Background
Thirty something, Jameson meets seventy something, Iris. They bond over coffee. They find that you don't have to be blood related to become family.
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This is a novella about two people who meet and form a friendship. It is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked for who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry has met senior citizen, Iris. There is an inexplicable calmness to her and he is drawn into a friendship with her.
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JAMESON
Bryon arrives at just after seven. He's loaded down with pizza and wings. When I open the door to let him in, Heston barks, Bryon stumbles backwards with his eyes wide.
"Good Lord. What the hell is that?"
"It's Heston."
"He's huge. He's a freaking mutant. Is he going to eat me?"
I pull Heston back by the collar and step aside for Bryon to come in. "He's more interested in getting that pizza you're holding."
Bryon skirts by, eyeing Heston warily. After a few minutes of being sniffed up one side and down the other, the dog goes to lie down.
"Plate?" I ask.
"I'm fine just grabbing from the box."
I close the cabinet. It's just as well anyway. Claire took almost all the plates and bowls. I have a few mismatched bowls and plates left.
Bryon settles back on the couch and cracks open one of the beers. "So, how ya been?"
I reach over and tug a slice of pizza free from the pie. "I've been better."
"Not trying to be nosy, but what happened? Last time I saw the both of you, y'all seemed so happy."
The cheese tastes rubbery all of the sudden. Talking about Claire and I in past tense is enough to kill my appetite. "I couldn't tell you. We were fine then everything turned to shit."
Bryon folds his wedge in half and takes a large bite. He chews and then starts talking. "That's kind of how it was with Mandy and me. At Christmas we were talking about starting a family. By Valentines day, she's tossing my stuff in the yard."
"I don't get it," I mutter.
Bryon wipes his fingers on his jeans. "Both of those girls are just like their mother. That woman has had more husbands than the Duggars have kids."
"What would that be? Eighteen and counting?" I joke.
"Give her time," he says. "Both Amanda and Claire want a fairytale. They want a prince, they want money, they want status. My guess, they don't think you or I are the ticket to that world."
"But we didn't have a bad life. Things got tight now and again, sure, but it wasn't terrible."
Bryon lifts his beer can to his mouth and pauses. "To someone who thinks they deserve it all, that's a fate worse than death."
I reach for one of the wings, since the pizza didn't do it for me.
Bryon goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers. He walks over and hands me one. "My advice is move on. She probably isn't coming back."
The bluntness of his prediction makes me down the whole beer. I can't lose my family. I just can't.
*******************
I wake early, shower, shave, and take Heston for a short walk. I've taken to giving him two walks a day now.
I walk to the coffee house and spot her sitting at a table midway back. She's wearing a bright blue quilted jacket with colorful birds embroidered on the back. I swear I've seen my grandmother in one similar.
"Good morning, Miss Iris," I say, gently putting my hand on her shoulder as I approach from behind.
"How are you, Jameson?" She smiles up at me. "How was your brother-in-law, was it?"
"Good. Nice to catch up."
"I took the liberty of ordering us cinnamon buns. They looked delicious."
"You didn't have to," I say, but I'm thankful she did.
She shrugs it off. "You don't eat enough. I'm a mother, indulge me in my fussing."
"Yes, ma'am."
We wait while the waitress brings the coffee pot over and fills our cups before talking.
She tears open the packet of sweetener and looks up as she stirs it. "Is your wife back from her trip?"
Under normal circumstances, I would skirt the question, but this is Iris. And, as crazy as it sounds, I feel like she's been a part of my life forever. "Claire left me. She's living with her sister. Has been for a couple of months."
"I'm sorry, Jameson. I know this is a terrible time for you right now."
I lift my cup to my lips, not trusting myself to speak.
"Did you all try couples counseling? Are you talking?"
The liquid burns the end of my tongue. "I try to talk but she always has a reason she can't. She's either at work, too tired, too confused."
"She's stringing you along." Her hand flies to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I don't even know the girl. I had no right to say that."
"It's okay." I smile. It's nice to have Iris on my side.
"So, since I can't be trusted to hold my tongue, tell me what you like to do for fun. I know from our last conversation that it isn't data entry."
Hesitation keeps me from excitedly telling her about my writing. But as I look over at her, I see those calming blue eyes. I trust her.
"I love to write."
She nods. "That's funny, because I love to read. I'm not too keen on the smutty stuff."
"I write children's stories mainly."
She lifts her cup and I notice the slightest tremor. "I'd love to read some of your stories ... if you're comfortable."
The faces of Claire and her parents come to mind. The bored expressions as they read my only published children's story. The glazed eyes as they congratulated me. I know you need a thick skin when you're creative, but no skin is thick enough when the people you love dismiss your creativity.
"I used to love reading Green Eggs and Ham to my son, Daniel." Her eyes have a far away look in them.
"How old is your son?"
Iris shakes her head. "I lost him when he was eight."
That sick feeling comes over me. "God, Iris, I'm so sorry."
"That was thirty-five years ago. Still hurts but the good memories outweigh the pain of losing him"
I swallow a sip of coffee. I'm at a loss. What can I say to make it better? Nothing. There isn't anything I can say to help.
