IRIS
I am drifting in that place between wakefulness and sleep when Rose returns to the attic.
I think I’m still awake, in the way you often do just before the world fades to black.
But the sound of the door’s creaking hinges makes my muscles tense, my body jumping an inch off the mattress as that thin veil is ripped away.
“Sorry,” Rose whispers as she creeps across the small room, past the bed.
There had been a battle earlier in the night, the sisters bickering over blankets and who got which side of the bed as they adjusted to sharing the space. Now, though, Poppy and Zinnia are sleeping, their breathing steady and slow.
There are no curtains on the attic’s only window, and the full moon is hovering just above the mountains, its pale, silvery light shining off Rose’s round alabaster face and legs as she slips off her sneakers and jeans.
The oversized hoodie she is wearing falls halfway to her knees, doubling as a nightgown.
“It’s all right.” I prop myself up on my elbow, careful not to dislodge too much of the blanket and expose myself to the chilly air. “How was your first Growth Session?”
I can hear Rose’s teeth chattering as she comes closer, lowering herself onto the other mattress and burrowing beneath the blankets.
“It was nice. Different from anything I’ve experienced, but good.
” The rasp of her voice is even more pronounced when she whispers.
It makes the back of my skull and neck tingle.
“Does he mean all those things he says? Sol?”
“Yeah. He really does. He’s a good guy. He’s helped us all a lot. If it wasn’t for him and the others, I … I don’t like to think about where I might be.”
“A good guy, huh? Can’t say I’ve met many of those.”
Rose is on her back, staring at the ceiling. My eyes trace the profile of her face. The slight upturn of her nose. The soft curve of her jaw. Her lipstick has been washed away, but a pale red stain remains.
I’m reminded again of the girl in the fairy tale who doesn’t know she’ll be a princess one day.
I don’t realize I’m staring at her until she speaks again.
The quiet ripple of her voice causes the tingle to move from the back of my neck to the top of my spine.
It’s the same sort of pleasant sensation I used to get from having a school nurse check my scalp for lice as a kid, or from watching someone carefully paint tiny details on a piece of art.
“I can’t remember the last time someone talked to me like that,” she says. “Like the past doesn’t matter. Like …”
“Like you have a future?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
I roll to face away from her and tuck my knees up to my chest. Now that I’m aware of my staring, my cheeks have begun to burn, even in this cold.
The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable on her first night in a new place.
I remember the first couple of weeks I spent in the hollow, second-guessing every word I said, fearing the others would see me for the mess I thought I was and, despite Sol’s promises, insist that I needed to leave. That I was a weed in their garden.
If Rose is feeling anything like I did in those first several days, then my staring is sure to add to her unease.
“It feels good, right?”
“Yeah …” She hesitates for a moment. Then her voice is even quieter. Like she doesn’t want the cabin’s walls to hear us. “I’m scared it’s too good to be true.”
“It’s not, though,” I say, my voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “I was scared of that at first, too. That I didn’t deserve to be welcomed here. But I’ve been here almost a year now, and Sol and the girls really have made this my home.”
“Did all of you have to give up your phones, too?”
“Yeah. My service was already shut off by the time I got here. I think he sold it at the pawn shop in town.”
“You don’t miss it?”
“Not anymore. Sol said it was just an unnecessary tether to my past. Full of old pictures and texts from a life I needed to leave behind. Plus, he says social media is toxic. That it warps our sense of reality. The longer I’m away from it, the more right I think he is.
It’s kind of a relief not to have it anymore. ”
“I cannot fathom feeling that way.”
“You only just got here,” I point out. “Give it time. We all got used to it.”
“We’ll see,” she says. “How did all of you end up here?”
“Same as you. Lily found me in town when I was stranded. A few months later, she stumbled upon Poppy and Zinnia. And Violet was here first.”
“But what brought you here?”
I bite down on my bottom lip. The dry, chapped skin cracks painfully.
“Oh. Wait. I’m sorry. I forgot that’s a rule or whatever? The whole not talking about the past thing. I didn’t mean to pry. I just— I’m curious how other people ended up like me, I guess.”
“It’s okay.” Slowly, I unfold my knees and try to relax again.
“It’s not a rule, exactly? It’s more … I mean, none of us are here because things were going well for us before.
We talk to Sol about our past in Growth Sessions, to work through it and learn to let it go, but he says dwelling on it just holds us back.
So we try not to. Keep the past in the past, you know? ”
“That’s pretty much what he said in the Growth Session tonight. Only with way more plant and garden metaphors.”
“Yeah, he likes those.”
We both let out a breath of quiet laughter. Even though I am careful not to look at her again, I swear I can feel her smile. It’s like a flame, warming the air between us.
But the rumble of laughter fades, and after a moment, she speaks again. “It does sound nice. I am pretty sick of being alone, always looking for somewhere new to stay. A safe place, getting to be a blank slate, will be nice. Maybe I could get used to being Rose.”
“I think it suits you.”
“Is that just because of the lipstick?”
“No … Okay, yeah.”
She laughs again, a little louder this time, and I instantly fall in love with that sound.
It’s the same way the sight of Violet tuning Sol’s guitar in the living room after dinner or the smell of Lily’s vanilla perfume—a special gift from Sol—makes me feel like I am home.
I already know Rose’s laugh will become that for me, too.
Across the room, Zinnia mumbles something in her sleep and rolls over, causing the old box springs to creak. Rose and I fall silent as I suddenly remember that we aren’t alone in the attic, that our whispers might wake our roommates.
“We, um, we should probably sleep,” I whisper. “I’m sure you’re tired.”
“Yeah. You’re right. It’s been a long day.”
“And we have to get up at six.”
I can feel Rose’s eyes snap over to me. “Six? As in, six in the morning?”
“Mm-hm.”
“But it’s already after midnight!”
“Shhh.” I have to fight to restrain the giggle bubbling up in my chest. “I know. That’s why we’d better get to sleep.”
“Ughhhhh.” She groans, and I hear her roll away from me. Her next words are muffled by a pillow. “I knew there was a catch. This is it.”
The corners of my mouth twitch upward as a little bit of that giggle escapes.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“Sorry!”
Another mumble from the bed silences us once more. After a moment, when the quiet of the attic has settled into something peaceful, I hear Rose yawn.
“’Night, Iris,” she says.
“Good night, Rose. And welcome home.”