Page 12 of Beautiful Small Things

“So, it’s homework?” I ask.

“No, it’s just relaxing,” she says nonchalantly.

Of course, it is. Who doesn’t love doing advanced math for fun?

Nodding my head in agreement is the only play here. “Of course,” I say. “Sorry, I’ve been busy the past couple of days. What have you been up to?”

“Not much. I’ve spent some time with Orion.”

“That’s good,” I reply.

“Then, today I went to Jem’s studio,” she continues.

“You did? How is the space looking?” I ask.

“Good,” Iris answers. “It’s still a mess, but she’s working on it. I didn’t realize what a large commitment opening a new studio would be. She takes it very seriously.”

“It’s her passion,” I say. “Well, that and you.”

Iris smiles knowingly. “I asked her some questions about you for the paper.”

“How did that go?” I ask with reluctance in my voice. If she wants honesty, James will give it to her.

“She told me a cute story about you.”

“Really?” my eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Yes. It was about the first time she remembered meeting you.”

I tilt my head with rapt attention as she continues.

“She remembers you asking for Skittles at a football game when she was little. You and Uncle Callan were playing.”

“Hmm, I don’t remember that,” I say. Which isn’t surprising. I don’t share Iris or James’ memory of those sorts of details. Plus, I’m a man. We generally don’t pay attention to shit like that. “It sounds like us, though. Her being small and me not noticing her.”

“Well, that sucks,” Iris says.

“Iris, she is seven years younger than me. When I was playing football with Callan at that age, she was five-years-old. Come to think of it, I do remember a bit of five-year-old James. She was chubby and sticky, always wearing a tutu and spinning in circles. It was adorable.”

“I can picture that,” she says with a giggle. “The chubby and sticky part is my favorite.”

“It was pretty cute,” I admit.

She yawns loudly and closes her eyes. “I’m tired, Dad. I’m going to go to bed. Let’s pick this up tomorrow.”

“Good night, Sweetheart,” I tell her with a kiss on her head.

I grab a drink and head to the study to respond to emails. Sitting at my desk, I find my eyes gravitating toward my bookshelf on the opposite side of the room.

It’s full of academic books, awards (mostly Iris’s), and carefully curated creative art projects she’s begrudgingly done over the years. In the center of the bookshelf is a picture. It was Iris, James, and me when Iris was about one week old. I get up to retrieve it and study it in my hand. We were so young. We look exhausted. We look scared. We look happy.

One shelf below is a picture of Callan, Colby, James, and me on our last trip to Joshua Tree before they married. James and I were fighting the entire time. I guess she would have been about 19 in that photo.

Next to that is yet another picture of Me, Callan, Colby, James, and their parents outside the craziest escape room ever invented. I was about 20-years-old in the photo, so James would’ve been around thirteen.

Who would think that surly little teenager would become such a big part of my life?

It started so long ago. I first met her when we were both just children. She was so much younger than me then, so I didn’t pay her much attention on the rare occasions I saw her.