IRIS #2
“Some seemed more okay with it than others. I think a couple of them might have grown up in kind of strict, religious homes. Or I may have been the first lesbian they met, I don’t know. But Sol said I was welcome here.”
“And they trust Sol?”
“We all do,” I say. “He saved us. He’s taken us all in and helped us get on the right path. He never steers us wrong.”
She is quiet after that, her big, round eyes staring at the fire. I can tell she is thinking about something, lost in a thought she seems hesitant to speak. But before I can work up the nerve to ask, she turns back to me with a new question.
“So has it always been just the five of you, or have there been other girls here?”
“Poppy and Zinnia came back in the summer. When I first arrived, Lily and Violet were the only girls here. But I think maybe there was someone before me? Marigold.”
“Where is she now?”
I shrug. “She left, I guess. They don’t really talk about her. I’ve just heard them mention her in passing. I love it here, but this kind of life isn’t for everyone, I guess.”
“And has Sol ever taken in boys?”
“Not that I know of. But I’m sure he would if he found someone who needed him the way we all did. But he’d want to be sure we all felt safe around them, too.”
Rose frowns a little at that. I can see the skepticism on her face, and honestly, I understand it.
It all sounded strange to me when I first got here, too.
But once I let my guard down, took the love and support from Sol and the others at face value, and let myself trust it was real, all my previous skepticism had faded away.
I’m sure it will in time for Rose, too.
And for now, she does seem to shake it off. Her knee bumps mine slightly as she shifts to look at me a bit better.
“So were you out before you came here?”
“Yeah.”
“Was your family supportive?”
I open my mouth to answer, then catch myself, reeling the words back in before they can escape. My eyes move away from hers, and now I’m the one staring into the dancing flames. “Um …”
“Sorry,” she says with a sigh. “I know asking about the past is against the rules or whatever.”
“It’s not against the rules,” I say, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. “We can talk about whatever we want. But dwelling on the past doesn’t help us. Painful memories are like weeds.”
“Are they?” Rose asks, a hint of mischief in her raspy voice. “Or are they like clouds, blocking the sun so that photosynthesis can’t happen?”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“Or,” she continues, voice getting a bit louder as she tries to hold in her own laugh, “are painful memories like the deer who eat the flowers? Or the dog who runs through the garden chasing a ball and tramples over all the plants?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. The plant metaphors can be a little much.” When I see that little smirk tilting the corners of her—for once—unpainted lips, it’s hard not to smile back. “But you get the point.”
“I do. Kind of.” She sighs. “Fine. Tell me something about you that you can share, then. Something that won’t set you back on your journey.”
“Hmm.” It takes me an embarrassingly long time to think of something about myself worth sharing. Something that isn’t tied to a past I’m trying to leave behind. Finally, sheepishly, I offer, “I’m allergic to mangos.”
“Mangos? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That actually sucks,” Rose says. “Mangos are delicious.”
“I wouldn’t know. I think I had something with mango in it when I was, like, three and had to be rushed to the ER? But I don’t remember it.”
“So no mango smoothies for you.”
“Nope.”
“That’s tragic. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I laugh. “Thank you. Your sympathy is appreciated.” I poke her arm. “Your turn. Tell me something about you.”
“I’m not allergic to mangos.”
“Ha-ha. You’re so funny.”
“I know. I’m hilarious.” Rose grins before pausing to consider. “I like running.”
“Running?”
“Yeah. I ran cross-country on my high school’s track team. Even won a few awards.”
“Wow. That’s cool.”
“What about you?”
“I didn’t run track, but I played a few sports. Mostly softball.”
“Really leaning into that lesbian stereotype, huh?”
“Yep.” I laugh. “Honestly, I like sports, but it was more a way to spend time with friends or keep myself busy.”
“Sports were my lifeline. Gave me something to do after school besides going home. And with track especially—there’s just something about running, feeling the wind in my hair, trying to see just how far I can go without stopping.
Maybe it’s just the endorphins, but after running a few miles, no one could bring me down.
At least for a little while.” She swallows and shakes her head.
“Eventually, though, even that wasn’t enough to get me to stay.
So I went out for a run one day and just didn’t stop.
Not until I reached a bus station. A couple weeks later, somehow, I ended up in Culverton, where Lily found me. ”
“I’m glad she did,” I say. My shoulder is resting against Rose’s now, and we’re both turned to look at each other, our faces a few inches apart. “I hope you know you don’t have to run anymore. You’re safe here. With Sol. With the other girls.”
“With you?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Hmm.” She turns away from me, that same mischievous smile creeping onto her lips and causing my heart to flutter in my chest. “I’ll try,” she says. “I’ll try to blossom like a tulip in the springtime and not let the dandelions bring me down.”
The burst of laughter that comes out of me is loud and sharp, almost like a witch’s cackle. “What?”
“I can do flower metaphors, too, you know.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
I nudge her back. “Fine. Maybe we should both leave them to Sol?”
“No, no. I think I’m getting the hang of it. I’ll try to bloom like a petunia in a garden that’s been sprayed with weed killer. No, wait! Like a sunflower that—”
“Shut up!” I bump her again, this time hard enough that we both tip over, still wrapped in our blankets, and we end up half wrestling with each other on the floor as we laugh.
“Ahem.”
Rose and I look up from our tangle of blankets and limbs to see a tall, broad figure standing in the living room doorway. The firelight dances across a bearded face and sparks in frosty-blue eyes.
“Sol,” I say, sitting up and smiling at him. But the expression on his face is unreadable, still as a statue, and it makes my own smile fall away quickly. “I’m so sorry. Did we wake you up? Were we being too loud?”
“A little,” he says. “What are you two doing down here at this hour?”
Beside me, Rose sits up, too. “The wind. It kept us awake.”
“Ah. I see. Well, it seems to have calmed down a bit now,” he says. “You should probably go get some sleep. It’s only a few hours before you’ll need to get back up to get chores started.”
I nod and push myself to my feet. Despite the chill, I feel warm all over. “Right. Sorry again. We didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He smiles, and I instantly feel myself relax a little. “Don’t worry about it. No harm done.”
Rose is close behind me as we move past Sol and hurry up the stairs. “Still,” she says. “It was rude of us. I’m sorry, too.”
“You girls are sweet,” Sol says. “Your apologies are accepted. But next time you can’t sleep, try to remember the others. Caring for each other—being considerate of one another—is one of the things that helps our garden flourish.”
Behind me, I hear Rose stifling a giggle.
“Right!” I say, hoping I’m loud enough to cover for her. “It won’t happen again. Good night, Sol.”
We reach the top of the stairs, and Sol still hasn’t moved. I can feel his eyes on Rose and me, watching us go right up until we step through the door to the attic.
“Good night, girls.”