Page 64 of Paparazzi

“It must be hard to live so far away...even if you’ve never been particularly close,” she points out, and I can’t tell if she’s saying it because she knows it’s breaking my heart in two or if she’s trying to find a way to make me smile again after noticing my jaw tighten.

“Are you finished? Do you want more?”

Iris seems caught off guard by my change of topic. “No, thank you. It’s delicious, but if I eat any more, I’ll explode.” She smiles, massaging her stomach.

I grab the dishes and take them to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher. She follows me, bringing the two glasses of wine still half full.

“Thomas, you know there’s nothing in your past that you should be ashamed of, right? That I would never judge you... Jesus, I’m the last person who has a right to judge anyone. I want you to know that you can trust me,” she says earnestly.

I can’t take my eyes off what I’m doing. I know if I look at her right now, I’ll lose it. All my resistance would melt. But I can’t do it. With this whole situation, it’s not just me I’m protecting but also the three guys who have been with me for years. Before I blurt out, “We’ve been in prison,” the least I can do is ask them for permission to share our secret with her.

She’s not the problem. It’s me, my past, that I can’t make peace with. So far, I’ve simply ignored it. I changed my life. I changed my name. It’s like I erased that night over ten years ago, and that stupid kid who thought he was so tough was just someone I met when I was a teenager and lost sight of.

“Yes, I know. I do trust you. I just have a hard time talking about myself. I haven’t done it in a long time, and I have to get my confidence back with all of this.” I tell her a partial truth.

Iris nods and slips the glass of wine into my hands. I drink some and watch a sincere smile appear on her lips before she sips from her glass. “Okay, so if you trust me, do you want to tell me the real story about how you ended up in the middle of a pile of diapers and toilet paper when you were just buying milk and cookies? Or about the half-pants at the festival, if you like.”

I burst into laughter, grateful she wants to steer the conversation toward a completely safe subject. “Have you ever had hot milk and cookies? Really, it’s the basis for every happy evening. Sofa, TV, and hot milk and cookies. There’s nothing better.”

“Lucky for you I didn’t eat any more lasagna, so you can give me a live demonstration.”

Her proposal is so simple and disarming that I feel the air leave my lungs and return with difficulty. Sleeping together is one thing, preparing her dinner, a little more private but certainly not intimate like spending the evening watching a movie on the couch eating milk and cookies. That tastes like home, feels like family, something I lost years ago.

“Go pick the movie on Netflix while I prepare the meal of the gods.”

Iris laughs as she walks away from the kitchen, and I’m glad she didn’t hear the panic in my voice. I grab the phone as soon as she’s out of earshot and try to call Michael. He’s the only one who can reason with me and make the panic that’s settling into my stomach disappear. His phone goes directly to voicemail.

“Shit!” I whisper, setting mine on the kitchen counter.

*

I enter the dark living room, illuminated only by the moon. Iris is in the bedroom, sleeping, but I couldn’t fall asleep. The evening slipped between the warmth of a blanket, a cheesy movie, and the comfort of something I did as a child with my family. Sharing such a heartwarming moment with Iris brought me closer to her in a way that I didn’t think possible. In my heart, it feels like this red-haired girl, with her sarcastic humor, has been in my life since I was a kid. Back when I was happy. Sharing this piece of happiness with her was so natural it frightened me. Because Iris is now a fundamental part of my heart, she helped transform my survival into a joyful existence, and I wish I could savor this joy with my family. I can make love to Iris as many times as I want, but sex with a woman can never fill that void that family fills.

I sit in the spinning chair and look at the darkness that is Central Park right now, hoping to make sense of the thoughts that crowd my mind. I look at my phone, and without thinking about it, I start scrolling through the names. I get to “S” for Sarah, a name that no longer exists in the registry, but will always be the one I said a million times when I was little. My sister is now called Margaret, a name I never liked and will never be able to accept.

The temptation to press the call button, hear her voice again, is strong. I haven’t done it in the last ten years. At least not personally; I’ve always pushed my lawyers forward, and I’ve always found a wall on the other side. Again, like every other time, I turn off the phone before I can change my mind.

It will soon be Christmas and, like every year, I’ll find myself wandering around FAO Schwarz on Fifth Avenue among thousands of toys I’d like to buy, and I’ll eventually leave empty-handed. I don’t know anything about my nieces or nephews: their age, their names, their tastes. Every now and then, I wonder if they look like me, if they like music, if they’ve ever listened to anything of mine. We’re famous worldwide, even in Australia, but I don’t know if my sister has ever told them about me. I wonder if she changes stations when they hear our song on the radio.

Iris brought back a flood of feelings that I can’t handle. Memories I want to forget, wounds that have never healed. It was hard watching the movie with her tonight because she snuggled up by my side, eating milk and cookies, like I used to do with my sister when we were kids. We watched Christmas movies, and she was always angry because I thought they were stupid. I basically liked them, but I wouldn’t admit it out loud. There are so many things I’ve never said to her, like ‘I love you’ or ‘Thank you for taking care of Mom.’ As a child, I was ashamed to say certain things. Now, I wish I could shout them from the window of this building, so loud it would reach her on the other side of the world.

I’m staring into Central Park as tears cloud my sight, then fall down on my cheeks and turn into sobs that shake me until I’m trembling in this chair.

“Hey,” Iris’s whisper almost sounds like a cry at this time of night.

I’m so surprised to see her here that a sob dies in my throat. She rests a hand on my shoulder as I wipe tears on my arm.

“Do you want me to help you bake cookies?” She smiles as she sits on my legs, wrapped only in a light blanket she found at the foot of the bed.

I smile at her attempt to save me from embarrassment and make me feel better. “No, Claire will kill me if I bake another batch.”Ahalf laugh escapes my lips as Iris caresses my hair, kissing my head and making my sadness slip away.

I grab her hips and scoot her further into my lap, resting my head on her shoulder and holding her tight, chasing away the fears that grip my chest.

Iris puts two fingers under my chin and forces me to raise my head and look her in the eye. She lowers toward me and, with light kisses, wipes the tears from my cheeks. My hands slip under the blanket to caress the soft skin of her hips and the curves of her butt.

Her lips rest on mine, and what begins as a chaste kiss soon turns into a clash of tongues and desire that awakens every part of my body. My fingers sink into her flesh, pulling her against my erection in an almost primordial need. Her lips blend with mine in a kiss that leaves us breathless.

When I caress her opening with my fingers, I find her ready to welcome me, releasing a guttural groan that makes my chest ache. Iris slips her fingers into my hair and, with a decisive gesture, pulls me toward her bare breasts while the blanket falls on the floor at my feet. I rush to the pale skin of her breasts, her nipples, teasing them until she gasps and, when I sense that neither of us can wait any longer, I lower my boxers just enough to free my erection and sink into her with a single decisive movement.

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