with compassion. “It’s not a bad thing, Iris. It’s just who you are.”
“But… why would you…”
“Come on.” He motions around us, to the crocheted blanket over the back of the chair, the scented candles on the windowsill, the macrame plant holder hanging in the corner, not quite finished. “The hobby-hopping is a dead giveaway.”
I lift my chin. “What’s wrong with having lots of hobbies?”
“Nothing. Only… how many do you still actually do?”
I shrink, looking down at my tea. It’s not my fault they all got boring the minute I learned them.
“And if I opened that closet by the front door,” Eric continues, lips twitching, “would an avalanche of shit bury me?”
I huff. “How does that equal ADHD?”
“It doesn’t on its own,” he says, gentler now, “but when you add it to being late, forgetting things, getting distracted, feeling overwhelmed, the emotional rollercoaster…” He softens. “All the trouble you had in college.”
I lean forward as he rattles off a list of all my worst traits. That’s what ADHD is?
“How do you know all this?”
He lifts a shoulder. “My ex had it.”
I study Eric, surprised by his casual reaction. As if it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Unless…
“Is that why you broke up?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“No. He moved to Chicago, and I hate long-distance.”
Huh.
“So… you think…” I swallow, trying to get the words out. “You think I have… it.”
Eric gazes at me for a long moment, expression gentle. “I’m not a doctor, obviously, but yes. And if you haven’t been aware… honey, that’s rough. You deserve to get support.”
I sink into the chair, forcing the air from my lungs.
I was so shaken by the events of this morning, so humiliated at overhearing Aidan say something so personal behind my back, so terrified that he thought there was something wrong with me, that I didn’t stop to consider there could be some truth to his words.
Or maybe that’s what shook me the most. That he’d seen this in me before I’d even seen it in myself. That he sees me so deeply, and there’s nowhere for me to hide.
You struggle sometimes, sweetheart, and it’s not your fault. Maybe there’s a reason.
Tears fill my eyes again. I’ve tried so hard not to let him see me struggle, but he saw it anyway, and instead of blaming me, like everyone else in my life—teachers, friends, Dad—he’s seen something else. He’s seen a deeper reason beyond simply a personal failing.
He’s seen the real me.
My heart cracks as this realization settles, because none of that changes what he did. Telling my father before he even told me. Blurting it out for the entire office to hear.
I stare into my tea, chest raw. Even if he’s right, I don’t know how to come back from the way he said it.